Young Love Murder Part 11

She looks at me in disbelief, her voice is panicky. "What are you talking about, Gabriel? What do you mean, someone shot your father?" I see horror in her eyes and wonder if she sees the same in mine.

I squeeze my eyes shut again, hoping when they open, this nightmare will have faded. Opening them, I don't wake up from it. "Exactly what I just said. He's dead. They're both dead. Call the police."

My mom pushes past me and rushes up the stairs. I stand there for a minute before realizing what she means to do. The knowledge finally snaps me out of the fog. I run up the stairs after her. "Mom, you don't want to see it!"

Too late.

She enters the study before I can stop her and screams in a high pitch at the top of her lungs. She lunges toward my father's body, sobbing, but I manage to hold her back. She tries to get out of my hold and I have to pick her feet up off the ground. Holding her tightly against me, I move her over to the leather couch, where the large desk will block most of her view.

"Mom, you can't touch him, it's a crime scene. Now, I'm going to let go of you so I can call the police." I slowly release my hold on her and she falls back against the couch in a fit of agony. I walk over to the desk, pick up the phone and dial 911. Refusing to look down at the bodies, I wait for someone to pick up.

The 911 dispatcher answers after a short wait time. I confirm our address and tell her, "Someone murdered my father. Send the police." The dispatcher wants me to stay on the line until the police arrive at the house, to answer more questions over the phone. I have something else in mind.

Hanging up, I call down to the guard booth next, asking them to send someone up to the house. Two minutes later, a man shows up and I ask him to sit with my mother. The security guard sees the bodies and his eyes go wide. I feel like saying, Yeah, you didn't do your job, did you? Then again, I'm the one who brought the killer into our home. I try telling my mom that I need to leave, but she's falling to pieces. I'm not even sure she comprehends what's going on anymore.

I go to my bathroom and strip out of my clothes. Putting my head under the sink, the running water rinses off visible traces of the blood. I wash my hands and go into my closet for a change of clothes. Grabbing my car keys and wallet, I take the stairs two at a time and rush out the door. I can already hear the sirens, they're close. As I'm pulling out of the gate, the cops are coming down the street. I pa.s.s by a speeding ambulance less than a minute later.

I have to talk to Anna. There has to be an explanation. Maybe I imagined it was her. No, I'm kidding myself. I didn't imagine that it was Anna that shot my father. Still, there has to be an explanation. Why would Anna do this? What was she thinking? She must have had a reason. Unless she's insane. If she's crazy, I'll do whatever it takes to get her help. I love her. Miraculously, I love her still. What other possible reason could there be? Seventeen-year-old girls just don't go around murdering men for no reason. Right?

I speed to the hotel, breathing a sigh of relief on seeing Anna's car in the parking lot. I can't explain why, but I have the feeling that the clock is ticking. Instead of waiting for the elevator, I take the stairs. I'm sweating by the time I reach Anna's floor. Breathing hard, I'm about to knock on the door when it swings open.

I drop my fist at the sight of the person before me then contemplate raising it again. It's her blonde Russian friend. Her parents' bodyguard. He's carrying luggage in each hand. He sets them down slowly when he sees me. His entire body tenses up, as if he's readying to attack.

"Where is she?" I ask hoa.r.s.ely, ready for a confrontation.

He opens his mouth to answer, but before he can speak, Anna's voice says from behind him, "It's okay. Move out of the way." Interesting, I thought the Russian couldn't understand English. He seems reluctant as he hesitates before stepping aside and mockingly gesturing for me to enter the room.

At the first sight of Anna, a mixture of feelings race through me. The intensity of it almost overwhelms me, forcing me to breathe through the pain. All at the same time I want to hold her close, shake her in disbelief and hurt her badly. Despite what happened earlier tonight the love is still there. Possibly stronger than ever, but something else is building too. Another emotion is beginning to burn parallel to that love.

Anna is standing there, wariness radiating from her. It's not quite fear that's in her eyes as she looks at me, but something that I can't quite figure out. We just stare at each other. I don't know exactly what to say to the murderer of my father. The girl I love. I can't even begin to guess what she's thinking right now.

The Russian breaks the silence. "We don't have time for this, Annie. We have to leave now. He's probably already called the cops." Interesting. The Russian, who didn't speak or understand English before, can now speak it fluently. Without an accent.

I avoid the more pressing issues and address this one, the easier one. I watch Anna's face and say, "I thought he was Russian?"

She doesn't even look guilty as she says, "I lied."

I finally explode. "You lied about a h.e.l.l of a lot more than that! Who the f.u.c.k are you? Why did I just have to watch you murder my father?" I point at the fake Russian. "And who the f.u.c.k is he really to you?"

I take a step towards Anna and the fake Russian takes a step closer to me. Anna holds up her hands. "Stop! He's not going to hurt me!"

I'm not? "Anna, can I speak to you in private. Without him here?"

At the same time that Anna says, "Yes," the blonde guy gives a vehement, "No."

Anna flashes him an impatient look. "We both know that I'm in no danger from him. I can take care of myself."

The guy glares at her for a moment before saying, "Make it quick. We need to leave." As he moves past me to leave the room, he b.u.mps his shoulder hard against mine and says, "Don't try pulling anything. I have a key. You can't keep me out. Try hurting her and I'll kill you."

"I wouldn't hurt her," I say through clenched teeth. Would I?

He gives me a sarcastic look. "I said try. You wouldn't stand a chance against her unless she let you." He leaves the room, shutting the door behind him to wait in the hallway. Again I wonder, who is this guy to her? Why does he have a G.o.dd.a.m.n key?

Turning back to Anna, I again see that emotion in her eyes similar to fear, but not quite. Is it anxiety? Does the murderess actually feel remorse? No, it's not remorse that I'm seeing. At least not for the act. Of course, she should feel anxious right about now.

"I did call the police," I tell her, trying to gauge her reaction. She doesn't have one, from what I can tell. It's almost like she's the stranger I first met. "Why did you do it?"

She seems to debate her words before saying, "I had to."

I'm barely able to reign in the building anger when I respond by saying, "That's not an answer. Why did you murder my father?" Clenching my fists, I manage to keep my tears in check.

"I don't consider it murder when I kill a murderer. I call it justice." Her words make no sense. What is she talking about? My father was no murderer.

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?" I take another step closer, she doesn't move, as if unconcerned by any threat I may pose.

"Your father, he was a murderer. He killed people, sometimes innocent people. That wasn't the only thing that he was guilty of. He's also one of the largest distributors of drugs from South America. He was a monster." She speaks her lies so matter-of-factly. I wonder how many other lies of hers I fell for. Not this time, she's not that good.

"Liar!" She doesn't know what the h.e.l.l she's talking about. My dad would never do those things.

"I'm not lying, Gabriel," she says softly. Her golden brown eyes are beseeching me to believe her, but now I see her for what she is, a monster.

"And who are you?" My father's death should be my main focus, but I have to know what she is.

"Who do you think I am?" Anna looks at me cautiously, almost as if she's reluctant to answer the question.

"At this point, I really don't know." Rubbing a hand over my face, I notice her glancing at the door. Yeah, she'd like to escape me, wouldn't she?

"I was hired to kill your father, probably by people who felt he'd never see justice in the court system. Maybe by a rival drug dealer." She watches my face, my reaction, as if daring me to argue.

I take another step towards her. She doesn't move, doesn't look threatened. "Probably? So, you're some sort of . . . . a.s.sa.s.sin?" That's insane.

She nods. "Your father deserved to die."

I close the remainder of the short distance that separates us and grab her head roughly with both hands. Squeezing her face between my hands, I shout at her, "My father was not a murderer or a drug dealer! He was a good man and he worked hard. You're the murderer. You murdered my father and have destroyed my mother. Destroyed our lives." I'll beat the truth into her if I have to.

Finally, Anna's cool facade crumbles and tears form in her eyes. Real or fake? She lifts her right hand as if to touch my face, but drops it dejectedly. "I'm telling the truth, Gabriel. I love you. I wouldn't have done it if it weren't true."

I grab her shoulders and shake her violently. She braces herself by grabbing onto my biceps. "Liar! I won't listen to your lies, Anna. I won't listen to you talk this way about my father. Oh G.o.d! I loved you, Anna! More than anything in this world. And now I don't know if I do anymore because I hate you. So much. I hate you so much that it's killing all the love I had for you. And I hate you for that too!" I tighten my grip on her shoulders to the point of bruising. More tears well up in her eyes. Shaking her again, I yell, "Do you think I care for your tears, Anna? Do you think I believe them anymore?"

Anna's tears stream down her face. Her expression reflects anguish when she whispers, "I'm sorry, Gabriel. I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you."

Before I can even form a response to that, I feel pressure against my neck and my world goes black once again.

When I regain consciousness sometime later, Anna and all her belongings are gone. Everything finally crashes over me. My world comes cras.h.i.+ng down. The murder of my father, the destruction of my family and the betrayal of the only girl I've ever loved is too much. For the first time tonight, I allow myself to cry. The tears are for all that I've lost and everything I'll never have again.

Chapter 15.

Annabelle After using a pressure point move to knock out Gabriel, I open the door to the suite to see Jackson waiting for me, leaning against the wall opposite our door. He looks through the open doorway at Gabriel lying on the floor and asks, "Do you want me to kill him for you?"

"Never!" I yell at him, glowering while trying to dry my face with the sleeve of my black sweater. Pus.h.i.+ng him down the hallway, I take one last look at Gabriel as the hotel room door is slowly closing before following my brother to the elevator. Jackson sends the message to Simon for me, letting him know that it's finished and to have his computer geek clean up after us.

Early the next morning we've been driving north all night, getting as far away from Florida as possible. Once we're far enough, we'll leave the country and won't come back for a long while. Long enough to make sure that our real ident.i.ties haven't been discovered and the coast is clear to return to the United States for future jobs.

Last night we left the Lamborghinis in the parking lot of the hotel for the luxury car rental service to pick up. Jackson made a joke that we never got a chance to race them. I didn't laugh. Taking the city bus from the hotel, we picked up a nondescript family sedan at a car rental place out in the suburbs of Miami.

With my head leaning against the hard pa.s.senger window, my emotions seem to be racing as quickly as the pa.s.sing scenery. Jackson has tried to talk me into sleeping but I can't. I feel physically sick and can't stop crying. Jackson isn't used to dealing with a crying sister, since we were trained to control our emotions, not wallow in them. I feel totally out of control at the moment. My poor brother is trying his best to comfort me. He sucks at it.

"Do you want me to stop the car in some small town so we can rumble with the locals?" When I don't answer, he continues, "I'll take that as a 'No'."

"What city are we switching cars in?" I ask in a raspy voice. You sound pathetic, Annabelle.

"We just entered South Carolina. We'll switch cars in Columbia," Jackson answers quietly.

Arriving in Columbia, we abandon the rental car and take a public bus to the outskirts of the city. From there, we walk the residential neighborhoods for a car to steal. Jackson hotwires a minivan with a car seat in it. Some white stickers on the back window represent the family we're stealing from. If this is the worst thing that ever happens to them, they should consider themselves lucky. We drive the minivan into North Carolina, abandoning it in downtown Raleigh and wiping it clean of any fingerprints. From there we take a taxi to the airport.

Gabriel is the only witness to the crime and I'm not sure what he'll say to the cops. The erratic travel measures that Jackson and I have taken should lose any trail we may have. Jackson and I each use a new set of false identification to book a flight from Raleigh to London. The flight is going to be seven and a half hours long so, unfortunately, I'll have nothing to do but think about Gabriel. Either that or make small talk with whatever normal pa.s.senger is seated next to me. I can't relate to normal, especially right now.

Jeez, my entire life I've never felt sorry for myself. Not about being an orphan. Not about my unusual childhood. But right now, I pity myself for the things I've never had and the things that I'll never have in the future. Love, a real family, Gabriel. Thinking his name squeezes at my heart, making it hard to breath, like a vise on my lungs.

Thankfully the flight is almost full and Jackson and I won't be sitting together. I don't think I could take anymore of him trying to cheer me up. It's useless. Nothing will ever make me happy again. It's not that I regret killing Xavier Sanchez. That was business. What I regret is losing Gabriel, my first and only love. That was all too personal.

The things he said to me . . . d.a.m.n.

Maybe I deserved his harsh words, maybe I didn't. It doesn't matter either way. What matters is the way he feels. He hates me and doesn't love me anymore. I killed his love when I killed his father. Losing that love hurts worse than any bullet ever could, more than the pain any torture device could extract. I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't molded for it and love just isn't an option for me. Simon was right. Love is a weakness that those in our professions cannot afford. I was an idiot to think differently. You'd think my parents' tragedy would be lesson enough.

But it was so sweet while it lasted and I'll always cherish what we shared. I will always love Gabriel. Always. The little time we had together will just have to be enough to last me forever. It's funny that loving him will be both my greatest joy and greatest mistake in life. I can't regret it, though. I now know how beautiful love can be, but I won't forget its devastation either. I'll carry the memories with me into the future. His perspective of the memories may differ from mine, but I hope in his unguarded moments, he can remember how beautiful we were together.

I break down on the plane about an hour after takeoff, the distance between us sinking in, and have to go to the restroom for privacy. As I grip the tiny bathroom sink, I try to push back the despair. I feel so nauseous at the thought of never seeing Gabriel again. Feeling dizzy, I brace one hand against the wall and lean over the metal toilet to empty the meager contents of my stomach. This is one instance where throwing up doesn't make me feel better. It isn't a sickness of the body, but a sickness of the heart and soul. Maybe I'm addicted to Gabriel's love, and without it, I'm like an addict without her fix experiencing severe withdrawals. You're pathetic, Annabelle. You don't deserve his love.

Since that night, I've thought over and over again about what I should have done differently. There are so many things. Not finis.h.i.+ng the job wasn't an option, though. Doing a better job at covering my actions was definitely an option. Hindsight is a b.i.t.c.h. I finally paid for my overconfidence in my abilities, the invincible feeling of youth. Why did it have to happen on this job?

It's over. I messed up and it's all over. I should have used something to put him to sleep. Then he wouldn't have walked into the study in the middle of my kill. Holy s.h.i.+t, that has to be traumatizing to the average person. It's like I've tainted him by being the one to expose him to the dark realities of life. Better me than his father, though.

When it comes down to it, could I have really given up being an a.s.sa.s.sin to be with Gabriel? Yes, I suppose I could have and possibly been happier than I'd ever imagined. Maybe not, maybe the loss of my profession would have gnawed at me until I was forced to pick up a gun again. I'll never know now since I've lost my reason to quit. Besides, this is who I am. This is who Simon has made me, who my parent's legacy has created. What I was born to be.

Leaving the claustrophobic airplane bathroom, I return to my seat. Pa.s.sing by Jackson on my way back, he gives me a weird look. I ignore him and sit down between a businessman reading a magazine and a sleeping elderly woman. I pull the tape recorder out of my carryon bag, rolling the small device between my palms. I had wanted proof, maybe only for myself, that I wasn't a monster for killing my boyfriend's dad. He may have been a husband and father, but I also killed a monster. I did the world a favor. I did the right thing. I'll just have to live with the consequences. They'll have to be worth it. Thinking back, no matter what, I would have killed Xavier Sanchez just to protect Gabriel from being turned into his protege. Saving Gabriel is worth any pain to me.

When Gabriel confronted me at the hotel after the killing, I thought about bringing out the tape and telling him, See! He was a bad man! But I saw in Gabriel's eyes that it would just hurt him more. He doesn't want to believe that his father was evil and he doesn't want to know the truth. Not only had his girlfriend killed his father, but to find out on top of it all, that his father was a murdering drug lord? I'm afraid that may just break him. I love him too much to do that to him. Let him have the good memories he has of his father. He'd hate me either way.

Like he said, his hate has killed all of the love he felt for me. So, he'll get over me. He'll eventually come to terms with his father's death. Never letting him know that the man who raised him, the father he loves, is a cold-blooded murderer, is my gift to him. He doesn't need to know that two of the people he loved most in this world are both killers, just me. That's a t.i.tle I'll carry alone.

Gabriel will go on with his normal life and I'll go back to doing what I do best, killing. This is really for the best. Besides, even if I did play the tape for him he would never look at me the same way. He would never love me again. Not after seeing me shoot his father. Not after finding out that I used him from the beginning to get to Xavier.

I hate myself for hurting him and I deserve for him to hate me. I wish I could have his forgiveness and understanding. I'd sell my soul to have his love again.

Does he even understand how much I love him? If I tried to convince him, he'd just laugh in my face. He'd probably slap me in the face.

Well, no one can stop me from loving him. Not even Gabriel himself. I love you, Gabriel.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Chapter 16.

Gabriel "Tell us how it happened one more time, Mr. Sanchez. You don't have to go into as much detail as before, a summary will do." Detective Valdes glances over at Detective Decker then gives me his serious cop look.

I drop my forehead against the metal table in the interrogation room, showing them how tired I am of this c.r.a.p. Lightly, of course, I've been knocked unconscious enough in the last 24 hours, all courtesy of my girlfriend, uh, ex-girlfriend. I don't even know what the f.u.c.k to call her anymore. Lover? Deceiver? a.s.sa.s.sin? Definitely Murderer.

Lifting my head off the table, I give the detectives a tortured look. "Really? Again? How much longer is this going to last? We've been going round and round for the past five hours. I need to get home and be with my mother." Not to mention the gunshot residue test I submitted to before the questioning even began.

"I think my client has answered enough questions, detectives." My lawyer, Mr. Rogers, announces while tucking his yellow legal pad into a black alligator leather briefcase that matches his s.h.i.+ny shoes. Someone gets paid a ridiculous amount per hour.

Reluctantly, I hold up my right index finger. "One more time then we're done?"

The detectives look at each other again but say nothing. More of their telepathic communication bulls.h.i.+t. Detective Decker returns his gaze to me. "One more time."

I let out an exasperated breath. "Fine. This is what happened. I was with my girlfriend, Anna Walker, in my room, when we decided to go downstairs for some food."

"And you two are s.e.xually active?" Decker asks.

"Irrelevant," I answer with a glare, then continue, "We were pa.s.sing my dad's study when we heard a loud thump. I thought that maybe my dad had fallen and gotten hurt, so I went inside. Anna followed me into the study where we saw my dad being held at gunpoint by a large man wearing a ski mask and gloves."

"And you didn't see the color of his eyes or any other identifying features?" Detective Valdes asks dubiously.

"I already told you I didn't. It all happened too fast and I was mostly looking at the gun, not the guy holding it." I stare at both detectives then continue, "Anyways, my father's bodyguard was already dead on the floor. In front of our eyes, the masked man threw a knife and hit my dad's wrist. My father had been reaching towards his desk drawer for the gun he keeps in there."

"We found it," Detective Valdes informs me.

"Yeah, well, then the man shot my father and I thought for sure we'd be next. The man turned the gun on us. I begged him not to hurt us, especially Anna. You see, she's a very sensitive girl. I think the shock of seeing something as horrible as murder had her really upset." I lie through my teeth, not showing outwardly the anger that I'm reining in.