They stopped in front of the steam tunnel that led to the furnace. It was about five feet in diameter.
“We’ll take it,” Saint remembered saying. He had a contractor come in a few weeks later and re-route the steam tunnel. Instead of it ending at the furnace, it now led out into the woods to a cave.
Then his mind flashed to the moment he kissed Olivia’s hand and closed the front door.
“Josephine! We’ve got to get out of here.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, looking at his forearm. She could see the bullet protruding through the skin.
“Do you want to stay here and die or do you want to leave?” “What do you need me to do?”
“Follow me.”
They ran to the basement where Saint had two pressurized canisters by the mouth of the steam tunnel. “You know the drill,” he said handing her one. They headed back up stairs. Josephine drenched the first floor with gasoline while Saint did the same on the second.
“Mr. Andrews, I thought we had a deal.” Agent Dale said.
Saint opened one of the upstairs windows and screamed out. “You’re late. The party’s over. Everyone’s dead.”
“You’re not.”
“That’s the only way you’re getting me out of this house.”
“Listen to me—”
Saint pulled out the .45 and aimed at the tree Dale was standing next to and fired. When the gun was empty he dashed downstairs.
“I’m done,” Josephine said, trying hard not to inhale the fumes.
Saint grabbed her by the hand and headed toward the basement door. When they got to the doorway, he lit a book of matches and tossed it on a puddle of gasoline.
By the time agent Dale saw the smoke, Josephine and Saint were coming out of the other end of the tunnel and into the cave. Saint moved a couple rocks and pulled out a disposable cell phone. He dialed a number and then threw the phone into the tunnel.
“What was that for?”
“I just activated the C4 I planted in the tunnel six years ago.”
“Six years ago?”
“In case of a situation like this.”
“Always a step ahead.”
“Try three.” Saint winced and grabbed the shoulder that Josephine shot him in.
Tears came to her eyes as she put her hand on top of his. “God, I’m so sorry. Saint, please forgive me.”
“Let’s go!” He grabbed her by the hand and headed to the brown Buick. Twenty seconds later, the explosives went off.
“So… how was the wedding?” Josephine said, again, bringing him out of his thoughts.
“It was beautiful. It was in a big church. Grace looked stunning and Glenn was putting a hurting on the white and lime green tux he was wearing.”
“White and lime green?”
“Don’t ask.”
“And how did Olivia look?”
“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Josephine put the leaves she had in her hand in the bag strapped on her shoulder and stood up. She took a step to him and ran her hand down the side of his face. “A few months ago, I would’ve tried to kill you for saying that.”
“What’s changed?”
“Knowing that you will always love me.”
“Who said I loved you?”
“Why else would you save the life of a woman who tried to kill you twice?”
“I’m still asking myself that same question.”
Josephine sensed the pain in his eyes as he looked to the ground. “What is it?”
“When I was in the church, I spotted at least five CIA agents.”
“That’s why I was against you going to that wedding in the first place. Promise me that you won’t go back to the States.”
He shook his head. “I love her, Josephine.”
She palmed the sides of his head and made him look her in the eyes. “Get that thought out of your mind. It can never work between you two.”
Saint grabbed her by the wrists and gently pulled her hands away from his face. He kissed them, and then kissed her on the forehead.
“Saint—”
He brought his lips to her ear and whispered in French. “Love has reasons that Reason can’t understand.” He kissed her on the cheek and then strolled off into the country side.
About the Author
Arlene Brathwaite is a mother, wife & business woman. With the strength and fortitude that only a woman could have, she worked 3 jobs until she moved what was left of her family out of the ghetto. She has transformed her loss-pain into the will to expose the nightmares of street dreams. The nightmares hustlers seldom talk about. The nightmares that got two of the people she loved life bids in prison. My first two books entitled Youngin & the sequel to Youngin’ entitled Ol’Timer was inspired by one of the many tragic events in my life that has led many teens to prison. These books were so real to me in more ways than one. In the near future, I will be publishing a romance novel entitled Soul Dancing, followed by Devon and an autobiography entitled I’ll take you there. In writing these books, I was able to showcase my versatility in three different genres (Urban Fiction, Romance, and Non Fiction), because I believe an author shouldn’t pigeon hole him/her self. We should allow our inner selves to be free to express whatever needs to come to the surface.
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