Gypsy Cradle: a psychic paranormal thriller (The Gypsy Medium Series Book 2)
Page 13
“I’m still in shock,” mumbled Connor, not looking at Ryan.
“I keep thinking about Gypsy, how I treated her. I wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to me again. She saved Christie’s life.”
“Gypsy’s not like that. She’ll forgive, I hope. She’ll be relieved that Christie actually made it. I’ll send her a message. ”
A rush of adrenaline surged through Connor, and a sudden coldness crept up his back. He’d been so sure Gypsy had it wrong, so sure that Christie would be fine, that he’d disregarded all of her information, and he’d left her. Why did he doubt her like that?
The truth of the matter was that he didn’t want to reveal the family secret, he wasn’t sure if he was ready. He’d paid a private visit to the nurse, and asked if a paternity test had been conducted. The results were back, he really was Christie’s father, and he didn’t quite know how to face it.
His blind spot surrounding Christie had nearly cost him his relationship. He prided himself on his integrity, his loyalty, but this time his instincts had let him down.
And Gypsy. When she’d needed him, he’d abandoned her. She’d been right—out of anyone, he should have been there for her, he who understood her abilities, who knew the highs and the lows of visions and the psychic world. His discomfort as a sentinel, combined with his unwillingness to confront whether he was Christie’s father had meant his relationship with Gypsy had shattered and splintered.
He hoped he could make it up to her.
“I’m going to take a walk, Ryan, okay?” he said, retrieving his mobile phone from a jacket pocket.
“Yeah, take your time,” muttered Ryan.
Connor pushed up from the chair and headed down the corridor toward the double doors. As they swung behind him, he saw a flurry of activity in the hospital foyer, and instead he made for the gardens at the rear of the building. He needed some space, some quiet time to take it all in.
As Connor passed the cafeteria, he saw the chapel through a doorway to his right. Connor had never considered himself religious, but the quiet sanctity of the quiet space seemed soothing and peaceful, just what he needed.
The room, complete with stained glass windows and three rows of seating, was hushed and deserted. He took a seat at the front pew, head falling into his hands. He noticed his fingers had stopped shaking and he blew out a long breath. Connor relaxed a little and sat back in the chair. He sensed movement to his right, and saw a minister sit further along the pew.
“Welcome,” said the minister. He looked to be in his late sixties, and as he smiled the wrinkles around his eyes deepened.
“Thanks. I needed some quiet time.” Connor fiddled with the watch on his left hand.
“I understand. The chapel is definitely the place for quiet reflection.” The minister gazed at him. He seemed unhurried. Connor decided a minister would be the right person for unburdening.
“I’m confused. I may have alienated the one person that meant the most to me. She’s a pretty forgiving person, but I don’t know…”
“You have a loved one in the hospital?”
“My daughter, Christie.”
The silence extended for a few seconds before Connor spoke again.
“The trouble started a few days ago. My girlfriend, Gypsy, believed that Christie had been poisoned. I didn’t believe her, I told her she was crazy and stormed out earlier today. I got myself a room in a local hotel. I found out a few minutes ago that Gypsy was right my daughter has been poisoned. They’ve given her the antidote, but it’s still touch and go.”
“I see.” The minister gazed at Connor.
“The trouble is really about another issue. You see, many years ago, Christie’s mother and I had an affair. Christie was born nine months later. My brother and sister-in-law died when Christie and her brother were young and we took them both in. I’ve never spoken to Christie about my suspicions that I was her biological father, I’ve been too afraid. The paternity results came back a while ago. Positive.”
“I understand,” murmured the minister.
“I’m so confused. I don’t know what to do. Obviously, now isn’t the time to talk to Christie, but I’m afraid I’ve pushed Gypsy away so far she’ll never speak to me again. My loyalty should have been to her, but I let fear take over. I just hope she’ll forgive me.”
“If she is the woman you say she is, I’m sure things will work out,” said the minister, his hands resting lightly on his lap.
“I’m not so sure. I don’t know what to think.” Connor gazed at one of the stained glass windows, his mouth turned down.
“At times like this, myself, I usually pray. Would you mind if I pray for you?” asked the minister.
“I guess,” Connor said. At this moment, the soothing tones of a minister praying for him couldn’t hurt.
He bowed his head and listened to the lullaby that was the minister softly praying for his peace and tranquility and for Christie’s health.
As the minister’s head came up, Connor thanked him and got up from the pew to head back to the hospital corridor to wait for more news.
On the way, he summoned up the courage to send a text to Gypsy. That way he’d know whether she was willing to talk to him.
He swiped at his phone and tapped out a message:
I’m so sorry. I never should have doubted you. You were right Christie was poisoned. She is in intensive care now. Let me know if you’re willing to talk.
He slapped his telephone shut and quickened his pace down the hospital corridor to resume the vigil with Ryan.
Tuesday 22nd January, 7.38pm
Ryan retrieved his phone, which had been buzzing all day, and switched it to silent mode. He really didn’t want to talk to anyone. However, he decided he’d check his text messages while he waited for news about Christie’s condition.
There was one from the security company that managed the silent alarm at their property. Alarm activation 7.24pm today. Please call immediately.
As he put the phone to his ear, and walked toward the main entrance, he remembered Gypsy’s claim the day before—that Brenton had poisoned Christie in a twisted bid to start a relationship with him. He still struggled with it all.
“Stellar Security.”
“Yes, I’ve just had a message that the alarm at my property was activated.”
The woman who answered the phone took his name and he gave them the code agreed upon to verify his identity.
“Yes, sir, I apologize for the delay. Would you like us to report the matter to police?”
“No, but thank you. I haven’t been home for a while—I have a family member in hospital. I might just check to see if everything’s okay.”
“We do usually recommend you inform the police department, sir.”
“I am a member of the police force.”
The woman paused. “I see. In that case, please let me know if there is anything we can do to assist.”
Once she hung up, Ryan began a slow jog toward his car.
If Brenton had actually broken into their home, all hell would break loose. He wanted to beat the living shit out of him. He’d tried to kill his girl. He’d broken into his house. The guy had a problem, and needed a wake-up call. Ryan wanted to punch him repeatedly until he got the message. He ground his teeth and tightened his hands on the steering wheel. As he ducked and weaved through traffic, he tried to remember the car parked outside his home, a white smallish car, Japanese make.
As he pulled into the driveway, he searched for the car and couldn’t see it. Didn’t mean Brenton wasn’t here, though.
He retrieved a bunch of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. As he pushed it open, he saw two men on the floor of his lounge room. Brenton he recognized immediately, the dirty weasel, and the other man with him seemed familiar—from the bar, Jake. Brenton was in tears and Jake was beside him with one hand on his shoulder.
Clenching his fists, Ryan stormed toward them.
Tuesday 22nd January, 8.22pm
I smiled slowly and sagged back in the couch. I let out a huge breath. Finally. I typed back a message to Connor.
I’m so glad. How is Christie? Sounds like you could do with a hug.
Knowing Connor, he’d respond quickly.
Within less than a minute, my telephone pinged at me again.
Thank you. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I was worried you’d never speak to me again. Doc says they gave her the antidote a few hours ago, just in time. You saved her life.
Hot tears blazed down my cheeks. I hadn’t expected thanks, but when it came, the acknowledgement from the one that mattered most left me shaking with relief.
With trembling hands, I tapped out a reply. Should I come to the hospital, or do you need time alone?
I’d love to see you. Are you at home?
Yes, I replied.
I’ll be there soon.
I jumped up from the couch and ran for the bathroom, where I checked my reflection. I was wearing an old tracksuit, my hair looked like it had seen better days, and I had not a trace of make-up on my face. I quickly searched for an outfit, choosing a pair of black pants and a cream top. I dragged a brush through my hair and swiped on some lip-gloss, enough to satisfy for the moment.
Scanning the apartment—yikes!—I began to tidy up, removing items from the floor, throwing dirty clothing in the laundry, and frantically unpacking and repacking the dishwasher.
I heard a key turn in the lock of the front door.
“Connor.” I spoke quietly, but he heard me. I broke into a run. When I reached Connor, I threw my arms around him. I whispered in his ear, “You don’t get rid of me that easily.”
He pulled me away to look at me with wet eyes and a watery smile. Then he bent his head again and kissed me, tentative and soft.
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” he said and held me. “Thank you for talking to me.”
“I’m glad you called.”
“Come with me.” Connor, his eyes soft, took my hand and gently, and unsure at first, led me upstairs. I followed him in silence. He closed the door of the bedroom behind us and began to undress me, slowly and carefully, his eyes never leaving mine.
Once he had taken in my presence, his eyes moved to rake over me, taking in every inch. The scene seemed almost surreal, just minutes ago we’d been apart, now, here he was, gorgeous, loving, and attentive. My body tingled, aching to be with him again. He stepped forward to take me in his arms. Gently, Connor pulled me onto the bed and his mouth melted into mine, carefully at first, as warmth spread across my body. As I returned it, Connor deepened the kiss, his arms moving across my back and up to caress the back of my neck.
All I was aware of was Connor touching and licking every expanse of my body. For the first in a long time, I forgot everything else—all of the problems, the heartache, the worry. There was only Connor and I.
Ecstasy sent shivers through my body, and I teetered on the edge of bliss. It was as if my skin had become something else, hypersensitive to the slightest touch. My hands caressed his smooth shoulder blades until he sighed. Then I moved down, searching for the next spot that would cause him to melt. I explored the curve of his spine and buttocks while my lips opened to his. My lips opened to his and the electric sensation of our tongues encircling sent such a spark of delicious shock through my body that Connor stopped, lifted his head, and smiled at me.
I smiled and curled my arms around his neck, drawing him back to me. Suddenly I couldn’t rein in my urges any longer. I took his hand and placed it between my legs. He lifted his head so that his tongue and mine could merge, and his fingers began to caress the moistness, gently at first, then firmer. I moaned, and beneath it, I heard a low rumble that was Connor’s growl. I wrapped a leg around him and felt him tight against me, the pulse of him blazing and needy.
And suddenly Connor was above me. His lips kissed my cheeks, my nose, my eyes, until I opened them and found him looking down on me with an expression so filled with love that I knew I would carry it with me for a long time to come.
“Gypsy,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never leave you again. Ever. Tell me this is what you want.”
In reply, I bucked my hips so that the tip of him slid inside me. Connor gasped. With infinite care, he entered me and he held me close, murmuring and whispering. “I love you Gypsy, I always have and I always will. No matter what.”
We moved together, slowly at first, then building until the room shattered into dozens of shards of light. Connor called out, holding on to me tightly, a sheen of sweat across his back.
As we lay on the bed, breathing deeply, the room came back into focus. I saw that Connor’s eyes were hooded, but a smile lit his face.
His arms were around me, and he kissed me again, on the forehead, the nose, the mouth.
“I love you,” he said. In that moment I was the happiest I’d been in a long time.
As I lay in the afterglow, my thoughts turned to Christie and Ryan. I hoped they’d be okay. If Isabella had anything to do with it, they would be. I played our last conversation back in my mind, and sucked in a sharp breath. Would Brenton really break into their home? Is that what she said?
It was some time before I could speak. Not meaning to alarm Connor, I asked him about his daughter and where Ryan was. Connor seemed hopeful that Christie would recover, but there’d been no sign of Ryan for a while.
“Actually, I messaged him with no reply,” he said.
In that moment, I had a suspicion of where Ryan had gone. It was time to move, and fast.
“Does he have an alarm system at home?”
“Yes, a silent alarm.”
“We have to get to Ryan and Christie’s. Isabella mentioned in passing that Brenton might break into their home. It seemed crazy at the time, but now I’m not so sure. If Ryan learned their alarm went off, he’s probably on his way there. How long has he been gone?”
“I’m not sure, maybe an hour or two, possibly longer?”
I grabbed Connor’s hand. “We need to get dressed and get going, now. Once Ryan gets hold of Brenton …”
At record speed, we showered and dressed, then sped toward the doors, and broke into a run for our cars.
Chapter Fifteen
Tuesday 22nd January, 8.23pm
Ryan’s vision clouded as his heart pounded in his ears. He moved slowly and deliberately toward Brenton. The bastard that almost killed Christie slumped on their couch. Our couch. Fuck. He wanted blood. With a guttural roar, Ryan stormed toward him.
“You fucking bastard. You poisoned Christie!”
Jake stepped in front of Ryan, palms up in an effort to calm him. “Hang on. You don’t understand−”
Ryan jabbed a finger in Jake’s face. “I don’t understand? Did you know about this?”
Jake stuttered. “Ah, ah−”
“Answer me!” Ryan screamed. “I’ll punch your fucking head in too.”
Jake blinked, his gaze ping ponging. “I didn’t until a couple of minutes ago. He was going to turn himself in right after I called the hospital. But busting his face won’t help.”
“It’ll help me, you stupid bastard! The only reason she’s still alive is because of her sister-in-law. She knows about what he did. I hope they lock the piece of shit up forever.” Ryan moved his gaze to target Brenton but Brenton wouldn’t meet his eyes. He had curled up on the couch.
“You’re angry,” Jake said. “I don’t blame you, but let’s calm down.”
“Calm down? Are you fucking serious?” Ryan let out a hard, brittle laugh. “My girlfriend nearly died. Get out of my way.” He towered over Jake by a couple of inches, and he shoved him, hard. Jake landed on the floor, arms and legs sprawled, and Ryan lunged for Brenton.
As Ryan grabbed him by the collar and lifted
his body from the couch, Brenton let out a piercing scream.
“Please, no, you don’t understand. No!” He flinched.
Ryan pulled back a fist and it connected with Brenton’s nose with a sickening crunch of bone and blood. Brenton reached up blindly, his nails connecting with Ryan’s neck. He drew blood. Engulfed in rage, the smell of blood seemed to spur Ryan on. He pulled his fist back and punched Brenton again and again, the force of each impact doing more damage.
Jake pushed himself up from the floor and lunged for Ryan, attempting to separate them. “What are you doing? You’re killing him, let him go!”
“You mess with my girl, you mess with me,” Ryan hissed through gritted teeth. He pulled his fist back, ready for a final blow. Jake grabbed at Ryan’s arm from behind, attempting to hold him back, but he didn’t have the strength to match him.
Jake, still holding on, watched in horror as Ryan’s fist connected with Brenton’s eye socket for a second time. With a howl, Brenton attempted to wriggle away, the beginnings of a bruise searing across his eye socket. “What is wrong with you?” yelled Jake, holding Brenton’s face between his hands to survey the damage.
“What’s wrong with me? I haven’t tried to kill anyone. Yet.” Ryan clenched and unclenched his fists.
“Let’s get out of here!” Jake grabbed at Brenton’s shirt, dragging him toward the front door just a few feet away.
“You don’t get off that easy,” growled Ryan, stomping after them. He grasped at Jake, who twisted around to face him.
“Do you really want to kill him?” Jake struggled to catch his breath, shoulders heaving. “Then what?”
Ryan sucked in a ragged breath, glaring at the two pathetic figures. Jake had Brenton by the shirtsleeve. Brenton stooped over, clutching one hand over his nose in a vain attempt to contain the blood dripping from it. It dribbled through his fingers, and his eye was almost swollen shut. His hands muffled his sobbing.
In that instant, Ryan realized he could lose everything over this. He knew Brenton’s type—a victim mentality. He’d drive straight from here to the cop shop to lodge a formal complaint. But Ryan’s career and his life were worth more than that. As Ryan watched Brenton and Jake hobble through the front door, their pitiful figures seemed inconsequential, unimportant considering he had risked so much to take his revenge.