They were gone.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Fed
I lied. I lied to all of you. I’m so sorry. Please don’t hate me.
She’d been standing on her tiptoes for an eternity, slowly feeling the blood leaving her body, taking whatever shreds of humanity she had along with it. The only thing keeping her knees from buckling was the knowledge that if she allowed herself to sag, the pain in her arms and wrists would be even greater than all the other parts of her that hurt.
Caroline remembered learning about the practicalities of crucifixion in parochial school. How they broke Jesus’ legs to force him to sag on the cross and suffocate. What a terrible, awful lesson that was. She choked out a bitter laugh.
You’re no Christ figure, Gerard. Try again.
She was ready. She recited every prayer she could remember. She begged God for mercy. She wondered if she was good enough to get into heaven. She questioned every policy position. Every press conference. Every statement she ever made on the House floor. Every bit of fluff she recited at campaign rallies. Every conversation she had with God while kneeling in the pew before Mass every Sunday. And she knew that God knew she was a liar and always had been.
I’m so sorry. I should have tried harder. I should have done more.
Her parochial school prayers came rushing back to her. Kyrie eleison, christe eleison, kyrie eleison. Every Mystery of the Rosary she could still recall. The Memorare. Once, twice, ten, twenty, thirty times. There were no tears anymore; she had none left. She had given her spirit to God and He wouldn’t take her. She knew that everyone she had loved and lost would be waiting for her in a heaven she didn’t deserve.
She imagined Tom laying in the snow, Jess beside him, the guns now useless in their frozen hands. Christine nearby, looking graceful even in death. Marguerite in her puffy blue coat and Marquette scarf, red spilling out over the bright white on the ground. Sophie with her mother’s beloved hippo wrapped in her arms, her face pale and cold to match the winter’s night.
Jack’s body, riddled with bullets, face down in the woods.
I killed them. I killed all of them.
Bob. Ellie. Katie. Jenny.
This is my punishment. This is my fault. I’m not good enough. I didn’t do enough. I didn’t stop this.
She’d let her friends suffer for her. Die for her. And she had done nothing to prevent it from happening. Sorrow turned to regret to guilt. Perpetual, overwhelming guilt. Guilt over her bad decisions, guilt for abandoning her children, guilt over the agony she caused Jenny and Ellie, guilt for wishing that she could have had a quick bullet to the head like them.
She was a fiend, a charlatan, a leviathan of hypocrisy. Monstrosities like her deserved to suffer. She’d been so stupid to believe in hope. Hope was an excuse to be weak, to hold onto things that were never really there. Better to know the score, accept it was over. Jenny figured that out. She made her peace. But Caroline held on, never really wanting to believe that there was nothing left. Would she be in a different position if she accepted the truth? Maybe her family would still be alive if she never believed to begin with.
She said the prayer out loud this time, even though her voice was almost gone. Maybe God or his mother would hear her better that way.
“Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary,
That never was it known that anyone who fled to your protection,
Implored your help, or sought your intercession,
Was left unaided.
Inspired with this confidence,
I fly to you, O Virgin of virgins, my Mother.
To you I come, before you I stand, sinful and sorrowful.
O Mother of the Word Incarnate,
Despise not my petitions,
But in your mercy, hear and answer me.”
Caroline still refused to give in to her interrogators but had no qualms about begging mercy from above.
“Our Lady, help me,” she whispered.
She felt herself slipping into darkness, and this time she welcomed it.
Chapter Forty
The Fed
The two men entered the cell, wheeling a gurney. One of them had a syringe concealed in his left chest pocket. He’d been practicing how to hide it, how to avoid the camera that constantly pointed at certain angles in the room. He knew the blind spots. He hoped he wouldn’t fuck this up.
He lost track of what he was doing for a moment and the gurney bumped the man in front of him.
“What the fuck, man?” The other man’s voice was angry. “That was my dick. Jesus.”
“The fuck it was. Not unless your dick is about a foot long.”
The second man gave him a lopsided grin. “You jealous?”
“Oh, fuck you, Jones,” the first man said, his voice low. “Stop being a goddamn comedian. And keep it down. I don’t think those cameras are on but try not to make yourself so obvious.”
“Alright, alright. Calm down, Saint Gabriel. Let’s do this.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why? It’s your name.”
“I’m no saint. And neither are you.”
“We are tonight.” Jones caught a glimpse of the woman hanging from the ceiling. “Fucking Christ. What in the ever loving fuck?”
A gruesome scene, to be sure. “Just leave that gurney here and come help me. You know what kind of shit goes down in this place. You’ve been here long enough. Don’t act so surprised.”
“She’s a woman, man. A good one too. She doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. Jesus.”
“Be quiet,” Gabe whispered. “Help me.”
The two men stood on either side of the woman. “Ma’am,” Gabe said. “Can you hear me?” He put two fingers to her neck, turning to Jones. “Her pulse is slow but she’s still alive.”
“Holy fuck, really? Look at all that blood. Christ.”
“For God’s sake, Jonesie. I know you’re focusing on your giant dick but you really need to learn to expand your vocabulary.”
The woman let out a soft moan, and Gabe leaned in closer. “Ma’am, can you hear me? We’re here to help you.”
She opened her eyes. They were glassy. Her eyelids started to droop until they were barely open. He had no idea if she could really see him, and tried to make himself look as unintimidating as possible. Gabe put his hand on her shoulder, one of the few spots on her upper body that wasn’t drenched in blood, and felt her flinch ever so slightly.
“We’re here to help you,” he whispered. “I’m going to need you to hold very still. I’m going to give you something to lower your heart rate so we can get you out of here. Understand? Blink once if you do.”
She very slowly blinked her eyes.
“Okay, good,” he said softly. “I need you to trust me, alright?”
Jones was on her other side. “What do you need me to do?”
“Move over by me. Try to put yourself between her and the camera, just in case. Start cutting her down. Do it, but don’t cut it all the way yet.”
Jones grumbled, pulling out a small pocketknife. He was still surprised his employers let him take a weapon to work with him. But since they all had guns and other unpleasant implements of destruction, he assumed they thought his three inch blade was pretty benign. And he did have to use it every once in a while. For less than pleasant things. Working in the morgue was a bitch.
Once Jones was in place, Gabe removed the syringe from his chest pocket and injected it into her neck. “I hope this works,” he whispered.
“If it doesn’t, she’s gonna die anyway, whether that does it or something else. She’s gonna bleed to death if we don’t get her out of here soon. Look at that cut across her stomach. Can Crunch fix that?”
“I sure as hell hope so.”
“Anyway, no matter what happens you don’t have to feel all that guilty.”
“Just shut up and cut her down.”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, man. I don’t want her to die either.”<
br />
Gabe held the woman steady as Jones cut the ropes. Her eyes were now shut, her head lolling to the side. Gabe wanted to take off his shirt to cover her up but didn’t want anyone to suspect anything. Political prisoners were shit, and they had to be treated that way whether they were alive or not. There was no dignity for the dead.
Gabe and Jones laid her on the gurney inside the black bag. Gabe brought his fingers to her neck again, feeling a very weak pulse, almost unnoticeable. But if the drugs had done their job, the untrained monkeys he and Jonesie worked with in the morgue wouldn’t be able to detect it. He might have pushed her over the edge, taking her last moments of life with the drugs, but he hoped not. Merely a low dose of Propofol, enough to keep her from regaining consciousness as they wheeled her down the hall.
Gabe looked down at the woman’s face. He remembered what she used to look like. She’d been cute. Not drop dead gorgeous, but attractive nonetheless. Whenever he’d seen her on television or in pictures she wore a huge smile. It was hard for him to see what she looked like now.
“They fucked her up pretty good, didn’t they?” Jones said, helping him zip up the bag.
Gabe tried to contain the fury he felt. “They sure fucking did.” He hoped she didn’t realize what was happening. “Come on, let’s get her down to the morgue. Crunch should be waiting.”
Jones repositioned himself behind the gurney. “If we don’t pull this off, it’s been nice knowing ya.”
Gabe thought their plan was crazy enough to work, but he appreciated the sentiment. There was still a strong possibility that shit would go down. “You too, Jonesie.”
They started wheeling the gurney out the door and down the hall, hoping that it wasn’t going to be the last thing they ever did. It was going to be a long night.
End of Part Two
Caroline’s journey continues in Sojourn, which released December 7, 2015. The fourth book, Phoenix, will release in April 2016, with the final two books (Rhapsody and Triumph) to follow by the end of the year.
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Sojourn is available at all major outlets, and can be found on Goodreads as well.
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/26497658-sojourn
Acknowledgments
My apologies, as some of these thank yous will be repeated at the end of every novel. What can I say? I’m a gusher.
I must first extend my profound thanks and deepest appreciation for the many bloggers who took a chance on Dissident and have praised it and pimped it out because of their devotion to Caroline and Jack. Some of them are listed below. I hope I haven’t left anyone out. If I did, it is not an intentional oversight. Please give these bloggers some love. They deserve it.
Genre Queen
Beauty and the Beastly Books
Tome Tender
Slut Sistas
Chick Lit Plus
StarAngels Reviews
#TheBookNerdLife
Wicked Women Book Blog
Book Banshee
Beverages and Books/Rakes of Romance
Also, thank you to the other bloggers and readers who have shared links, granted reviews and promo posts, and helped a new author make her way and adjust into the world of romance. I am so grateful to you and am glad you are continuing on this journey with me.
I’d like to thank all of my beta readers, though some of them do not wish to be named. To Deanna, thank you for being my confidant. I know I can run things by you and you won’t laugh. Or, if you do laugh, you’ll stop after several minutes. And if you don’t stop, then you at least feel guilty about it afterward.
Carol, Kim, Tesrin, and Elizabeth…thank you for being part of my tiny little “hey, maybe you should have a street team!” posse. I heart you all so hard.
To Terri Thomas, reviewer extraordinaire at Goodreads and My Book Boyfriend, thank you for your blunt honesty and wonderful feedback. I keep giving you titles – beta reader, Goodreads librarian, marketing advisor. Maybe after a few more books I can throw some more at you.
To Mandi Rei Serra, also known as the Snarky Wench from Snarky Wench Book Reviews, thank you for your insight. And for that great promo video. And for coining the phrase #ElevatorGate. Let’s get that trending on Twitter, all right?
To Melissa Brown and Lila Monroe, thanks for your encouragement and support. Now get back to writing your own stuff!
I must also extend my warmest personal regards to author Scarlett Parrish, who educated me on the proper use of the words douchecock and twatfucker. I am in your debt. Please teach me more naughty words to add to my vernacular.
And to you, the readers and fans. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. You may not always get the answers you want to the questions you have, but I promise it will be worth it in the end. I am humbled by your very existence.
If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review, and tell your friends! Word of mouth takes indie authors a long way. You can catch up with me at the following locations if you want to keep up with what’s going on with release dates, contests, and other fun stuff.
Facebook: http://bit.ly/CLondon
Personal page: http://on.fb.me/1ol15TL
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Email: [email protected]
Sojourn
Part Three in the
Bellator Saga
Cecilia London
© 2015, Cecilia London/Principatum Publishing
[email protected]
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher, with the exception of excerpts for reviews and blog postings.
This book contains quotes taken from The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, a work in the public domain.
Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.
Kahlil Gibran
Chapter One
The Safe House
The wooden stairs creaked under the feet of three men. And a woman who wasn’t conscious but added to the weight. Gabe hadn’t bothered repairing the stairs when he inherited the house from his grandmother. Perhaps he should have. He had no idea they’d be getting so much use over the past few months.
The basement was dark and what little light that normally came in through the windows had vanished. Gabe led the way with Jones in the middle and Crunch taking up the rear.
Crunch flicked the switch up and down but nothing happened. “Why the fuck aren’t the lights working?” he asked.
“Rolling blackout again.” Gabe steadied himself and the other men came up short. “Gonna have to make do, buddy.”
Crunch flicked the switch once more for good measure. “Fucking Christ.”
“Guys, less talk, more movement, all right?” Jones sounded impatient. “The lady ain’t too heavy but she ain’t dainty.
And she’s wrecking my nice white shirt.”
Gabe started moving around again, searching for his flashlight. He turned it on and they were no longer blanketed in darkness. “They’re five bucks for a pack of three at the drugstore down the street,” he said. “Get over it.”
They’d planned ahead, though it had been done with haste…planned this for over a week. A rapidly plotted plan with a million to one shot, and it appeared to have succeeded. They reached the bottom of the stairs and Jones laid the woman down on the hospital bed, removing the sheet that was wrapped around her. The bed and medical supplies occupied one corner of the basement with Crunch’s makeshift bedroom in a small alcove adjacent to the washer and dryer.
Jones took off his bloody shirt and wiped a clean portion of it across his brow before moving over to the sink to wash his hands. “I can’t believe that shit worked.”
Gabe lit one of the lanterns near the bed. “We’re never going to talk about it again. Understand?”
“Fuck, this is a lot of blood.” Jones lathered up, tipping his head at Gabe as he scrubbed. “You think she’s not gonna want some answers if she wakes up?”
“When she wakes up,” Gabe corrected.
Crunch stood next to the bed, taking in the condition of the woman lying there. “This is bad, guys. I can’t-”
“You can,” Gabe said. “She’s barely bleeding anymore. She’ll be sedated for at least another hour.”
“But it’s so – that’s a very large wound. Jesus, Gabe. I’m not a fucking surgeon. It’s so deep. And long.”
The Bellator Saga: The First Trilogy (Dissident, Conscience, and Sojourn) Page 65
