by Kelly Oram
“That’s right, Ellie,” he cooed. “Scream for me, my little fighter.”
His voice brought me out of the pain and I realized he was on top of me. I became frantic—thrashing as violently as I could, even though it caused my stomach to catch fire all over again. I got one of my arms free and punched him. But thanks to the muscles in my stomach being sliced up, I couldn’t get enough force to knock the man twice my size off me. The sicko liked it when I hit him, though.
I tried a new tactic and started feeling around my head for something on the counter, but the only things within my reach were a stack of mail, Angela’s purse, and the keys to my Jeep. The keys to my Jeep!
My tiny pink Swiss Army knife had never looked more beautiful. Seth told me when he’d given it to me that it would never ward off a serial killer, but I was willing to test the theory. I snatched it up and pulled the blade open with my teeth, then jammed it as hard as I could into whatever part of Pierce’s body was the closest. The little inch-long blade jabbed all the way into his forearm, and though it wasn’t exactly a fatal wound, it had to have hurt like freaking hell.
I had completely thrown him off his game. When he stumbled back, I did the only thing I could think of to do, which was to pull the knife out of his arm and start stabbing him again. “How do you like it, you psycho!” I screamed as I jammed my knife into his arm a good two or three more times.
Um, apparently he didn’t like it, because he called me the B word—the real B word, not the one I occasionally call Seth—and stuck his much bigger knife into my stomach for real this time.
It’s funny, because I felt it, and I knew exactly what was happening, but it’s like the pain was so intense that it simply stopped hurting. The stab wound hadn’t hurt nearly as bad as the slice job he’d done a minute ago. I didn’t even scream. I just sort of gasped and got really cold.
I waited for something more—for him to pull the knife out and stab me again, or at the very least say some creepy comment, or put his slimy fingers on me—but none of that came. Instead, there was the sound of a skull cracking and Angela’s blood curdling scream.
I opened my eyes as Pierce dropped to the ground, and there was my sister, holding a frying pan with smears of blood on it. She was shaking so hard that she could barely hold onto it. “Ellie!” she cried. “Just hold on. I already called the cops!”
“Where’s Seth?” I asked, but when I spoke I coughed up a tiny bit of blood and Angela went into hysterics again.
A minute or so later, everything turned to chaos as a million cops swarmed my house. Angela was whisked away, as well as the unconscious serial killer. I was surrounded by a team of paramedics. Whatever they injected into my body, bless their hearts, didn’t just take the pain away, it was going to let me sleep through the part where they took the knife out of my stomach. I’m fairly certain that was a good thing. I was already drifting off as they put me on the stretcher, but I could just barely recognize the person being helped down the stairs as I was carried out the front door.
Seth’s eyes locked with mine for the briefest moment. The only word I could think of to describe the look on his face was ‘haunted’. I tried to call out to him, but I had this stupid mask on my face, and I just plain didn’t have the energy to do anything more than whisper. Anyway, I was sure he didn’t hear me. I drifted off into unconsciousness after that.
I was sure Seth was never going to speak to me again, but hoped I was wrong when I woke up and felt a hand locked on mine so tightly that I couldn’t feel my fingers.
“Seth?”
“Ellie!”
Nope. It was Angela. Not the person I’d hoped for, but surprisingly she was better.
“Hey, sis,” I said, happy to see her unscathed. Well, relatively unscathed. Her eyes were all red and puffy, her nose was swollen with snot running from it, and she had this tiny gash above her eye that was taped shut with a butterfly strip. The sick part was, she still looked gorgeous. No doubt she’d have the entire male population of Canton—possibly all of Michigan—falling all over themselves to nurse her back to health. “You look like crap.”
Angela let go this half-hysterical laugh/cry thing and very weepily said, “I’m so sorry. All of this was my fault.”
“And yet I’m the one who got skewered, while you walked away with just a bump on the head. Where’s the justice in that?”
I felt like a total jerk when Angela burst into tears. “Oh, my gosh, Ang, I was totally kidding!”
“But it’s true!” she wailed.
“Maybe,” I said, taking on a serious tone. “But you were only trying to protect me, and, in the end, you did save my life.”
Angela looked up at me and frowned.
“Detective Pierce was huge, and you took him out with one blow,” I explained. I didn’t even have to fake the pride in my voice. “We need to get you in a game sometime. I’ll bet you have a brutal slap shot.”
Angela was startled, knowing the depth of the compliment I was giving her. I laughed at the expression on her face and said, “You may be girlie, but you’re still a Westley.”
Angela sniffled, but her face looked hopeful. “So then, you don’t hate me?”
“You’re my big sister. Of course I hate you,” I said, but I cracked a smile.
“You’re such a liar.”
Angela and I had a good laugh and she leaned over my bed to squeeze me—this hugging thing was getting easier for us.
“Speaking of lying,” I said after a moment. “Have you talked to Mom and Dad?”
Angela cringed. “Oh, yeah. We’re toast. The FBI sent a helicopter to their cruise ship to get them. If I were you, I’d play up the traumatized victim angle as much as possible, because the FBI told them that we’d been talking with Detective Pierce behind their backs for a couple weeks now. Their plane lands in about two hours, and then we’re pretty much grounded indefinitely.”
“It’s a good thing we came now, then.”
Angela and I were startled by the intrusion—guess we’ll both always be a lot more jumpy now.
I was really surprised to see Dave standing in the doorway to my hospital room, considering he hadn’t spoken to me since Travis’ attack—none of the guys had. Even more surprising still was when Greg and Sanchez followed him into the room.
Dave came up to my bedside and pulled a giant bouquet of roses from behind his back. Red ones. My jaw dropped at the sight and I pulled my eyes up to meet Dave’s smirk. “For the love of—do not tell me you’re hoping for another shot.”
“Relax, Westley. I learned my lesson the first time.” Dave turned to my sister and handed her the flowers. “These are actually for you,” he said, shrugging. “I was—I’m glad you’re okay.”
As Angela took the flowers—and actually blushed—I scoffed. “Seriously? Dude. I got knifed and you give her flowers? You suck.”
Dave burst out laughing. “Sorry. I didn’t think you were the flowers type.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Is too,” Greg said. He and Sanchez had come around to the other side of my bed. “We didn’t get you flowers, because we thought you’d like this better.”
He and Sanchez exchanged smiles and then Sanchez pulled a Barbie-doll sized Steve Yzerman bobble head from behind his back. They’d put a Freddie Kruger mask on him and super-glued a Swiss Army knife the size of my keychain in place of his hockey stick. They’d whited-out Yzerman on the back of the jersey and written Westley in its place with a Sharpie.
“You guys are tools,” I said. But I was hugging the treasured doll to my chest. “And this is much better than flowers. Thanks.”
As Dave was ruffling my hair and Greg was slapping me five we heard the sound of sneakers skidding to a halt on the slick hospital floor. I looked up in time to see a three-J pile up.
“What the hell is this?” Jesse asked.
“Back the freak up off our woman,” Josh ordered.
Dave, Greg, and Sanchez suddenly flanked me on both s
ides, creating a very distinct “us verses them” situation. Dave smirked, sitting on the edge of my bed so he could throw his arm over my shoulder. “Sorry, guys. We scammed your goods this summer,” he announced. “And we’re not giving her back without a fight.”
“What’s he talking about, Westley?” Jack asked, shooting me an accusatory glare.
I just shrugged, but Sanchez piped up: “Whaddya say, Westley?” he asked. “You wanna show these summer camp sissies what real game is?”
Now that I’m a lady—well, less crude than I was at the beginning of the summer, anyway—I will not repeat the trash talk this earned them from the J’s. Needless to say, it almost came down to a friendly schoolyard brawl and ended with a promise for the street hockey showdown of the century just as soon as I was able to play again. Well, that and a handful of nurses kicking everyone except Angela out to make room for my next set of visitors.
I was exhausted. I didn’t exactly want any more visitors, especially when those visitors were two guys whose stiff suits screamed ‘federal agents’. But then Seth shuffled in behind them.
I felt my heart skip a beat. Or two. Or three. I really hadn’t believed he’d ever speak to me again after everything I’d done to him. Everything I’d accused him of. I was happy to see that he was okay, and hated myself for the way his face was black and blue from where I’d kicked him. But mostly I felt sick at the way he wouldn’t look at me.
Seth’s eyes were glued to the floor and he hesitated at the threshold of my room. Clearly he did not want to be here. Clearly he didn’t even want to see me ever again. I felt what I think was my heart breaking, and the way my stomach started churning didn’t do much for the recovering stab wound in my gut.
I felt a reassuring squeeze on my fingers and looked over to see Angela’s hand holding mine. She smiled, but her eyes were full of concern for me.
“There’s my two heroes,” one of the suits said in a booming, jolly voice.
He was referring to Angela and me. I couldn’t help but stammer, “H—heroes?”
The guy chuckled like a lean, less-bearded Santa Clause. “The two of you stopped a serial killer last night. I’d say that’s pretty heroic.” He came to shake Angela’s hand and mine. “Frank Gambini, Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It is truly a pleasure to meet you both. Especially you, Eleanor. Seth has told me so much about you.”
I glanced at Seth and he quickly jerked his head away. He’d been watching me, but he still couldn’t meet my eyes. “I—He—?”
“He was very concerned for your safety, Eleanor. He’s been working with Agent Johnson here”—he gestured to the other suit—“to try and solve the case.”
I looked closely at the tall silent guy standing next to Seth, and recognition hit me. He was the guy that met Seth in the sushi place. It wasn’t an illegal exchange after all. Seth had called in a favor to his friend, the director of the FBI, so that he could try to make me safe.
I was so flattered and grateful that Seth would go to such crazy lengths for me that I suddenly blurted, “But he did solve it!” I wanted everyone to know how amazing he was. And I especially wanted Seth to know that I knew what he’d done. “He knew before…” I couldn’t finish that sentence so I said, “He tried to tell me. I was just too thick to listen.”
Mr. Gambini raised a brow at Seth. “Is that true, Bishop?” he asked, startling Seth into raising his gaze from the floor. “You figure it out?”
Seth looked at Mr. Gambini and shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, sir. Just barely.”
“And you didn’t think to call Agent Johnson before these ladies were attacked?”
“I was about to, sir. But…” Seth’s eyes finally flashed to me, but he quickly looked back at Mr. Gambini. “But my girlfriend and her sister kicked my ass before I could, sir.”
Angela and I both winced. We both pretty much felt like crap about what we did to poor, innocent Seth.
Mr. Gambini didn’t seem as concerned about it. He roared with a laughter that rattled the halls. “That is quite the feat,” he said, smiling at us. “I’ve seen young Mr. Bishop take down some of my highly trained agents.”
Mr. Gambini continued to rattle on about the physical condition of Detective Pierce too, and thanked us for taking it easy on Seth, but I couldn’t really listen. Not after what Seth had just said.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, I interrupted the director of the FBI—which my mother would have killed me for doing—and said to Seth, “Don’t you mean ex-girlfriend?” I couldn’t hide the shock in my voice.
Seth finally looked at me, and for once I couldn’t read his expression. There were way too many emotions painted in it to single any one out.
“Um,” I said, trying to ignore the fact that everyone in the room was now staring at me. “I assumed accusing you of being a murderer, messing up your face, and my sister nearly tasing you to death was sufficient grounds for a dumping.”
“Sorry about that, by the way,” Angela interrupted, cringing again.
“Are you saying you still want to be my girlfriend?”
Um, DUH! I blushed under Seth’s gaze, regretting that I’d brought up the subject. I really wished all these people would leave.
As if reading my mind, my lovely sister smiled at Mr. Gambini and asked, “Have you guys seen the cafeteria here yet? I’m starving, and that cop from earlier said I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere unescorted until my parents got here.”
Mr. Gambini’s face brightened. “Lunch sounds like a fantastic idea,” he said. “Come on, Johnson, you can help me fill Ms. Westley in on the questioning process.”
“Oh, about all that? When you get our statements and stuff, do you think you could mention that hero bit to my parents? Like, a lot?” Angela asked as they walked out the door. I heard Mr. Gambini laugh all the way to the elevator.
The room was suddenly empty, save Seth and me. It was so quiet, it was almost loud. I needed to break the silence. “Um…” Seth was staring at his feet again and hadn’t moved from his spot against the wall next to the exit. I half expected him to bolt. “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry. I know that’s not going to help you hate me any less, but—”
“Hate you?” Seth gasped. “I don’t hate you.”
“That is a lie! You can’t even look at me anymore!”
Seth glared at me, making me feel bad for losing my temper. “Because I can’t stand to see you like that!” he yelled back, and then slunk down the wall to the floor. His voice was suddenly nothing more than a whisper. “I promised I’d keep you safe, and look at you.”
“Yes, look at me. I am safe,” I said, hoping the grin I gave him would be catching. It wasn’t.
“You know what I mean.”
“All right, fine. But it’s not your fault. You didn’t know how pig-headed I am when you made that promise. And besides, you did keep me safe. If you hadn’t tipped me off about Detective Pierce, things could have gone much worse. I’m the idiot that took too long to get it. I’m the idiot who fell for Pierce’s crap. I’m the idiot who thought you were capable of…” I felt my stomach churn again. “How do you not hate me?”
“I was being set up, Ellie. By a cop. And he was doing a really good job of it. I don’t blame you at all for listening to him and wanting to protect yourself. In fact, I’m proud of you.”
Wow. Are we a messed up pair or what?
“Okay, so you don’t blame me and I don’t blame you,” I said. “How about we both stop feeling like dirt and just agree that my scars are going to be so much more impressive than that puny little thing on your chest?”
Seth was startled for moment. He finally came to my bedside with the strangest combination of sadness and joy in his eyes. “Fine. But you never answered my question.”
“What question?”
“Do you still want to be my girlfriend?” His voice shook like he was scared to death of my answer. “Because I’m pretty sure you said you hated me several times last night.”
I smiled at his question, because the answer was so ridiculously obvious. This was exactly what I’d wanted for a long time now. This was my Seth—sweet, vulnerable Seth, who looked at me like I was the whole universe, as well as a tasty morsel of something he couldn’t wait to devour. He still screamed of danger, but now I didn’t have to feel guilty for being drawn to that danger.
“Yeah,” I told him. “But I also admitted to falling for you.”
Seth tried to hide his reaction from me, but he had a hard time keeping everything in. He reached into his pocket. I thought he was going for his knife, but instead he pulled out the necklace he’d tried to give me on Wednesday. “Will you keep it this time, please?”
Seth didn’t wait for an answer before he clasped the chain around my neck.
As he reached around behind me, closing the distance that had been between us, my body, I am ashamed to say, went completely haywire. My heart sped, I shivered, my breath caught… And, um, yeah, Seth was not exactly oblivious.
Seth gave me his most amused “Oh, Ellie” sigh yet, and then sat back. “So, which is it?” he asked, the smile on his face turning dangerously confident. “Do you love me or hate me?”
“I—”
Snapping my jaw shut, I narrowed my eyes as I realized he was playing with me. He was trying to get me to say it. The L word. Not just the L word, but the whole thing, complete with the “I” and the “you.”
“Fat chance, buddy.” You’re not getting me to say ‘I love you’ that easy, even if it is true.
Seth suppressed a smile and crossed his arms over his chest. “You are aware that I heard that, right?”
CRAP!
Acknowledgments:
My special thanks go out to all the usual suspects. To Bluefields! For your faith in me and for all the effort you put into publishing my work. To my husband, Josh, for all the love, support, and feedback. (And for ignoring my occasional dirty looks when I get said feedback.) To my older sister Robin, who thinks that she’s “Angela”, even though she’s totally not. And, last but not least, to all the Classically Challenged book ladies! Thank you for the years of support, late nights, and banning me from talking about a certain Book That Shall Not Be Named. You’re the best darn book club that ever existed!