by Brenda Hill
Terry had just taken me into his arms when the door opened.
“What a touching scene,” Rick said. His lips curled, but his eyes held something more than his usual arrogance. Something cold and terrifying and empty that could only be described as madness.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Rick!” He couldn’t be real, couldn’t be standing in our apartment in the middle of the day.
Terry stepped in front of me, shielding my body with his.
“Run for the door when you can,” he told me under his breath. Then, as if it were not in the least bit extraordinary for a madman to burst into his living room, he said quite calmly, “What can I do for you, Rick?”
Rick kicked the door shut.
“You’ve already done enough, old man.” Slurring his words, he went on. “You cost me my job, and you sent that punk to kill me. Now I’m going to return the favor.” Pushing back the right side of his jacket, he took a gun from a black leather holster.
I recognized it from the self-defense shop, an Advanced Taser with so much power that it incapacitated faster than a 9mm handgun.
“If you’re going to show that off,” Terry said, his voice still perfectly composed. “I certainly hope for your sake that you’re prepared to use it.”
Rick flushed. “I’m fully prepared, old man.”
Terry folded his arms across his chest. “I kicked your ass once. Don’t think for a moment I won’t do it again.”
Rick stared at him, as if his alcohol-muddled mind were trying to process the words. "You cocky old bastard," he finally said. "I oughta make you eat your fucking teeth.”
"If you think you're man enough to try, let’s take it outside and settle it the old-fashioned way."
There was absolute silence for a moment. Then Rick’s eyes connected with mine and he grinned that stupid smirk of his. "Nah. I think I'd rather settle it right here.”
Desperately wishing I had Mac’s pistol, I thought of running for the door, but that left Terry. He might be my hero, but no one can argue with a gun. My stun gun! Where was my handbag? There, by the end table where I had dropped it. Could I get to it in time?
“Lisa,” Terry said, his eyes still on Rick, “go outside. Now.”
Rick turned the gun to me. “Don’t you fuckin’ move.” Then everything seemed to happen at once: Terry, with reflexes honed from years of hauling equipment with the fire department, made a lunge and tackled Rick around his legs, knocking him off balance. They crashed to the floor and the gun flew out of Rick’s hands. I made a dash to grab it, but in that tiny living room, they rolled over it. For one split second I waited, watching for a chance to grab the weapon. Terry struggled to keep Rick’s hands away from the gun, but even in his drunken condition, Rick had years on Terry. They struck sickening blows upon each other, and I could tell Terry was weakening.
“Go!” he yelled at me, struggling to subdue Rick’s hands. “Get out of here!”
Instead of running outside, I ran for my handbag and my Taser and stood, frustrated, trying to get a clear shot at Rick. In just an instant, Rick managed to close his hand around his gun, and before I could react, he pulled the trigger. As if time had slowed, I watched the two darts, connected with a wire to the Taser, hit Terry directly in the chest and stomach, discharging a massive amount of electricity into his body. Stiffening, he collapsed. Rick pushed him off and Terry lay on his back, still as death.
“Noooo!” I cried. I pulled the trigger at Rick and saw him crumple. Dropping beside Terry, I cradled his head in my arms. He struggled to stay conscious, but his gaze was unfocused, his breathing shallow. He couldn’t die; I would let him!
“Look at me, sweetheart, keep your eyes on me. I’ll get help.” Caressing his face, I placed my cheek next to his. He had to know I was there.
“Isn’t that touching,” Rick said, the sneer evident in his voice.
Moaning, his face so pale I could see the blue veins under his skin, Terry clutched his chest and stiffened as if a giant spasm were coursing through his body. Then he went slack.
Oh God, oh God! What could I do? Why hadn’t I learned CPR? I grabbed his wrist and felt for a pulse. Please God, please God. Finally, I felt a beat, very faint, but he was alive!
Gently placing his head on the carpet, I ran for the phone to call the paramedics. Suddenly, I was jerked to an abrupt halt when Rick grabbed a handful of hair. Burning pain in my scalp took me to my knees. I tried to pull my hair from his hand, but he had too firm a grasp.
“Now let’s see if you can ignore me.” He yanked harder and tears sprang. I kept trying to work free.
“I want some of what you’re giving that asshole.” He yanked my head into his crotch and I caught the smell of his unwashed body.
No, no, no! I had to think of something. I had to get Terry to the hospital. What could I do? My Taser was across the room, no longer an option. Besides, without steady pressure on the trigger, it had only dropped Rick for a few minutes. Think, Lisa! My only hope was Mac’s .45 in the bedroom. Thank God I’d checked the clip when I moved in with Terry. Now I just had to get to it. But how?
“I can make it nice for you, Rick. Let go of my hair and I’ll do anything you want.”
“You little bitch, you’ll do what I want anyway.” Brown eyes wild, he yanked my hair and pushed me forward.
I moaned. I tried not to, but the pain was too great. “Will I?” I said, wincing. “You know me well enough to know I won’t give in easily. Would you really chance my sharp teeth?”
He lessened his grip. While my scalp still burned, he was no longer pulling.
“I can make it nice for you,” I pressed.
“What’s this shit? What’re you trying to pull?”
“I’ll make a bargain with you,” I said, praying he’d listen, desperate to make it sound convincing through his alcoholic fog. I had to get him into the bedroom. “You let me get help for Terry and I’ll make it good for you.”
Ripping open my blouse, I fondled my breasts and looked at him seductively. Please, please, let it work. His eyes were glued to me.
“Oh yeah? What’ll you do?”
Licking my lips, my eyes on his, I told him in as much detail as I could. “I can do it really good for you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Wondering how much time had elapsed since Terry had collapsed, I smiled at Rick. Was Terry still breathing?
Gathering my breasts in my hands, I pushed them to my mouth and stuck out my tongue as if to lick them.
Rick’s erection tented his slacks. “Get your pants off,” he said, his voice a rasp. “I wanna smell your pussy again.”
What? Smell my pussy? What was he talking about? Then I remembered. “My panties. It was you, that time in my house.”
He smirked. “Yeah, it was me. I liked being in your house, touching all your things. You might’ve been out with dickhead there,” he indicated Terry with a nod, “but I was having my own fun. Just like I’m gonna have fun now.” He grabbed my hair and pulled me to him.
“I can’t do it here, Rick. Let’s go into the bedroom. You can lie back and let me do all the work. I have a good tongue, and you won’t have to do a thing.” I reached up to fondle the bulge, then unzipped his fly. His erection sprang free. He smelled of dried urine and I had to keep swallowing so I wouldn’t gag, but I took a teasing, quick swipe with my tongue. I tasted unwashed flesh but I kept licking. Moaning, he closed his eyes and tilted his head.
I pulled back. “I can’t do a good job here, Rick. Let’s get on the nice, comfortable bed.”
He yanked me to my feet. Thank God!
As we stumbled down the hall, his fingers still pulling my hair, I told him again exactly what I’d do to make it good for him. By the time we reached the bedroom, he was panting. He threw me on the bed and dropped his hands to unbuckle his belt. Immediately I rolled off the other side of the bed, yanked open the drawer of the bedside table, grasped the .45 and pulled it out of the drawer. Sliding the action back
wards, I released it to chamber a round. The heavy click was loud. And unmistakable.
Hands on his belt, Rick froze.
Aiming at his chest, I assumed the police stance with legs spread and both hands gripping the handle.
“Now, you sonofabitch,” I said, “get back into the living room.”
“That thing loaded?”
Not wanting to waste more time trying to convince him, I shot into the bed next to him. The boom was deafening in the small room and my arms jerked back from the kick, almost throwing me off-balance. The bedspread puffed up as if from an inward explosion, and when it settled, we could see a blackened hole about the size of a quarter.
“Holy Jesus!” He backed away from the bed.
“Hold it!” I yelled at him.
Someone was shouting from the apartment on the other side of the bedroom wall and I heard running. To make sure they called the police, I fired again.
“Are you crazy?” Rick yelled.
I pointed the gun at him, but then I heard Terry’s voice, weakly calling for me.
In the split second that I faltered, Rick lunged at me and we both sprawled to the floor. The gun flew out of my hands. Rick crawled over me to get the gun and I scooted to the nightstand for one of the twenty-pound geode bookends. Rick was just turning around to point the gun at me when I struck. With every bit of strength I had left, I smashed the geode against the side of his head. For just an instant, he looked at me with shock, then he sagged to the floor. I didn’t stop to look at him. Instead, I ran for the living room.
Terry’s eyes were closed and I couldn’t hear him breathing. Oh no, oh no, please God. Placing my fingers on his throat, I felt his carotid artery for a pulse and felt a faint, erratic beat. Grabbing the phone, I punched in 9-1-1 and tried to keep my voice calm enough to tell them what happened. They said neighbors had already called it in and they were on their way.
“Hold on, sweetheart,” I told Terry. He was barely conscious. “I’m getting help. Just hang on.”
I ran to the bedroom, grabbed a blanket to cover Terry, then ran to open the front door and peer out. Where were they?
Finally, in the distance, a wailing siren grew louder; it was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.
Cradling Terry’s head in my lap, I told him he was going to be all right, that the police were here. Then everything seemed to happen at once.
The police pounded on the door and yelled for us to open up. Rick staggered into the living room, his hands bloody from the gash on the back of his head, a dazed look in his eyes. He was carrying my gun. I leaned over to protect Terry’s head and didn’t move. Several uniformed police burst through the door and Rick raised his hand. Someone shouted for Rick to drop the gun, but he just stood blinking at them. They shouted again then fired. Hit several times, Rick crumpled to the floor.
It was over.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Rick was dead.
Since shots had been fired, two uniformed officers separated me from Terry and led me into the kitchen. Four more officers, weapons drawn, secured the apartment. A young Hispanic officer questioned me.
“Please,” I begged him, after telling him what had happened, “let me go to Terry. I won’t do anything, just let me stay with him. He needs to know I’m here, please . . .”
“Just stay calm, Ma’am,” he said. “Is there anyone you’d like to call?”
“Let me go!” Jumping up, I ran into the living room, the officer running after me, but I didn’t care. I had to get to Terry. “Call Jack Morales. He knows what’s been happening.”
“Sergeant Morales?” The officer eyed me warily.
Paying no attention, I took Terry’s hand. “I’m here, sweetheart,” I said, “everything’s going to be all right.”
“Please, Ma’am,” the Hispanic officer said. “I don’t want to cuff you.”
Just then several men and women from the fire department poured through the door, followed by the paramedics and more cops. Two detectives questioned me, taking careful notes about everything that had happened. Neighbors gathered outside the door and two teenage boys and an elderly woman in a robe eased into the living room before they were stopped. Within minutes, the entire apartment was filled with police officers and paramedics. One female paramedic with a ponytail crouched by Terry and examined him while another set up the equipment. I recognized a defibrillator. Backing away, I gave them room.
“My God, it’s Chief O’Neal!” I heard one of the fireman say.
“Yes,” I whispered, “it’s Terry O’Neal. That man,” I nodded in Rick’s direction, “tried to kill him.”
An older cop kneeled next to Terry. “Hey, Chief, we’re going to take care of you. You’re going to be fine.” When Terry managed a weak smile, the cop stood.
“I’m glad the son of a bitch who did this is dead,” he told me. “Chief O’Neal’s put his life on the line for others more times than I can count. A hell of a man.”
“Why, I remember back in ’92,” another one added, “I’d just joined the force and we got this call about a warehouse fire . . .” He told about the building collapsing and Terry’s heroics. Then a fireman joined in, adding his experiences with ‘The Chief.’
Just then I heard the heavy thumping of the Flight for Life helicopter approaching.
“We can’t waste time. Let’s get him out there,” the female paramedic said, working frantically, making sure the oxygen was securely attached.
Then, it seemed every officer, whether it was a fireman or a member of the police, assisted in loading Terry onto the gurney and fought for the privilege of carrying him down the stairs.
***
In the intensive care unit, the lighting was soft, the voices hushed. I sat by Terry’s side while he drifted in and out of consciousness. An IV ran from the top of his hand to the tall T-pole standing next to the bed, and the slim oxygen tube attached to his nose helped him to breathe. A monitor beeped with each heartbeat, and the green-numbered readings changed with constant updates on his blood pressure and heart rate.
A heart attack, the doctors had diagnosed in the emergency room, perhaps due to a combination of the Taser and the drugs he was taking for his disease, and they didn’t know if he was going to make it through. Time, they said. If he lived through the next forty-eight hours, he had a chance.
Betty was on her way to the hospital. In honor of their thirty years together, I felt it was only right that she be notified. I was prepared to leave the room when she arrived, but I hoped she wouldn’t get here for a while yet. Not yet. I didn’t want to leave him.
“Hello, honey,” Terry said suddenly in a voice that was so faint I could barely hear him. But he had spoken!
I jumped up to caress his face with mine, careful not to disturb the tubes.
“Oh, honey, don’t worry so,” he said. “It takes more than that punk to put me down. Could I have some water?”
I held the straw to his lips so he could drink.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice a little stronger.
“Now that you’re awake I am.”
“Sorry I wasn’t the big hero for you.”
“Sweetheart, you’ll always be my hero, but you need to rest and conserve your strength.”
“Lisa, I want you to listen to me. If I don’t make it—”
I squeezed his hand. “You’ll make it. I’m not ready to let you go.”
He grinned, briefly reminding me of the man I loved. “There are some things even you can’t control. If I don’t make it, I want you to go to your daughter. You need your family, and you won’t have anything here to hold you.”
“I don’t want to talk about that now.”
“Well I do, and since I’m the sick one, you have to cater to me. At least you’re supposed to. It’s a rule, you know.”
“I thought you didn’t like rules.”
“For you, I’ll make an exception. I always have, you know.”
I couldn’t help it
. I smiled.
“That’s better,” he said.
“But nothing’s changed, Terry. I’m still not financially secure enough to risk—”
“Honey, don’t argue with me. Not now. But I want you to think about this. It’s all well and good to be strong, but when you never let your loved ones help, not only does it keep them at a distance, but it diminishes their own feelings of importance in your life. Give your daughter a chance to help you and you’ll help her as well.” He closed his eyes. “So sleepy . . .”
Watching the monitor, I held my breath until I could see the numbers changing. He was okay, just sleeping. Needing reassurance, I watched his chest rise and fall. Only then did I sit back and think about what he’d said.
Had I pushed Shanna further away by always trying to be independent?
The door opened and Betty crept into the room, her thin face drawn and pale.
“How is he?” Her eyes were wide, frightened.
“Holding his own.”
“Thank you for calling me,” she whispered.
“The detective did that. I only gave him your name.”
She nodded. “May I sit with him for a few moments? I won’t be long,” she said, her voice soft.
“Of course.”
“Thank you. You rightfully belong here more than I do.”
I couldn’t believe she said that.
“I’m sorry I said what I did to you,” she told me, easing down onto a chair. “I’m sorry for many things. I lied, you see. All those years ago, I knew he didn’t love me, but I wanted him.” She looked at his sleeping form and her eyes softened. “He was so handsome,” she went on, “all decked out in his uniform.”
For a moment I could glimpse the young girl in love.
“I knew he was a good man so I lied.”
I had to know. “Lied about what, Betty?”
“About being pregnant.” She took his hand. “That’s the only reason he married me. He was a good man,” she said again, “but he never loved me.”
What a waste, I thought. All those empty years spent in lies and obligation when they each could have found someone to truly love them.
