by K. R. Rowe
"I have something of grave importance to tell you," Lucien said, as the small rocks and sticks dug skin from his cheek.
"I don't need to hear anything you have to say!" Alex fought the overwhelming urge to mix his brains with the dirt.
The cold barrel of the gun imprinted a red circle against Lucien’s temple as it shook.
"She is in danger!" Lucien said. His tone that was urgent and tense. "He is coming back for her, and he's more dangerous this time because it isn't the money he wants. It's revenge."
Alex pulled the gun away, "Who?"
"The man who was in the bunker with me, his name is André." he said. "Do not let her out of your sight."
Alex stood.
Lucien attempted to get to his feet.
"Don't even think about getting up!" He shoved Lucien back to the ground with the sole of his boot. "Grace, call the police," Alex called over his shoulder.
"This is my number." He held out a card and slid it across the ground toward Alex. "If anything happens, anything at all—call me. I'm going back to Québec. I can protect her if I'm there."
"I've seen your kind of protection!" Alex shouted. "She almost died because of you!" His anger returned, and burned hot, from the memory of how he had found her.
"Are you listening?" Lucien yelled from the ground.
Alex squatted next to him and snarled low. "Why should I trust you?"
"You have no choice," he said. "I warned you about him then, but I’ll tell you one more time, do not let her out of your sight!"
The next morning, persistent knocking on the guardhouse door brought Alex to his feet. Joel's father, Detective Bradford, stood waiting on the porch. His expression was serious and troubled.
"Good morning, Detective Bradford."
"Good morning, Alex, may I come in?"
They took a seat, and Alex assumed he was here to speak of the trouble the night before.
"The man, Lucien Sergé Laurent, was released last night."
"What!" Alex yelled and jumped to his feet.
"All they could charge him with was trespassing. He was released on bail early this morning, before I got there."
Alex began to pace as he stared at the floor. He stopped and looked up.
"But he's a kidnapper! A criminal! I told them!" he said. "Matt and Lydia were going down this morning to give a statement! They can identify him! What's wrong with them?" he shouted with disbelief.
"Alex, he was good," Detective Bradford said. "He made them believe you were the lunatic. Like he was an innocent guy, walking along, minding his own business and you attacked him, like some paranoid nut job."
The explanation went unheard.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," Alex said, talking to himself as he resumed his pacing. "I had two chances and still didn't do it. What was I thinking?"
"They couldn't keep him," Detective Bradford said. "He was unarmed, and he denied everything you said. It was your word against his."
Alex exploded. "I should have killed him the first time!" He kicked his chair across the floor. It clattered and skidded, then crashed into the wall, leaving a large crack slinking its way down the window outside.
"You're right," Detective Bradford said. "You should’ve killed him the first time, but this time … it would’ve been murder."
Czar was very well trained. He could tear a man to shreds with just one command, but at the same time, he could be a loving, dedicated companion. Even by his own standards, Alex’s protective habits had become excessive. Each step she took, he would follow. When she walked, he walked, when she stopped, he ran into her.
He needed help.
Every night Czar settled down comfortably at the foot of her bed. Like most dogs, even in sleep, he remained alert. Nothing moved without his notice. At least now, Alex could sleep better knowing she was safe at night.
However, that still left the day.
The wedding was a week away and the last minute preparations began to pick up speed. Lydia vocalized her growing frustration and annoyance with Alex's constant presence.
"Something needs to be done about him!" she said, while helping Grace make a final decision on the flowers for the reception. "We need to go shopping for shoes, clothes, and of course the last dress alteration is coming up, and he can’t see you in it!" she complained. "Oh, and by the way, we have to go lingerie shopping for your honeymoon, and there is no way he can go in there with us, absolutely no way. He's driving me nuts!" Lydia said.
"I don’t mind." Grace looked out the window of the flower shop and waved at him.
"Oh, good Lord." Lydia rolled her eyes. "You’re no help at all. Besides, you have me and my little friend." Her smile was cocky as she patted the gun on her side, "I'm calling Matt."
Early the following morning, Alex peered down the long, steel barrel of his .45. His work was meticulous, as he slid a bore brush, in long slow sweeps, through to the end and back several times. In rotating strokes, he swabbed the inside with a soft cotton pad. He held it up to the light and nodded. His fingertips curled around the outside of the barrel, and slowly rubbed smooth, slick gun oil across its hard surface. Satisfied, he laid it on a soft cloth and picked up the slide.
A loud knocking brought Alex to his feet. He opened the door to find a grinning, half-awake Matt.
"What are you doing up this early?" Alex invited him in. "I thought it was your day off."
"I was sent by the boss."
"Oh," Alex said. "Let me guess, I’m getting on her nerves."
Matt laughed. "Something like that," he said. "I guess you already know why I’m here."
"Yep, and the answer is no." Alex stuck the end of the brush between his teeth and sat back down to finish his cleaning. "I can’t take any chances."
"They need to do some things—you know—without you."
"No way," he said without looking up.
"You know Lydia’s a bad ass. Have you seen the gun she carries? I bought her one of those small Lady Desert Eagles, you know, with the voice activation and the shoot itself feature, but after using it awhile, she scrapped it—nope, not big enough. Now she carries a .44."
Alex looked up at him in disbelief.
"Oh come on .…"
"No kidding!" Matt said. "And she's good. She can have that thing against your head before you can blink your eye, and not only that, she can fight." His smile was proud. "I taught her well."
Alex was more than skeptical and thought about it for a minute.
"Prove it."
The next day Lydia and Alex hunkered and circled like wrestlers in a patch of grass near Matt’s apartment. Every time Alex tried to grab her, she threw him to the ground. After several attempts, it was time to use what he learned in the Marines. He needed to see what she could do with a trained fighter. The first time he lunged toward her; she ducked and kicked him hard—"where her mama told her to". Fortunate for him, Matt had the foresight to warn him in advance, and he was wearing protection. It could have been much worse, but still, it hurt.
In pain, he limped aside and fell down.
"Matt, let’s see you fight her," he said, as he lay on the ground and tried not to move.
Finally satisfied that she could fight, he wanted to see her skills with the gun. At the firing range, he kept a safe distance. He was afraid to watch. He closed one eye, squinted the other, and cringed. He feared the recoil of such a large pistol would whack a knot on her head. He was shocked to be wrong. He was still uneasy but he finally agreed to let the girls go out alone. He promised to try his best not to follow.
After all, what could possibly happen in a week?
******
Chapter 20 The Tiger
Lucien was only a child when the war began. The unrest in Québec caught his family in its crosshairs. The world that he knew fell in ruins around him, when at a very young age; he hid in terror and watched, as his father was brutally murdered. A few years later, his mother fell ill. With the collapse of the government and the
health-care it provided, the war left the people to die. They became poorer with their struggle for independence. Lucien had no choice; he grew up fast and soon became wise beyond his years.
He walked a twisted road of good intentions, but it was paved with the sins of war. His mother never knew what he did, and all that mattered to Lucien was she received the care she needed to keep her alive.
They called him, "The Tiger."
Like his namesake, they shared the unique amber gold color of their eyes. He was educated, articulate, and spoke fluent English with no accent. Antoine Montcalm took notice of the fatherless young teen, when his son, Jacques, brought his friend home. He took him under his wing, polished him, guided him, and taught him the lucrative life of a modern day pirate, and the rewards of being a spy. Now at just twenty-eight, Lucien felt like an old dog, but others deemed him the master.
******
Chapter 21 Like a Son
Lucien leaned back, and soaked in the warmth of the fireplace while he waited for his boss to join him. For a minute, he closed his eyes. He relaxed as he listened to the hypnotic pop and crackle of the red-hot embers. The heady scent of burning wood filled his nose and swept his thoughts to a campfire, a lake, and roasted marshmallows. He groaned and opened his eyes. The small French Bistro in downtown Joliette was calm and quiet this evening. This was Montcalm's favorite restaurant and he kept it protected.
"Ah, there he is," Montcalm said, as Lucien stood to greet him. "The Tiger has decided to return to his lair." He handed Lucien a fat cigar.
"Thank you, sir. It's nice to be home." Lucien smiled and smoothly reverted to his native French. The lie rolled easily over his tongue. He was tired of this place and grew weary of the cold.
"So, how was your extended stay in The South?" he asked. He chewed off the end of his cigar and spit it into the fireplace.
Lucien’s broad smile answered the question.
"Ahh …." Montcalm leaned back and laughed. "A woman! Why am I not surprised?" he said. "You have become quite the ladies man."
Lucien’s smile was wistful. "Yes, but I fear she doesn't care much for me," he said, recalling his short stint in jail.
"You? No, I don't believe it!" Montcalm said. "Ah well, such is life I suppose, we win some and we lose some."
"Yes," Lucien said, "and with this one, it is a definite loss."
Montcalm leaned close, "Just remember this," he said, "in our line of work, nothing is a loss." He took a puff from his cigar and blew a perfect smoke ring. "Québec’s become your throne. You have the power to get what you want. If you want it—take it."
"Yes sir." Lucien watched, entranced, as the smoke ring dissolved. "I’ve considered it already, and will definitely keep it in mind."
Lucien had a feeling he knew why Montcalm had called him here tonight. He already knew what André was up to.
"Lucien, I have asked you to meet with me for a reason," Montcalm's tone turned serious. "You are like a son to me, like a brother to Jacques and André," he said. "André’s mental condition, I fear, has worsened. He's become uncontrollable, and increasingly violent without cause, just like his mother had been."
Lucien had already noticed.
"Before her passing," Montcalm said, "she would become haunted by strange thoughts. She would obsess over things—little things—an ordinary person would just brush aside. And then there were the voices," he said. "André needs help. There's an institution in the US that can provide the mental evaluation, and medication he needs. I have contacts there that can help, but I just need to get him back here first." He motioned the waitress over.
"How can I help?" Lucien asked.
"André is already in the States, and Jacques has refused to help him this time," he said. "I suspect he’ll call you for assistance. He’s gone against my wishes and is afraid to come to me. I need you to get him back here to Joliette." He leaned forward. "Use any means necessary."
"I'll do everything I can, sir."
******
Chapter 22 Thunder Bay
The wedding shop was nestled on the North Shore of Chattanooga. Just steps from the water, a number of quaint boutiques lined the road on the opposite side of the river. The seamstress was the best in the city, and the last alteration went perfectly.
"You look beautiful!" Ms. Fowler said as she finished the stitching. "I’ll be here until around nine tonight, so if you need anything, please stop back in."
"Thank you Ms. Fowler!" Grace said. "You’ve been wonderful!" Her excited smile was dazzling as she turned in a circle for her mom and Lydia. "Please come to the wedding tomorrow if you can," she said.
"I'll be there," Ms. Fowler promised when Grace's phone buzzed.
"Good Lord, it's him again!" Lydia said.
"I’m surprised he’s not lurking around outside," Anne said.
Lydia burst into laughter. "I caught him yesterday," she said. "It was so funny! When he tried to hide, he tripped over a stray dog and it chased him and tried to bite him!"
The dress was beautiful, and Grace could not resist trying it on again once she was home. She had never been more excited. Her mother had already gone to bed and Lydia went home for the evening. Everything was perfect. She stood at the full-length mirror in her room and Czar sat nearby wagging his tail.
"I think tomorrow, Alex will be more handsome than you, Czar," she said. The shepherd looked at her sideways with his ears up as if he understood every word that she said.
It was the dress of her dreams.
"I love it!" She smiled as she spun around to see the back in the mirror. Her smile quickly faded when the nauseating sound of shredding material filled the room. Horrified, she looked down to find her dress had caught on the bedpost and ripped a large hole in the seam.
"Oh no!" She grabbed her phone in a panic, "Mrs. Fowler? I’m so glad you’re still there," she said. "I’ve ripped my gown!"
The North shore was dark and deserted. The tourists were sparse in November, especially at night. The wailing cold wind, from the shadows of the river, blew Grace through the door of the shop. She decided not to bother anyone at this time of night and wanted to take care of this herself.
Mrs. Fowler stood waiting.
"Thank you so much, Mrs. Fowler," she said. "I'm so sorry. I just don't know how I could have been so clumsy."
"Oh Honey, don't you worry, this is why I stay late." Her motherly smile was reassuring as she patted Grace's hand.
"I'm so excited! I can't wait until tomorrow," she said and sighed. "He's so sweet and so—"
"All done."
"Wow that was fast!" Grace said. "No one will even know I was gone."
She thanked her, bundled up, and rushed out into the chilly night. After a few minutes, Mrs. Fowler packed up her supplies, and went out the front to lock up.
"How odd," she said.
A purse, with its contents scattered, covered the ground. Not far away, a wedding dress lay, crumpled in a heap and abandoned.
Alex leaned back in his recliner and turned on the heater. It was time to relax. During his recovery, Atticus sent the recliner home with him as a gift. It was pure heaven. Satisfied finally, that Grace was home for the evening, he decided he would go to sleep early. The sooner he slept; the sooner the next day would come. He blew out a sigh, kicked off his shoes and dozed off.
He had only been sleeping for minutes when he bolted upright with his heart pounding. The nightmare was so real. It was probably just his nerves. It was only nine thirty, so he decided to call Grace. It rang with no answer. Just when he disconnected, his phone buzzed. It was Atticus.
Grace was gone.
Law enforcement had canvassed the area long before Alex arrived. Atticus stood silent in shock and Anne was in hysterics. The turquoise walk bridge loomed over his head when he found himself in the park next to the river. He sat alone and gazed up at the bridge, while memories flooded his mind of the night he proposed. His face dropped in his hands and his shoulders shook as the dawn crept in f
rom the east.
Sneaking over the horizon, the sun rose like a thief with a brilliant gold flashlight, to steal the remains of what the night had left behind. A hand of light reflected from the buildings, and cast multiple fingers of colors across the still water, blinding him long enough to reach in, and try to snatch away his soul, but it was too late—it was already gone.
This was his wedding day.
The usual confident tough-guy, who always had a plan disappeared, and in his place, sat a lost little boy. He reached in his back pocket and pulled a card from his wallet. He stared at the name—Lucien Laurent.
He had no choice.
"Hello?" the voice on the other end answered.
"Lucien?"
"Yes, this is Lucien," the man replied.
"Lucien ... I need help."
It was like a wide-awake nightmare, but when she closed her eyes to dream it away, it was still there. The man was a monster. André kept Grace locked in the cramped cabin of the tiny boat for over a week, and she quickly learned not to upset him.
Her only control was the breath that she took, but the odor of her own pending death hung, like a prophet, in the air around her. A chilling prediction, she thought, but one that might bring her peace.
It was late at night when he finally allowed her out of the suffocating cabin and onto the deck. It was bitter and cold. The chill in the air burned her lungs when she dared to take a deep breath. She stood with her hands on the railing, looking down into the black endless depths of the gloomy water.
She wondered what dark secrets lay beneath the surface. The hypnotic swirl of the water beckoned her like a thousand lost souls calling her name. She imagined their hands reaching up from the frozen depths to lure her to join them in their cold frigid graves. Entranced, she slowly crawled over the rail.
"Wait for me, I'm coming," she said. Transfixed, she silently slipped over the edge and disappeared into the darkness. The water enveloped her in its bitter grip, wrapping its frosty fingers around her, and piercing her skin like the sting of a million hot needles. She closed her eyes when a cocoon of numbness wrapped its arms around her. It replaced the pain and reassured her of the comfort she would find in death.
