Until you came (Series Stonebridge, #3)

by Diana Scott

  “Well then, when will you take me to that Temple?”

  “Never!”

  Of course you will. Should I remind you that I adopted you and raised you like my daughters and...?

  “Don't try to manipulate us,” I answer amused.

  “I warn you, either you take me with you or I'll go myself. With my motorbike I can perfectly go.”

  “That's another subject we need to talk about. I'm sure Jane agrees with me: we don't want you to have a motorcycle,” I try to look angry but with Elsa it's an impossible mission.

  “But why?”

  “Because you're too old.”

  “My beloved girls, either you live your life to the fullest or life puts a limit on you. You decide.”

  “I don't care about limits, the life and the mother who brought you into the world. I don't want to see you swatted under a truck.”

  “All right, I'll sell the motorcycle, but you'll sneak us into the Temple.”

  “Us?”

  “Of course, me and Beatrix.”

  “Who is Beatrix?”

  “It's Fanny. She decided to change her name and have one more chic.”

  Fanny has been my aunt's best friend since they were little and she’s about three years older than her.

  “I know I shouldn't ask, but why did Fanny want to change her name?” Jane asks a shaky question.

  Aunt Elsa laughs out loud as she answers us crying amusingly.

  “Because that name gives her the air of a dominatrix and makes the men imagine her with the ropes, handcuffs and stuff...”

  “No!”

  Jane and I covered our ears not to listen. Just imagining my aunt Elsa and her seventy-nine year old friend in a bed with handcuffs... Self-esteem is about to faint.

  “So, do we have a deal?”

  “Will you sell the bike?”

  “It's a moped, and if you sneak me into the Temple I promise to sell it.”

  “All right, I'll take you.”

  “Are you crazy?” Jane answers in horror.

  “It's either that or you’ll look for me under a truck crushed like a cigarette paper,” the elder woman threat us amused.

  “Elsa! You don't play fairly,” my sister answers angrily.

  “Come on, honey, it's no big deal. Besides, I promise not to tell anything about what I see there. What happens in the Temple, stays in the Temple.”

  Jane and I hold each other's heads as Elsa gets up and begins to put her helmet on her head to leave.

  “I have to go, it's Friday and if I'm late, Beatrix gets angry.

  “Bingo Friday?”

  “No, today we're meeting some gentlemen for a drink. The Beatrix thing seems to be working. I put on a satin bra and a lace girdle just in case.”

  “Elsa!” Jane and I sighed as my aunt left the most smiling.

  2You know she won't stop until we take her to the Temple, don't you?” Jane asks me, caressing my shoulder to offer me her condolences.

  “I know... of course I know. But don't even think that you'll leave me alone in this one.”

  Tick-tock

  “We agreed that you would disappear for a while!”

  Marc entered to Watchmaker's office furiously and dropped the newspaper with the main page open.

  “I don't know what you're talking about.”

  What am I talking about? Don't you know what I'm talking about?” He said, pointing his finger at the huge headline.

  "The Watchmaker acts again by stealing a unique piece from the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam."

  Nearby sources indicate that the long-defunct piece "Congregation leaving the reformed church in Nuenen" by Vincent Van Vogh had been recovered and was in the process of being presented to the public next month if it had not been stolen again. Sources close to the museum indicate that in the afternoon the restorers of the piece arrived as another day at their workplaces but they only found loose pieces of a clock that apparently dates from the beginning of the 19th century. We will keep you informed.

  “Oh, I see," he replied with a cold smile. “A temptation too strong to resist it.”

  “You have put us in danger! You said that Cleopatra's Jewels hit would be the last. They could have follow you, they could have discover us, they could...”

  “Boy, calm down once and for all if you don't want me to cut your throat like that Russian bastard,” The Watchmaker's low and threatening voice left Marc paralized in the place.

  “Forget that, you know the journalists," he said mockingly. "They exaggerate too much. The piece is in the possession of its new owner and in less than twenty-four hours. “Now tell me what really matters. Did you get any information out of Foster?”

  Marc choked on his own saliva. He hated the way Watchmaker talked to him and much more the way he treated him, but it was too late. He was covered in shit up to his eyebrows. John and he had partnered with the worst of thieves and now it was too late for regrets. His former friend was already dead and he wouldn’t have a better fate if he didn’t take the orders of the cruelest of the criminals.

  “Not yet.”

  “And can I know what the fuck you're waiting for? We’re running out of time. We need to act fast and escape as soon as possible, and I'm sure that if those pieces are in London, Foster knows.”

  “I know, I know, but the situation is better than we think.”

  “What do you mean?” Watchmaker's eyes gleamed with hope.

  “Anne has started working at Tina Collection.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “One hundred percent. She herself told me about it with great emotion.”

  “That's perfect! Yes sir, that's the kind of news I like,” Watchmaker stood up from his chair and shook Marc's back in the most effusive embrace. “This makes everything better. She will lead us straight to our great stroke. I imagine you asked her about the whereabouts of Cleopatra's Jewels?”

  “I haven't found the moment, but I will.”

  “Will you do it? Haven't you found the moment? Young man, you are either stupid or too clever. You better answer me before I kill you without giving you a chance to convince me.”

  Watchmaker focused his evil gaze on the frightened man as he ran around his neck with his index finger.

  “We weren't alone," Marc walked nervously through Watchmaker's office. "But we'll see eachother tomorrow afternoon. I'll pick her up at work and I'll be able to get information without raising suspicions.

  Marc moves restlessly as he squeezes his forehead.

  “Maybe I can find another way to get my hands on the jewelry information without involving her...” Marc stuttered in anguish.

  “I don't give a damn about how you do it. If it is it for me, you can fuck that stupid woman in the open. I'm sick of her and the way she interferers with my plans. Get that information and then throw her down a ravine.

  “It won't be necessary. I'll get what we're looking for, and Anne will never suspect of us.!

  “Whatever you say.”

  Watchmaker spun his wrist making it clear that the visiting time was over and Marc understood the hint perfectly. He left without saying goodbye. It wasn't necessary, the orders were clear, he had to get information about where Cleopatra's Jewels were in London or he wouldn't see the sunlight again.

  Marc walked the sidewalk completely lost in his thought. At first he and John were only able to see how easy and quick it would be to become millionaires, they never thought of the enormous danger of associating with someone like the Watchmaker. But how would they have know it? They had known him for years and he would never have imagined that behind this deceptive façade of a good man there was a real demon.

  With his head down, he stopped in front of his car and opened the door. It was too late to turn back. The cards were played and it was up to him that Anne, his great friend, his first love, did not have her throat cutout in an alley in London.

  New friends

  “That Anne Foster is a beautiful woman.”

 
; “I'm not so stupid as to fall into your nonsense, give me that damn chair and let's get out of here.”

  “I'm just saying, I thought she was a very interesting woman.”

  “And may I know when have you fallen in love?” The man's sarcastic tone showed more than annoyance.

  “I heard her asking for you at the entrance, on more than one occasion... Why don't you want to see her?”

  !It's none of your business.!

  !You're right, what I see is enough for me and she’s beautiful, that red hair is pure fire, I imagine what it must be like to caress it on its soft and smooth skin. And that wide mouth, please, could I spend hours watching it open insinuating, begging for a kiss.”

  Reed hit the wheelchair trying to reach it on his own but the rage made it more and more difficult for him to move. Jealousy gnaws him inside but he doesn't want to fall into the trap of his physiotherapist. The accident would have managed to dominate his legs but his mad heart beats uncontrollably like the first day.

  “Such a sweetheart is capable of changing the mood even of the most macerated vinegars like you. If I were in your place, I would take her home and show her my most hidden secrets...”

  “You nosy bastard nigger! Help me get to the fucking chair.”

  His words echoed through the four walls while, in desperation, he stretches his arms to reach a chair that, because of the fucking wheels, is moving far and far away from him.

  “Fucking hell!”

  The physiotherapist looks at his nails totally immune to the despair of his patient.

  “If you don't want to see her, it's because you don't care. I think I can hit on her and have a chance. Mm, that passion red hair, that strawberry mouth, those green eyes... it's perfect. Can you imagine that little white skin under my natural color, I'm telling you... the combinations we could do together.”

  “Fucking bastard! Get your dirty eyes away from her or I swear...”

  The man's face is disfigured due his fury. His nostrils dilate like a fierce bull and his hands close, leaving marks on his knuckles. Reed roared as he would have done in the past, but when he find himself unable to rise from the bench, he cursed again and again until he struck the wood and ripped it with the strength of his fist. He hated feeling weak and vulnerable but that was exactly what he felt. He was a helpless paralytic. The accident not only prostrated him in a wheelchair but turned him into a half-man incapable of defending the woman he loved.

  “Or what Blackman?” He provoked him with no mercy while holding him by his armpits, helping him sit in the wheelchair.

  “Forget about me. Go to someone else who values your tortures.”

  “You pay more.”

  “Fuck you, I'm prostrate in this damn chair and I'll never be able to leave it. I'm not half the man I was, so go to hell....” Reed's painful voice made a dent in his assistant, but he didn't prove it.

  “You mean that you give up.”

  “Raymond, what are you trying to do... kill me at once and free me from your damn company.”

  “Admit that you care about her. She can teach you how to live.”

  “No one can do it...”

  “You refuse any cure.”

  “Do you think that if I could have her by my side, I wouldn't have her? “

  “Then do it, you fucking stubborn. Fight. You're not a coward.”

  Reed settled into the chair as Raymond pushed him into the rehab room.

  A coward? Fight? And for what? To tie her to a wheelchair and a man who would never be complete? No, I loved her too much to do anything so mean to her, and then there was Falconi and his perpetual hate... no, being together was impossible. The conficted man shook his head trying to eradicate such thoughts from his mind. Just imagining his only love between life and death as the poor Olivia was, upset him to the point of despair. She was the only woman he had fallen in love with and he was sure she would be the only one in his life, he would give everything for her, including a despicable indifference he did not feel.

  “Well, I think the next time I see her, I'll throw a couple of hooks at her.”

  “Do as you please.”

  “Are you really giving her away to me?”

  “It's no longer mine.”

  Raymond snorted in annoyance. His hard assistant tactic used to work but Blackman was turning out to be a tough nut to crack.

  “Ok, but first stand up," he said leaning on the back of the chair as he stopped pushing the chair down the aisle.

  Reed opened his eyes stunned and unable to believe what he heard. His assistant was also an idiot.

  “And how am I supposed to do that? He replied with his classic sarcasm.”

  “If you look instead of grumbling, you would see that you have crutches at the reach of your hands. Today begins your therapy, enter your body, dominate the disease and get your victory. You have a possibility that others don't have, don't waste it.”

  “You're crazy...”

  “Blackman, I want to see your legs get tired, I want your muscles to wake up sore, I need you to work beyond your limits.”

  “My legs are dry...” he grumbled angrily.

  “Your brain is the one that’s dry! The doctors have written it in your report, you have a good chance of walking again, try it.”

  “Barely a twenty percent of possibility...”

  “It's much more than others will ever have. Life, God, luck or whatever the fuck you believe in have given you hope, don't be so selfish as not to take advantage of it.”

  “Another opportunity?”

  He smiles with cynicism, clearly thinking of Olivia. The poor woman thought that she had found the love of her life and the only thing she found was death in her bed. He should never have given her hope, but damn it, he was so devastated by Anne's departure that he only looked for a little heat besides the whisky.

  “Come on, try it,” Raymond spoke hopefully.

  “I told you I don't want to be here.”

  “That baby needs you,” the attendant appealed to his feeling of being a future father, but only managed to make him more angry.

  “He's not a baby, he hasn't been born yet and who knows if he will someday,” a thick cloud of bitterness and guilt envelops and despairs him.

  “I should never have done it... That child should not suffer my mistakes. He hasn't been born yet and already has to carry with an asshole father.”

  “It's too late to be sorry, now he's on his way and he needs you. You must protect him, he only counts on you. Don't let yourself be defeated...” Raymond begged fondly. “I'll drop you at the door so you can see Dr. Martinez who's doing your wife's ultrasound. When you're done, I'll take you to the gym and we'll start training.”

  “You bastard torturer nigger, I won't go,” he tried to provoke him but Raymond continued walking as if nothing had happened.

  “We'll see about that, and by the way, did I tell you how much I like to be called nigger? I don't know, I think it makes me look more seductive, don't you think?” He laughed out loud and hummed to the rhythm of his body as he walked away.

  “♪♫ look inside myself

  And see my heart is black

  No colors anymore

  I want them to turn black

  Maybe then I'll fade away

  And not have to face the facts

  It's not easy facing up

  When your whole world is black ♪♫♬”

  “Fucking bastard, I'll never get rid of him.”

  Reed smiled sideways without thinking. If it wasn't for the disgusting situation he was in, he was sure that Raymond and him would be very, very, very good friends.

  “Mr. Blackman, you're just in time.”

  The doctor opens the door as she pushes him on the wheelchair into the room without asking him if he wanted to or not.

  Reed takes a deep breath and passes his hand over his head in front of the sad image. Olivia, with her bulging belly, is hooked on a machine that breathes for her. Could there be a sadder ima
ge and a guiltier man? He should have protected her, but the rage blinded him. He only sought revenge without caring about anyone's feelings, and the woman with her child in her womb was the palpable reality of his complete selfishness.

  “Is he still alive?”

  The question alone turned his guts upside down. He never thought of being a father, much less in such circumstances.

  “Doctors are optimists. The baby is miraculously in perfect condition and we believe that if there are no changes, we will be able to perform the cessation in a few days.”

  “I thought they would wait a little longer.”

  “It's the 30th week.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “It means we can take it out and put it in an incubator. There, we will keep it protected. The incubator itself is not a treatment; it's just a way for your baby to be protected from the outside. The lack of maturity of the lungs, alterations in the thermoregulation system, bone fragility, weak muscle tone, deficit of neurosensory and cognitive development, or other inconveniences, we will have to see them as we go along, but for the moment we will bring him to life.

  “You’re telling me that he will be anything but a healthy baby...”

  “No, Mr. Blackman! You misunderstood me. Premature babies do not necessarily have to suffer any of these alterations. I just said it for your information. Your baby seems to be in perfect condition and we believe he has a high percentage of success.”

  “Another percentage...”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing important," he said as he squeezed his forehead, feeling sick of life.

  “Mr. Blackman, we must begin with the authorization papers.”

  “Papers?”

  “To remove the baby.”

  “Can't we wait?”

  “We could, but Mrs. Blackman has had two seizures tonight and it's not safe for the baby. If her body stops responding, the child will have no chance. We need your permission to remove him as soon as he is thirty weeks old.”

  “To authorize, to extract... you speak as if it were a decayed tooth.”

  “Mr. Blackman, I didn't want to...” The doctor spoke with regret.