Promise Me

by Jack O. Daniel

  Then it became apparent, Logan’s wife had suggested it. They laughed. Lane slapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘I thought that was too good an idea for you to have on your own. Not with your thick head. By the way, how’s Jules and Sadie?’

  ‘They’re my light. They’re doing amazingly well. I feel left out sometimes.’

  Lane’s smile broadened, ‘Count yourself lucky if you’re feeling left out sometimes. When you have two, you’ll feel left out most of the time. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  IN THE WEEKS THAT FOLLOWED, Imogen Suzuki continued to supervise various forensic teams from start to finish.

  One of the teams concentrated on the most examined piece of real estate on the planet: George Lee’s office apartment.

  Three forensic technicians went through every minute detail of his last known address. One found a confidential list of attendees that was meant for the eyes of the Steering Committee only. She carefully placed it inside an evidence bag and submitted it to Imogen, who went to speak with the Manager of the Office of the Mayor.

  They soon uncovered one critical flaw in security.

  The names of individuals attending the reception, including the honourees and their guests, were required by the Office of the Mayor thirty days in advance for the purpose of vetting them for security reason.

  How George Lee had got hold of the list was due to an elementary mistake by a young clerk. She had printed out a list, decided she didn’t like the font she picked and tossed it out in the bin. Working as a cleaner that night was George. He had picked it up.

  The City Manager summoned the young clerk to his office. She became distraught when they told her it was her error that started it all.

  Imogen sympathetically told her, ‘It can easily happen to any of us. The only thing I’ll leave you is this – it’s what the shredder is for. You guys wanted thirty days to get on top of security matters. Instead, it gave Lee thirty days of lead time to prepare his bombs. This is all water under the bridge now; let’s just be more careful next time.’

  HAVING FOUND THE LIST, the name Bianca Florentine-Steel jumped at George Lee from the page. He had probably reckoned that Steel wasn’t as common a last name like Smith or Jones. So, what were the odds?

  Their further investigation led to a woman at HR.

  Posing as a member of the vetting committee, George Lee had called the City’s Human Resources Department and made inquiries.

  ‘He sounded innocent,’ recalled the frightened woman who took the call.

  ‘What did he say exactly,’ asked Imogen.

  ‘He said, “Steel. Would that be her married name? Would that be Thomas Steel of the NYSP?’’’

  That was all it took to steamroll a sinister plot that hurt so many innocent people.

  ELITE LAW ENFORCERS like SWAT and the bomb squad are afforded complete anonymity, but others in the field of law and order are not. So, when Lee discovered Bianca, everything else fell into place.

  Tracking her down and stalking her was easy enough. The icing on the cake was seeing her go to a laundromat with her wedding gown. It sparked a desire in his heart to see Thomas Steel lose the woman he loved dressed in her bridal gown.

  You took the person I loved the most, so I’m taking the person you love the most. Till death do you part.

  OVER THE COURSE OF the week, Easy and Bianca were both told by their peers, in so many words, that they would feel off-balanced, teary in Bianca’s case, and easily provoked in the coming days. Heeding the warning, they went to see a therapist who told them that the trauma was no small thing, ‘No matter who you are and whatever training you may have had.’

  Not surprisingly, in spite of the precaution, things did get difficult, much to their misgivings.

  Even April and May were not spared the pain. Not that they were taking sides, but April became Steel's constant companion as he licked his wounds and May, Bianca's

  One day, after a day of snarling and biting at each other, Steel walked off leaving Bianca in tears. It didn’t help that she was quite aware she had been unreasonable, but she couldn’t stop the massive surge of negativity that seemed to hang permanently over her head.

  Steel walked off his growing, nagging frustrations and found himself in Central Park.

  It was a place of happy memories. This was where they, in the early days of their courtship, had wandered about. Sections where they jogged to keep fit. Places where they sat and cuddled.

  Suddenly, he heard someone call out, ‘Thomas.’

  Steel smiled thoughtfully. That could only be from the old days. BBS, before Bomb Squad.

  He turned around to find an old man coming after him, shuffling with the aid of a cane. It was none other than one of his early mentors.

  Steel flashed a smile, walked over to him, and gave the retired cop a warm embrace. He was bowed with age now, but still sharp and still an unstoppable force.

  ‘Sarge, how are you these days?’

  ‘Feeling my age,’ he said, ‘I just can’t help feeling forty.’

  Steel chuckled despite his earlier ill disposition. The ex-cop winked.

  They walked to an old bench, its surface paint faded by time. He helped the old man sit before taking a seat.

  Sarge, as they called him, had retired from the Force five years ago, but retirement hadn't been kind to him. Instead of reversing the ravages of time, it seemed to have accelerated the rate of his decline. The cane and the curved back made him appear older than sixty.

  Steel had heard through the grapevine that Sarge had been ill for a long time.

  The old man grasped his walking stick with both hands. Steel noticed the age spots, the gnarled arthritic appearance of the bones and the loose, sagging skin, but he had also felt the firmness of his touch when they embraced. Its warmth belied the frailty of his health.

  ‘So, tell me how have you been?’ Sarge asked. He always had a way of making people talk. As the precinct's Desk Sergeant, it had been his duty to inquire of people who walked in from the cold.

  Steel found himself unburdening himself, telling Sarge of his constant fights with Bianca, his sense of loss, and his deep anger. He said admitting defeat, ‘I’ve lost it. Nothing used to rattle me, now I’m just angry all the time.’

  Sarge listened, nodded, and every so often made small noises until Steel finished telling his story. ‘I’m not a psychologist by any means,’ he said finally, ‘but I’d like to think I’ve lived a life so full of shit to be able to help.’

  Steel’s eyebrow went up and said, ‘Full of shit?’

  They cackled until they had tears in their eyes remembering the stupid stuff the police got up to. When their laughter died down, Sarge said, ‘George Lee loved his father very much so he couldn’t bring himself to hate him for leaving. It couldn’t be his father’s fault, but he’s hurting so much he just had to hate someone. So, his hate was displaced on you. Hate displacement is what I call it.’

  Sarge turned to Steel. His once deep blue eyes now clouded with a hazy film due to cataract, bored deep into Steel. ‘Don’t,’ he said with conviction, ‘let hate rule. Don’t hate him for what he’s done to you and your wife. Oh, how is she, by the way.’

  Steel sighed and looked into the distance, ‘We’re having a rough patch,’ he said. ‘It’s been difficult. I’m angry with George Lee for ruining my relationship with my wife.’

  ‘It isn’t ruined. It’s being tested.’

  ‘How would you know?’ he said. ‘You were never married.’

  ‘Says who?’ he said, ‘I was married to that desk for thirty-five years and have had many arguments with everyone who came before and behind it. And having married it, I’ve had to have many relationships. Try having one with a thousand sons and daughters. Let’s see how you’d cope. You deal only with bombs.’

  Steel smirked at the thought.

  Then just as swiftly, Sarge changed the topic, ‘What made you fall in love with her?’

  Thomas Steel smiled. He p
icked up on what Sarge was doing. He replied, ‘She’s beautiful, kind, genuine, loving.’

  Sarge nodded, ‘It seems like you’ve got a great girl. So, what seems to be the problem?’

  ‘We’re always fighting. And every little thing makes her cry or angry or upset.’

  Sarge sighed. ‘Thomas, tell me, do you fight fire with fire?’ He asked.

  ‘No,’ he replied in all seriousness. Seconds later he said, ‘Okay, I get it.’

  A church bell rang, a call to prayer. Sarge patted Thomas Steel’s hand. ‘That reminds me,’ he said, ‘would you take my wallet out of my back pocket.’

  Steel did so. ‘Now take out all the contents.’

  Steel removed the items, one at a time. They were mostly old business cards of former colleagues, some of doctors and pharmacists. But one was a well-worn card, with a faded beige background. Sarge reached out to get it from him.

  ‘Put the rest back,’ he instructed Steel, adding, ‘before they fall apart.’ Steel did as he was told and returned it to Sarge’s pocket.

  ‘I’m not religious,’ said the old man, ‘in fact, the last time I was in church was at my mother’s funeral. But this has saved my life in more ways than one. Keep it.’ Sarge handed him the ancient looking piece of paper. He glanced down, it was the Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said and put it in his shirt pocket. He helped Sarge up and walked with him all the way to the steps of his home behind a bakery, not far from Central Park.

  The former cop turned to him and said, ‘There’s your answer.’

  Steel waited until Sarge was inside before lifting the card out of his pocket. He read the wordings of the prayer that was like a loudspeaker into his soul.

  Lord, make me an instrument of your peace

  Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

  where there is injury, pardon;

  where there is doubt, faith;

  where there is despair, hope;

  where there is darkness, light;

  and where there is sadness, joy.

  O Divine Master,

  Grant that I may not so much seek

  to be consoled as to console;

  to be understood as to understand;

  to be loved as to love.

  For it is in giving that we receive;

  It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

  and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

  16: Months Later

  THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN THEM remained patchy at best. The good moments were romantic but the bad moments were horrendous.

  One of the good ones happened on her birthday. They decided not to throw a party. They didn’t need the pressure of entertaining and pretending everything was good between them.

  That night, after dinner, Steel asked Bianca, ‘If there’s something I can do for you right now, what would it be?’

  ‘Dance with me,’ she replied.

  ‘That would be my pleasure,’ he said. ‘My song choice?’ She gave out a little laugh, ‘When was it ever not your song choice.’

  ‘That’s because I’m smart. I always pick the right one.’ He went over to his iPod to choose a song; the surround-sound covered their house with music. The first chord brought tears to her eyes.

  There's a calm surrender to the rush of day

  when the heat of a rolling wind can be turned away...

  He gathered her in his arms, and they danced to the words he could have written because it was everything he felt for her and about her. The refrain of this song ...

  Can you feel the love tonight?

  AT THE END OF IT, HE whispered to her his marriage vow. He had thought about it long and hard before the wedding and decided he couldn’t improve on the vow that had been said by millions before them, so he went with the traditional Catholic marriage vow. ‘I, Thomas Steel, take you, Bianca Florentine for my lawful wife, to have and to hold, always, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health...’

  Except, the end, when he declared, ‘til we have eternity in our hearts.’

  It’s good to be reminded, he said to himself, as her head rested on his chest.

  He had been fighting fire with fire. Angry with her for being angry. Frustrated when she cried. Belittling when she was weak. He was as much to blame as she was for the state they were in.

  IT HAD BEEN THREE MONTHS now since George Lee happened in their lives.

  The house was in darkness and eerily quiet. Not even April and May were home. He felt his heart nose dive. With apprehension, Steel entered the house and turned on the light. Everything was in its place and as it should be, except, where were they?

  He saw a sealed pink envelope on the table. Fearing the worse, he opened it. Little red, cut-out hearts fell out. Inside was a card she made herself, in her neat script, she wrote, ‘I’m so sorry I was mean to you. Will you forgive me?’ He closed his eyes feeling relieved. He was about to call her when he sensed her presence behind him.

  He turned around, ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I love you’ meaning it with all his heart.

  ‘Me, too.’ She had been crying, he could tell. Then she asked, ‘If there is anything I could do for you right now, what would it be?’

  ‘Just promise me, you won’t give up on us... no matter how hard it gets.’

  She walked towards him, ‘Promise,’ she said. Then she gave him something with two pink lines and fell in the embrace of his arms.

  -The End –

  Author’s Note

  ANGELIN SYDNEY IS MY alter-ego, author of Lifesaver in a Bikini.

  I used some of the characters that I, as Angelin Sydney, had created for that story.

  In a rare literary cross-over, I, as Jack O. Daniel, “borrowed” them in as much as that book had inspired the writing of this narrative.

  If you haven’t had the pleasure of reading Lifesaver in a Bikini, I would highly encourage you to do so. I can assure you that it’s a riveting read.

  I would also like to thank Mrs. Marionette O. Martinez and Mr. Ron Klinger, who painstakingly proofread this manuscript. I am indebted to them both.

  Last, but not least, I owe a lot to Graham Toseland. Anyone looking for editorial services can reach him via email: publishing@fadingstreet.com

  A Gentle Plea

  Thank you for taking the time to read

  Promise Me.

  Word of mouth is an author’s best friend. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends. Alternatively, please consider writing a review on Goodreads.

  Your kindness is much appreciated.

  Love,

  Jack

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  Book One of the Colour Series

  By

  Jack O. Daniel

  1: An Extraordinary Night

  SHE HAD BEEN ON THE ROAD for six months, constantly moving, going from one country to the next, one continent to the next. New Zealand was the last country on her itinerary, her final stop before returning to San Francisco where her journey began.

  She didn’t plan any of it. It was all spur of the moment after her fiancé of two years cruelly ended their engagement by SMS. It was totally unexpected and took the wind out of her sails. The first she knew for certain that it wasn’t a prank was when she received several concerned messages from family and friends. The bastard had sent out a group text.

  Two weeks after he broke her heart, he had the nerve to show up. The timing was deliberate. Two weeks —long enough for her anger to have simmered down but not long enough to turn toxic. Fittingly, it was a frigid day when he turned up at her workplace.

  Darkness had fallen much earlier than usual that winter’s day.
She had watched the skies out of the window of her tenth-floor office and observed how LED streetlights struggled to illuminate the roads made slippery by an afternoon drizzle. It was time to head home.

  She had looped her scarf around her neck and worn her knee-length beige winter coat. She gathered her things in a leather case and gave her stress ball a final squeeze before heading to the elevator, nodding goodbye to co-workers on the way to it.

  The doors opened and revealed the man she’d once loved and now had despised in equal measure for the past two weeks. She was stunned, to put it mildly. He was still devilishly handsome and stylish. He cracked a tentative smile. ‘Isabel,’ he said, ‘I was hoping we could talk.’

  She sighed. His ability to upset her equilibrium was becoming a bad habit.

  ‘My office,’ she replied, strangely calm. In truth, she was barely managing to keep her emotions under control.

  The receptionist lifted her face in surprise to see her walking back so soon, followed by her former fiancé.

  They entered her room. She closed the door and shut the blinds for privacy. There was no point making it look like this was going to be a sweet reunion. She knew it wasn’t, as much as she hated to admit it to herself. She walked to her side of the table and remained standing. Richard had his hands in his pocket, nervously rocking on his heels.

  ‘I’ve come to say sorry,’ he said.

  She let out a soft sigh, opened the top drawer and took out a small box. ‘Here,’ she said as she attempted to hand back the two-carat Cartier diamond engagement ring.

  He shook his head and refused to take it back. ‘It’s yours to do what you want with. It’s the least I can do. I’m not entirely heartless.’ He placed an envelope on her desk and with one finger, slid it across the desk, then turned on his heel and didn’t look back.