Pieces Of One, Part 2 (The Dark Life Collection)

by Ricketts, SVC

Ripping a piece of my dress from the bottom, Henn holds it to my bleeding shoulder. “No. You’ve been shot. We need to get you to the hospital.”

  “We need to go,” I counter, shooting a look at Andrijica lying on the floor. “Get Bryson and meet me at the foot of the stairs.” Dismissing his concern, I turn to exit the splintered oak doors.

  Following on my heels, Hennessey can do nothing but watch me zig zag through the confusion of hysterical screaming party guests. Gun fire is a good way to clear out a party. Henn’s words “Hey, where are you going?” are lost in the mayhem.

  The bartenders are not at their stations, leaving the bar completely unattended. They, like the guests, must have abandoned the party after the first set of shots took Andrijica down. I grab three big bottles of soda from the bar and run back to the hallway.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Hennessey demands with Bryson in tow.

  Alarmed at the stream of blood that has made a path to my elbow and down my back, Bryson rushes past Hennessey. “Oh my God, you’ve been shot!”

  “We need to go. NOW!” Hennessey insists trying to push us toward the door.

  I yank my arm away. “Not yet, I have one more thing to do.”

  The men have no choice but to follow, I don’t really give them one actually. The frosty cold doorknob is familiar and a smile blossoms, Star’s smile. It reminds me of the computer lab at Metro. The chilly air always gave me a sense of control and belonging. Pushing open the door, the tall black towers with blinking lights say “hello” as if seeing an old friend. I was right; it’s a computer server room.

  Bryson looks around and the twinkle in his eyes glitters over the towers. “Trista! This is a data center! It probably houses all the family’s information and communications! Oh the damage we can do to his infrastructure could bring down the entire organization!” His inner-child’s jabbering is adorable.

  “I know. He told me it was a surveillance room, but the temperature coming off the door told me different,” I say distracted. “Watch the door.”

  I sit at one of the computer terminals ready to initiate the second part of my impromptu plan. My possessed fingers fly, hacking through the security protocols. Rerouting the server to my own, I send file after file as fast as I can. Rolling over to another desk, I fish around the drawers for a CDR or flash drive. Finding a thumb drive, I shove it into a PC at another terminal, downloading video files. Star is on a mission. I know we have to work fast before Andri’s security guys or the police show up.

  My chair shakes with Bryson anxious excitement. He hovers over my shoulder watching me work. “How can I help?”

  “I’m almost done. There’s just one more thing I want to do.”

  The final video file completes its upload and I exhale relief. “That should be enough,” I assert, holding the little storage device up and tuck it between my cleavage. “It’s our insurance.”

  I roll back over to the first terminal figuring it’s the main terminal based on its configuration. But I notice this particular computer isn’t connected to the servers. It links to a cloud service. I can feel Star excitedly move my fingers rapidly. So fast, I repeatedly have to backspace through a few lines of my code.

  Handing the bottles to Bryson and Hennessey I point to the towers. “Pour this in the vents on top. Get as much as you can in the towers. Drench those fuckers!”

  With the servers fully doused with the bottles of sticky soda, Bryson and Hennessey stand behind me, observing the monitor as I feverishly work. “What are you doing now?” Bryson asks.

  “In my last year of high school a guy in my class was bullying other classmates. I created a data worm that deposits bugs and sent it via an email with a porn link. I knew he’d click the link and infect his system. Then one day all of his stored pictures ended up being posted on all of his social media pages.” I turn my head and wink at Bryson. “I’m planting the same worm in a Trojan virus. This particular computer is separate from the main frame that all the others feed off of. Once the server goes down, they’ll all jump on the cloud service and that’s when the Trojan bug will be able to infect any computers that log on. It will corrupt those sources and fry any stored information.”

  The two burly muscular men that are supposed to be protecting me stand stupefied. A teenage girl who has not only just been shot, and killed someone a few moments ago, is now destroying an entire crime organization’s information structure. They are rightfully open-mouthed and rendered speechless.

  “Good choice for a wife Bryson,” Hennessey wisecracks.

  We slip out of the server room to the mostly emptied house. Leaving through the front door, we blend with the party goers rushing around to various cars. Jason honks the horn of the limo to get our attention.

  “I told him to have the car ready,” Hennessey says, pushing me in that direction.

  The doors are open and we pile into the stretch limo, but the driveway is jammed with cars trying to make a hasty escape.

  Jason frantically looks around and his eyes settle ahead. “Hold on!” he yells and the limo jets forward piercing the tall hedges gating the property. Hennessey ducks, but goes back to checking his gun ensuring its readiness.

  Bryson inspects my facial wounds and my bloody shoulder. He grabs a bottle of vodka from the limo bar and I shoot him a questioning look. “I have to clean the wound to get a better look. Sorry babe, this is going to sting a little.”

  Bracing for the anticipated discomfort, I clench my teeth and nod to Bryson. I don’t expect the scalding burn the vodka causes and I zombie scream. It might as well have been lemon juice slowly cascading down my shoulder. I take several severe breaths through my tightly gritted teeth. Bright stars fill my vision and my eyes roll back. A quiver ripples through me, chilling me to the bone.

  Bryson shakes my shoulder, “Babe! Babe, stay awake! Hennessey, she’s going into shock!” Neither men in the front seats respond, their attention is in the rear view mirrors. My eyes flutter, struggling to maintain awareness.

  “We have company.” Jason’s eyes are highlighted in a band of light from the rear view mirror. I hear the worried words, but find my body unresponsive to react.

  The roar of an engine behind us lets me know the pursuing car is closing in faster than the limo can speed down the winding beach road. Shots ring out and I can hear the crackling glass from the taken out side mirror and tail lights.

  Once more, I hear an engine rev before feeling the impact. It rear ends the limo causing Jason to grip the wheel trying to control the fishtail.

  Shoving me to the floor of the car, Bryson yells, “Stay down!”

  From the open window he leans out and returns fire. Hennessey does the same from the front passenger window.

  The pursuing car speeds up and sideswipes the backside panel of the limo causing it to go into an uncontrollable spin. The impact hurts my teeth, but I bite down on my scream. We hit the curb with such velocity, I fly across the car, slamming into Bryson. I’m instantly transported into the past. The final moments with my dad before the wail of metal filled my ears.

  I’m dazed, but I see Jason fall out of the car from behind the wheel with blood oozing from a gash between his eyebrows. I’m woozy, but Bryson and I try to get out of the car too. Grabbing his arm, I stop Bryson and pull him back into the car when Jason’s body lurches backward. A growing crimson flower buds from his chest and seeps through his shirt as he falls.

  Taking Bryson’s hand, I don’t react to Jason’s dead eyes. Instead, I pant, “Follow me,” and wiggle through the open partition that separates the driver from the passengers. Hennessey is already out of the car discharging his weapon. When he sees us crawl through to the front seats, he opens the limo’s back passenger door to shield us from the line of fire.

  Motioning to us, he commands, “Go! I’ll cover you!” and fires another shot.

  I stumble out of the car, falling on the pebbled sandy beach. My carefully selected shoes are still not appropriate for this kind of ter
rain; it is like trying to run on ice. The sharp broken sea shells and pebbles cut deeper into my palms and knees with each tumble. Marvy’s screams of “Get your ass up!” mixes with the gunfire and the lapping of the ocean waves from the shore. My hands and knees sting from the gritty beach sand. “I can’t! I’m sorry” I gurgle. My shoulder sizzles with excruciating pain.

  Bryson hauls me up by my waist. “Come on, baby! I got you.”

  From the corner of my eye, I can see Hennessey firing more shots behind them. He pulls his attention away from the shooters to ensure our get away. But in that split-second, he is rocked back and blood begins to river down his arm. Another shot twists him and he spins into the sand.

  “NO! HENNESSEY!” I scream, but a bullet catches Bryson’s leg throwing us both to the rocky sand.

  He limps trying to help me so he doesn’t see the man that strikes him from behind. I recognize the man from the party. I wasn’t introduced, but I remember thinking he was one of Andrijica’s men. The man stands over Bryson, kicking him and laying down a barrage of savage fists. He could have just shot him, but this attack is personal.

  I feebly try to pull the man off, but I’m weakened by my shoulder wound and blood loss. Another attacker grabs me from behind and throws me to the sand. Disoriented, I try to get up again, but my attacker’s fist causes an explosion across my cheekbone and drops me. White, hot flares burst through my head. I can only open one eye when I feel myself being dragged to the shallows of the shoreline. The wetness of the sand scrapes along my legs and I can hear the rhythmic lapping of the small waves. Bryson’s slack body drops next to me.

  The sea swirls around us as the tide is coming in. There are no seagulls calling. No kites dancing in the sky. No children building sand castles with their parents. No boats bringing Alex to rescue me. Not one element of my dream. The nightmare wasn’t a Freudian message—it was a premonition.

  I reach my hand up through the water to touch Bryson’s face and my heart tightens. His heat is not being cooled by the sea, but by his life being drained from him. The beautiful face is motionless skin under my fingers. I stroke his hair moving it away from his closed eyes.

  My tears mix with the salty ocean surrounding them. “I love you,” I whisper to him with one of my last remaining breaths. I think I hear footfalls trench through the water and another shot rings out making Bryson’s body judder.

  Knowing the next shot is for me, I close my eyes and submit to my fate. Tears that have not fallen, press out between my lashes and join the sea. I’m ready to follow Bryson.

  We’ll sleep for a thousand years in a dream together, but we will no longer walk amongst the living. Wait for me, I’ll see you shortly.

  Sand closer to the water is softer than on the beach itself. It swallows my body, burying me in a sandy, muddy grave. My mind drifts, overcome with defeat and into unconsciousness. Memories are an accompaniment into the blackness of my mind. Thoughts of the last few days with Bryson, being his wife, and the wedding this morning seems like an eternity ago. Dreams of fireworks fill my thoughts. I see behind my shut eyelids, bright lights followed by the colorful explosions and feel a sparkler-like burning into my head. Muffled underwater sounds of people shouting and footsteps rush around me. Giving in to the moment, I feel my body being lifted into the Heavens. I exhale my last breath surrendering to the abyss.

  We are finally free.

  IN A HAZY awareness, my sleepy eyes open, greeting darkness. I purposely blink twice to make sure my eyes are actually open. As they adjust, I realize I’m in a dimly lit room only illuminated by little lights flickering next to me and from a monitor showing an electric moving line that spikes erratically.

  Well, we’re not dead. Marvy says as I stretch my aching arms. My hand tangles in clear plastic tubing connecting to my IV and wires that hook me up to the box with the little flickering lights. Untangling myself from the medical web as best I can, I remove the irritating breathing tubes stuffed up my nostrils and toss them to the side. My eyes catch my bare left hand and my last image of Bryson fills my mind.

  I extend my fingers yearning for the weight of Nonna’s ring and his touch slipping it on my finger. Drawing my arm in close, I fist my hand, rolling the empty finger in the crook of my neck. I close my eyes tight as the sorrow sets in, drowning me. Tears stream down my cheek, soaking the pillow until I fall back into the depths of sleep.

  When next I wake, the morning sun is cresting mountains in my direct view through a window in a far corner of a massive room. Everything in the room has an Old World feel, from the antique furniture, to the hand-quilted bedspread keeping me warm. I remove the itchy leads from my chest gingerly as I don’t want to yank on the IV needle in my arm.

  Feeling the need to stretch my legs and stand, I draw my legs from under the bedding with considerable difficulty, and hang them over the side of the bed. That takes a lot out of me and as I push myself up, my head slams with waves of dizziness. Grasping around desperately for something to steady myself in the spinning room, the weathered wood floor comes up to meet my face. Just before I kiss wood, a pair of hands catch me and pull me back into the bed.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Seviride! Nice to see you so motivated, but let’s take it slow,” the woman says laying me back down and replacing the breathing tube. Although I don’t want the damn apparatus in my nose, I note my breathing is labored and the fresh air is appealingly cool. I admit I welcome the flow of oxygen being forced into my body.

  “I’m Angelina, your Day Nurse,” the woman says. She takes my vitals and turns off the monitor. “Your Night Nurse said you woke last night, but didn’t wake up when she came in to remove your feeding tube. How do you feel?”

  I’m confused as fuck. That’s how I feel.

  My head is very lucid though and a dull pain settles at the center of my brow. Tapping the spot, I grimace.

  Angelina nods and retrieves a tray sitting on a dresser. “That’s understandable. We took you off most of your meds last night.” She taps a syringe and injects it into my IV. “This will help.”

  With a smile she asks, “Are you hungry?”

  I blink at her stupidly, thinking about it, and then nod.

  “That’s a good sign. Let’s start with ice chips then,” she says, happily handing me a cup with unsatisfying looking ice flecks. I grimace.

  Why? Why do they always start with this? I want pancakes!

  Angelina chuckles, “Don’t worry. We’ll start with liquids before we move to soft foods. For now, we’ll leave the IV in till we get you on solids.” She pats my hand. “I’ve got to make a few calls now that you’re awake and then will be back with some juice. Sound good?” she asks and stands to leave.

  Swallowing a few times to lubricate my throat, I rasp out, “How long?” but I barely make a sound. It did get Angelina’s attention though.

  “Just a few minutes.” She smiles and turns to leave, but I seize her arm.

  I adamantly shake my head, then shove a few more ice chips in my mouth. After crunching and melting them to numb the razor blades in my throat, I make another attempt. I open my mouth and prep with a huge inhale. “No. How long?”

  Angelina’s eyes cast down, “Oh, you mean how long have you been here?” she screws her lips. “Mrs. Seviride, you’ve been at Una Pace Bella for a little over two years.”

  My eyes globe and I quietly gasp my mouth wide.

  It warrants condolences, but all she does is grimace and smile in an attempt to console. “I’ll be right back, dear.” She pats my hand again. My grip on her turns limp, allowing Angelina to slip away and leave the room.

  Bryson’s Beautiful Peace I think as I look out the window at the rising sun. And I’ve been here for two years.

  So many questions that needed answers beat on me. I wish I hadn’t asked about food. Even though I’m starving, I’m hungrier for answers. Hope for Angelina’s swift return has me anxiously watching the bedroom door and intently listening for any movement outside. I wish my legs wer
e up to par so I could explore my new residence or at least walk around the room.

  With no clocks in the room, an eternity seems to go by until I hear muffled voices in the hallway. My heart accelerates as the bedroom door cracks open slowly.

  To my surprise, a little girl playing with the doorknob pushes it open hanging from it and on her tippy-toes. If it wasn’t such a shock to see a child come into the room, it would be cute as she can barely reach the doorknob.

  Her eyes peek through messy baby-fine black curls that cover half her face, but she sees me and freezes. Despite being hidden by the cover of hair, my face falls and a metaphorical ton of bricks hits me.

  Oh God! Those eyes!

  They’re glued to mine and we curiously watch each other as a grandfather clock chimes in the noon hour from the hallway.

  I twitch a tiny, nervous smile at the cute little girl. “Well, hello there,” I mutter a bit paralyzed. “And who are you?”

  “Mama?” The little girl palms her hair away from her face.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God! This can’t be!

  Her left cheek dimples like Ty’s used to when he smiled. I choke when I recognize her daddy’s impish grin. Long, thick dark lashes bat as she blinks at me with a carbon-copy of his spectacular hazel-green eyes.

  What in the ever-loving…??

  END OF PIECES OF ONE, PART 2

  Other Books by SVC Ricketts

  My Last Season With You

  The Dark Life Collection

  Pieces Of One, Part One

  Where do I start to express my gratitude when it comes to P2? Firstly, I’d like to express my undying gratitude to my blogger friends. Six of you in particular get major props for sticking with me from the beginning with both MLSWY and P1, Bloggers from Down Under, Afterdark Book Lovers, Summer’s Book Blog, akiiKOMORI Reading, I Dare You To Read, and Crystal’s Many Reviewers. Although the two books were night and day, you trusted me as an author to take you on a journey. I could not be more blessed to have your faith in my abilities. Thank you, thank you, thank you!