Past Heaven

by Laura Ward

  The audience clapped as Jack spoke. Looking around the room, I watched the familiar faces of colleagues and friends. This was one of the things Jack did best. He captivated the room with his vigor and warmth. Sitting on the edge of their seats, people waited to hear if Jack mentioned their name for something they had done to help the agency.

  That was my husband. He would walk the floors of his office building every day, supporting, encouraging, and reinforcing the work of every staff member—from the janitorial staff to his head of development. Jack wanted everyone he worked with to know they were appreciated and loved. And they did—and they loved him back—with a fierce loyalty that never failed to surprise and please me.

  At tonight’s event, awards would be handed out and individuals recognized. However, what each person in the room was most excited about would take place in eight short days. Jack, as well as many other dedicated people, had worked to close the last state-run institution for people with disabilities. He had dedicated his career to ending those jail-like conditions. The individuals with intellectual or physical disabilities currently residing there would be moved next week into alternative living units with support staff to help care for their needs.

  I shook my head, picturing Jack’s face when the Caldwell Center would officially close. He might do something crazy like take a few days off work.

  I would love to spoil him for a while. I imagined cooking him his favorite meals, watching his favorite sci-fi movies with him, playing with our boys, and having fun. He had been working hard for so long. My daydream was cut short by yelling in the back of the room, and I jerked around.

  “Move! Fuckin’ move! Get the fuck out of my way!” A wild, disheveled-looking man, who looked like he was in his seventies, pushed a woman in a wheelchair quickly down the center aisle.

  Immediately, butterflies rioted in my stomach. I leaned forward in my chair, trying to make eye contact with Jack. Something felt wrong.

  The man had combed his greasy hair sideways over his bald spot. He had a large pot belly, causing his tight flannel shirt to gape open at the button holes. His eyes bulged out, and his mouth hung open as he gasped for air. He hadn’t shaved in a while, and he had prominent dark circles under his eyes.

  One of the staff members walked up to intervene, but Jack waved him off. I caught Jack’s attention. He shook his head to me and moved closer to the approaching man. The woman in the wheelchair was slumped over and wearing dingy pajamas. Her short hair was sticking up, and her mouth hung slack as she drooled.

  The man stopped directly in front of Jack and pointed a shaking finger at my husband. Jack appeared calm and in control. I looked between the two a couple of times. Did Jack know this man? Why didn’t he seem the least bit unnerved?

  “You. You, Jack Atwater. You’ve done this. This is all your fault, you asshole.” The man spit as he spoke, enraged.

  Jack closed his eyes briefly before meeting the man with a firm gaze. “Mr. Wells, this isn’t the time or the place for this conversation. Let’s go into the hall where I’ll be happy to talk to you.”

  Mr. Wells? I had heard that name. My mind raced, trying to place it. Shit. His daughter was a resident at the Caldwell Center. On several occasions, Jack had shared with me how this man had protested the closure. No amount of reassurance about the moving process helped. Mr. Wells was adamant that his daughter could not leave Caldwell.

  Part of me felt compassion for him. His daughter had lived there her whole life. Change was hard, particularly for a man in his seventies, but Jack and the Warren agency wouldn’t let anyone suffer. The agency was ready for this transition and would successfully help everyone along the way.

  “I’m not talking to you in the fucking lobby!” Wells screamed. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a handgun. Screams echoed through the room and chaos ensued. I swiveled in my seat, my eyes darting around the room.

  Run, Jack. Run away. Run, honey. Right now, run. These thoughts were on a continuous loop in my brain as I watched Jack. He put his hands up in surrender.

  “Everybody, get outta here!” Wells roared, keeping his gun pointed at Jack.

  My eyes searched the room like a wild woman, pleading without words for someone to intervene. People crouched low and fled the ballroom, whispering into their cellphones, frantically informing 911 operators of the situation.

  I spotted the long table holding the projection equipment off to the side of the room. While Wells focused on Jack and the exiting mass of terrified people, I slid behind the table, hidden from sight. I crawled on my hands and feet to the end of the table and knelt on the ground, peeking around in order to see what was happening. There was no way I was leaving Jack behind.

  Across the room, three large men edged along the wall toward Jack and Wells. Thank God! They were going to ambush him! Just then, Wells saw them and pulled the safety off his gun.

  “I’ll do it, right now. Test me. I have nothin’ to lose,” Wells barked out like a crazed animal.

  The men halted. Jack looked at them and shook his head. “Go.” Jack urged them to leave, motioning with his head. “I can handle this. Make sure everyone gets out safely.”

  The men walked backward out of the room with furrowed brows and drawn mouths.

  “Calm down, Mr. Wells, please.” Jack’s voice remained steady.

  Wells followed the path of the men, keeping his eyes and his gun on Jack. When he reached the door, he bolted it shut.

  “No! You can’t tell me to calm down!” He hurried back up the aisle, stopping before he got to Jack. “Stop what you’re doing. Leave Caldwell alone. It’s the only home she’s ever known. You can’t take it from her, you asshole.” Wells shook his gun in Jack’s face. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

  “I can’t do that. It’s happening. Let us help you and Amanda. I promise, she’ll be fine. You’ll both be. You have my word on it.” Jack moved closer to the man, and I bit my tongue to keep from yelling out loud.

  The veins on Wells’ neck bulged and pulsed, as he flung his gun around haphazardly. “Your word? Your word means nothing to me. I won’t take care of her now. Amanda won’t be happy in an apartment with a roommate she doesn’t know, and I won’t be left taking care of her. I’m too old…I…I… don’t know how.” The tension and terror in the room escalated like the crescendo in a symphony piece. “This is on you, Jack. This is all your doing! You’ve given me no other way to protect her.” Wells leveled his gaze on my husband. God, no. Before I had a chance to react, he turned his gun onto Amanda. No!

  Jack screamed at the top of his lungs, “Stop!” Throwing himself onto Wells, he easily overpowered him, but he couldn’t pry the gun from Well’s grip. I shrieked as I helplessly watched my husband try to subdue a lunatic with a gun.

  I had to do something. I stood as the shot rang out. At first, it sounded like a firecracker had exploded next to me. I stumbled backward. The chemical smell of gunpowder filled my nostrils.

  My mind stilled as shock consumed my body, heavy and cold as if I were held under icy water. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see, but then, my vision slowly returned. Everything around me moved in slow motion. Wells stood with his gun in his hand. Jack was still alive but his arm was hemorrhaging. The locked door in the back of the room shook.

  “JACK!” I cried his name, and he met my eyes. We stared at one another, and I saw the dawning of understanding. Jack knew the worst was yet to come. I silently begged Jack to stop this. I wanted to holler out that he was ours! He was the father of my children. He was my husband, my partner, and my very best friend. He didn’t belong to the agency, and he sure as hell didn’t belong to the cause. He was mine. I wanted Jack to know that, believe that, and save himself.

  I watched the sorrow in his loving eyes, imploring me for forgiveness, and then he turned to face Wells.

  Wells lifted the gun to Jack’s head with a rattling hand. “You ruined my life. This is the only solution, you asshole.”

  Filled
with fear and frozen in my spot, I watched him as he pulled the trigger. I covered my ears, and my knees buckled. Deafening silence filled the room.

  “NO! NO! NO!” I scrambled to Jack as the door burst open and several men tackled Wells to the ground next to me.

  Nothing more could be done.

  They were too late.

  Jack was shot.

  Jack was dead.

  My Jack was dead.

  I lifted his head into my arms and watched the life fade from his eyes. His blood poured from the wound and blanketed me. This was the last of his warmth I would ever feel.

  I kissed his lips and whispered the saying we had used on our most sacred occasions. The night we had told each other we were in love, the evening of our engagement, the day of our wedding, on each anniversary, and on the births of our children. “Past heaven.”

  Our love is past heaven, Jack Atwater.

  9 months later

  “REYNOLDS, WE NEED to talk.” The message my manager, Paul, left was succinct. Strange, because that loser was a total blow hard. I had never known him to not drone on for as long as possible, most likely trying to justify the ludicrous salary I paid him.

  The streets of Hollywood moved past my window in a blur and the bright August sun seeped into my skin. I was too tired to call him back. This had been a ridiculously busy summer and I felt burned out. Now, after working out for a couple of hours, I needed a hot shower, a protein shake, and some sleep. We had VIP tickets to the biggest movie premiere of the summer tonight, and the after-party was rumored to be ‘badass’—which, of course, meant Kylie would want to party well into the night.

  I was getting too old for this shit.

  The driver pulled up to the gate of my home and entered the security code. We wound up the long driveway, and I grimaced when the white monstrosity came into view. I shouldn’t have let Kylie pick the house while I had been filming in Rome. I had hoped she would take into consideration my only request—that the house be on land where I could keep a horse. I swore the woman had told our realtor to pick the most outlandishly expensive Hollywood Hills property on the market. One that, coincidentally, would not allow for horses.

  Walking through the white marble foyer, our housekeeper, Maria, whimpered and scurried away. Why the hell was she running away from me? I hadn’t spoken to her that morning, but I hadn’t been a dick, either. I lifted my arm and took a sniff. I stank and needed a shower. I dropped my gym bag on the floor and headed to the bathroom, but stopped when I caught a glimpse of Kylie from the corner of my eye.

  Standing in the all-white living room, Kylie stared out at the infinity pool and the view of the Pacific Ocean. She looked sinful. That woman was sex personified. Five foot ten inches of legs, legs, legs. She was waif-thin—not my preference sexually but necessary for movie roles. I wasn’t sure I had ever shared an actual meal with her. She would count the olives in her martini as food. I never had the inclination or energy to argue with her about it. We drank plenty together, but the woman didn’t eat. Ever.

  Our relationship had started out based on sex, status, and more sex. We had a fast and intense affair. Meaning, we fought all the blessed time followed by mind-blowing make-up sex. Recently, we had talked about getting married. Well, Kylie had talked about it, and I had been painfully aware that I was getting old. It was time. I loved her, and she loved me.

  At least, I thought so.

  “Kylie, you okay?” Approaching her for a kiss crossed my mind, but I knew better than to get too close to her before my shower. I’d gotten my ass chewed out for that before and had learned her kiss was never worth suffering through her nagging. She turned around slowly, her eyes red and puffy. “What’s wrong, doll?”

  “Oh, Rey Rey. I need to talk to you.” She blew out a long breath and wrung her hands in front of her. Kylie was a fairly detached person. I had never seen much emotion coming from her unless she was working on a scene. Damn. She was about to have some sort of a meltdown and that meant no protein shake, no shower, and no nap for me.

  “TMZ has a story out, and I need you to hear about it from me.” She nervously smoothed her red dress down as she approached me, but first, she stopped to pick up her martini glass from the side table. She took a long drink, avoiding the olive—too early for lunch.

  “Okay.” I rubbed my face and let out a deep sigh. TMZ stories were rarely good. “What is it?” Kylie took a second gulp of her cocktail. She was hitting the Goose hard. Whatever was making her day-drink had to be bad.

  She swallowed her vodka and gently put her glass down, taking her sweet time to answer the question. “You know Quinny and I got close on the movie set, right?” She ran her fingers along the rim of her martini while my stomach did a somersault, and my mouth went dry.

  The mention of his name, TMZ, and we got close was like a kick in the balls. Quinn Rogers, young, built, and a total prick. Yeah, I knew him.

  “Well, we slept together.” My eyes widened and my jaw dropped open. Her voice was whisper soft as she plunged the knife into my heart. “A few times.” She pressed her fingers to her lips and closed her eyes briefly.

  “Mother fucker.” My hands fisted, as I tried to resist punching a hole in the wall. I narrowed my eyes and shook my head. Had I heard correctly? She slept with someone else? She fucked that douche?

  “Rey, Rey, please. It meant less than nothing. Seriously. You’re the only man for me. I love you so much.” No longer whispering her sin, she spoke in an emotion-choked voice, as she pleaded. She bit her lip and her big blue eyes moved rapidly, watching, waiting for my reaction.

  I jumped up and paced the room. “Aww, fuck no.” I stopped and glared at her. “You did not sleep with Quinn Rogers! What the hell, Kylie?” I closed the gap and a shot of fear crossed her eyes. “Look around, sweetheart. You’re living with me. ME! What the fuck got into you? Wait, don’t say anything. I know the answer, goddammit.” I wasn’t a fucking nobody. I was one of the biggest actors in Hollywood. Why in the world would she want him when she had me?

  She reached out and grabbed my hand, but I pulled it away from her grasp. “It wasn’t my fault!” Anguish filled her eyes and her voice cracked. “He seduced me! I didn’t know what was happening!” She bit her thumbnail while hugging her body.

  “Didn’t know what was happening,” I mumbled under my breath. Did she think I was dumb? Quinn had a reputation with women, but Kylie was no innocent soul. She would never have been tricked into something she didn’t want. She could make a porn star blush. She was not Quinn’s victim.

  Tears welled in her eyes. “Rey Rey—”

  “Are you out of your mind?” I roared. The dam broke, and she sobbed, begging me to forgive her. “You jeopardized this.” I stalked toward her, pointing from her to me. “Us? For that loser? You wanted to get married! What’s wrong with you?” My blood boiled, and my face burned with heat.

  “Please, Rey Rey. Please forgive me. You have to believe me. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t mean it. I love you. I do want to marry you.” She clung to my forearms as tears ran down her face. I pulled her hands off me and paced in a circle, my hands folded on top of my head.

  Forgive her? Rage coursed through my veins. She couldn’t do this. No. I wiped my face with my hands and leaned into her with fire in my eyes. I wanted to hurt her. “Was he good, Kylie? Was it worth it?” I pulled at my hair and growled. I couldn’t look at her for one more second. She disgusted me. “Get the fuck out.”

  Kylie reached out, trying to touch me again, but I stepped back, out of her reach. A spark of anger flashed in her eyes before she wailed. “No! Don’t say that. No, it was horrible. You…you’re the best. The only one that should ever touch me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Her voice softened, and became more remorseful. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Don’t end this, Rey Rey. Don’t do it. We’re too perfect together.” She wiped at her eyes, smearing large clumps of mascara.

  I stalked to the front door and opened it wid
e. She needed to leave. She needed to stop talking. I couldn’t hear any more of her lies. I gripped the door so tightly my knuckles became white like everything else in this goddamn house. “Get out of my house. We’re done.” My voice was scary flat—serial-killer-about-to-go-on-a-rampage flat.

  Her jaw dropped open, and then she froze. I caught a glimpse of annoyance in her eyes. She was in fucking character again and couldn’t believe she hadn’t convinced me of her innocence. Bullshit. Tears flowed down her cheeks. As she spoke, something inside of me had died. She wasn’t worth my time. I just didn’t care anymore.

  The public nature of her betrayal was another story. I was devastated about that, but I would never let her know. I took my cue from Kylie and remembered who I really was—an actor, and I would act my way out of this.

  She ran to me and grabbed my arm. I pulled back and took one final look at her. Even with mascara streaks down her face and the look of shame in her eyes, she was cover model gorgeous. She was dressed as if she expected TMZ with cameras right outside our door. Her cosmetically-injected lips curled in heated fury. Long brown hair hung wild around her face, and her hands shook. Buckle up. A hostile Kylie was a sight to be seen. “You know what?” She yelled in my face. “You’re right. We are done. What did you expect? This is a total shock to you? Look at me and look at you. You think you’re hot shit? You’re fucking old. We helped each other’s careers. I kept you relevant. Now I need someone who can take me places. Get a clue, Rey Rey. This is how Hollywood works.”

  I flinched from the harsh reality of her words and then ripped my arm from her grasp. Looking from her stiletto heels all the way up to her flushed face, my words were ice cold. “Maria will pack your shit. Don’t come back here again.” I slammed the door after her.

  Walking back into my living room, I grabbed a perfect white pillow, from my perfect white couch, and threw it at my perfect white wall. Fuck white. Fuck fake. Fuck Kylie.