"Not you, Will. Please." I was definitely starting to panic. It would be bad enough for him to go away anywhere, but deliberately into a dangerous situation? What if something happened to him? What if he never came back? My head, my breathing, the shaking. It had all started. And I couldn't stop it. Did I want to? If I allowed myself to react badly enough, would it keep Will home, and safe?
But that wouldn't be honest. It wouldn't be fair. I would not allow manipulation into our relationship. Will would never be able to entirely trust me again. So I had to at least try.
I closed my eyes to concentrate. But all I could see was Will, lying broken and bloody the time he saved me from "the bad guys." And I couldn't hear anything. Not even Will's usual calming words inside me. This was a really bad one . . . .
Some time later, a few words got through to me. "She's starting to hear us talking, Dad." Will's voice. And I could discern that he was holding me. Again. (Would I ever conquer these things?)
"I think that's the best we can do." Now Dr. Stuart's. "And he's got Miguel's contact―from Mexico's equivalent to the FBI―right there helping him. Everything is in place to get them safely out of the country. Whatever happens, he promised to have you on your way back home no later than Sunday."
"That's New Year's Eve, you know. Cassie and I were going to stay up until midnight and all." He sounded wistful.
"You might still make it. Let's just hope for the best."
I had decided what I was going to do. So I moved in Will's arms, opening my eyes to meet his. "You have to go." I tried to keep a neutral expression on my face, but my insides twisted at my own words.
"I think so, too. But I'm worried about leaving you, Cassie."
"Your dad can sedate me again if he has to." I tried to smile at him.
"I think she'll be alright for a couple of days, Will. It was probably the shock as much as anything." Then he spoke to me, "We can arrange with Mark and Gina for you to stay here if you want."
No. Too many things would remind me of him, and that he was gone. "That might make it worse, actually. It would probably be better to keep busy at home." And I should be able to. Gina was helping a friend put on a big New Year's Eve party, which she and Mark were also attending. She had asked me to set aside some time to help her get things ready for it. "May I spend the night on New Year's Eve? Mark and Gina will be gone, and I don't want to be alone."
"Absolutely. Just call when you're ready and we'll come get you," said Dr. Stuart.
"Thank you."
"I know you're not really okay with this."
But I'm trying to be.
Will didn’t reply. He just gazed at me.
His flight was leaving early the next morning, so he needed to pack and get a good night's sleep. I helped him pack. It made me feel better to do something; to be even a peripheral participant and not just an observer. He was, after all, going to find and help my parents, and brother.
Then there was the question of when and where to say good-bye to each other―tonight when he took me home, or five thirty tomorrow morning at the airport. We decided on tonight at my house. Will didn't want me getting up early, especially after my attack earlier in the day.
"I can still reach you from the airport," he pointed out on the drive home. "I don't know about being able to call you on my cell phone from Mexico. And we may not have access to a land line. But I'll try whenever I can. Keep your cell with you and turned on, okay?"
"Okay."
"So, you just have to get through tomorrow . . . ."
"Gina will have plenty for me to do. I'll be fine."
"And Saturday you'll have your meeting with Dad . . . ."
"We've already arranged for him to pick me up."
"And I'll be on my way home by Sunday at the latest."
"I'll be fine, Will. You're the one heading into a dangerous situation."
"Been there, done that," he assured me as he got out of the car and came around to let me out. He tucked my arm through his and walked me up to the door. "I had planned on never having to say good-bye to you again. I don't like it. But I'll be on my way back, safe and sound, no later than Sunday." I wondered if he was trying to convince me, or himself.
"I believe you." I had to, or I would surely go crazy.
He put his arms around me, and looked me straight in the eye. And what was more, he let down all his shields. I did the same with mine.
"I love you, Cassie," I heard and felt through my entire being.
"I love you, Will," sending it in every way I knew how with as much energy as was in me.
His kiss was gentle and thorough. Then he was gone.
I mechanically unlocked the door and went in, then locked it after me. And from that moment, I was on auto pilot. I didn't want to think or feel until Will got back, or was at least safely on his way back. Unharmed.
He did get through to me from the airport the next morning. It was soothing to hear him inside, waking me to say he loved me and, again, that he would be back safely in a few days. Then I went back to sleep and stayed that way as long as possible.
Gina kept me busy that day preparing everything from party decorations and favors to appetizers and miniature desserts. She was so preoccupied that it was well into the afternoon before she noticed that she hadn't seen Will all day.
What should I tell her? I quickly recognized that truth would be best. Just not all of it. (I had to admit, it would be a lot easier once I told both Mark and Gina the whole truth like Dr. Stuart kept admonishing me to do.) So I told her Ben was down in Mexico on business, and invited Will to come for a couple of days. Will liked to travel, and Ben―who had no family to speak of―enjoyed his company. So they did this kind of thing every once in a while, usually on the spur of the moment. And Will was coming back Sunday. Gina―who also liked to travel and was absorbed in her party preparations―readily accepted my explanation. And that was that. As far as Gina was concerned.
Mark was more observant. Gina left after dinner to deliver all the party goods to her friend's house and stayed to help decorate, so we were alone. "Why don't you come watch some TV?" he invited me, patting the empty space next to him on the couch. I went and sat down where he indicated. "Gina said Will has gone with Ben for a couple of days."
I had to make myself take in what felt like a huge amount of air so I had enough to answer. "Yeah. They're in Mexico." That was enough.
Mark put his arm around me. "Rough, huh?"
"Yeah." Silly me, I thought as tears came to my eyes. When Will's voice didn't say anything in response, they began to overflow. I wiped them away with my shirt sleeve.
"Well, just take it easy and everything will be fine. He'll be back Sunday?"
"Yeah. Well, starting back anyway." Just one more whole day before he was at least out of danger and on his way home.
He gave me a squeeze. "Anything I can do to make it easier for you?"
How had I missed appreciating this about Mark for all these years? Because I had been too preoccupied with trying to survive, no doubt. And I had survived in large part because of him. His arm around me wasn't the same as Will's, but it was still warm and comforting. So I moved closer and leaned against him. "This helps a lot. Thanks," I answered.
He gave me another squeeze and kissed my head. "Any time, Cassie. Any time," he promised.
At bedtime, I plugged my cell phone in to recharge, keeping it by the bed just in case. But I wondered if I was setting myself up for disappointment―after all, it hadn't rung all day. Oh, well. I had made it through the entire day without any panic attacks. And tomorrow was my meeting with Dr. Stuart.
And, after tomorrow, Will would be on his way home, safe and sound.
At least, that's what I kept telling myself.
.Chapter Twenty-three
Dr. Stuart and I were in his study for our Saturday meeting—without Will this time―when the call came. We had put the meeting off until after dinner because the Stuarts had attended a holiday function at the hospi
tal in the afternoon.
"Hello?" he said into his cell phone. He listened, his expression becoming instantly intense. But I didn't have to see his face to know. I could feel it, and could hear the words themselves in his mind. It was Will. And the news was not only not good, it was worse than he had imagined it could be.
Miguel and Barbara Vasquez―the parents I had forgotten but now remembered and longed to see―were dead. And so was Luis, the brother I didn't even know. Although no bodies had been recovered, there were numerous witnesses to the fact that they had all three boarded the boat which exploded not long after leaving shore. Will could sense no deception from anyone involved. He had diligently sought some indication―any indication―that there might be some room to hope, but could find none.
I suppose it was good that I was already sitting down. Or maybe it wouldn't have made a difference. I didn't feel faint. I didn't feel like crying, or like I was going to break down in any way. In fact, I wasn't really feeling anything that I could identify.
"I understand," Dr. Stuart continued, calmly. He listened again. Then he turned his back to me to hide the shock on his face. But he must have realized that he couldn't keep me from knowing. Their death had been ruled a homicide. Based on information from the witnesses and their own explosives experts, the authorities were proceeding on the preliminary conclusion that the boat had been rigged to blow up with a remote trigger, thereby giving the perpetrators control over precisely when the explosion occurred. They could confirm that the people they wanted to kill were on board when it happened. And, because of what they could deduce about the kind of explosive device used and the expertise required to carry out such a plan, they were convinced that the perpetrators were experts and, therefore, undoubtedly linked to organized crime.
Both Dr. Stuart and I realized―along with Will―that this meant Gary Barnett's cohorts had never really given up on me, or my birth family.
Who would they come after next? Will, and his family? Mark and Gina?
No.
At that instant, something else became irrefutably clear in my mind: People were still being harmed―in fact, killed―because of me. Not someone else. Me. It was entirely because of me that these horrors were continuing to happen. Therefore, it was my responsibility to put an end to it. And there was only one way I could put an end to it. Only one way I could be absolutely certain that nothing like this ever happened again.
"No, I can't think of anything else you can do. Or could have done. When will you be back?" Dr. Stuart asked. He moved to his desk and wrote briefly on a pad of paper. "Okay. Let us know, and we'll be at the airport to get you. Yes, I'll tell her right away. I love you, Son." And he ended the call.
Turning to me, he said, "Will wants to talk to you, but his plane is boarding. He'll call you on your cell phone as soon as he can."
"When will he be back?" Not that it would make a difference. Not anymore.
"He's not sure. He's boarding a flight to Denver right now. But the best he could get from there was standby. He's going to let us know as soon as he gets a flight. It will probably be sometime tomorrow. Do you want to go with us to pick him up?"
I knew he expected a yes. "Yes." At least, I would, if . . . .
He studied me for a moment. "You know?" I nodded my head. He came and sat next to me, putting his arm around me. "We need to talk, but it's getting late. Do you want to stay here tonight? We can call your parents and ask if you can sleep over with Melinda."
I opened my mouth to correct him; to remind him that he had just been informed that my parents―Mom and Dad―were dead. But I didn't want to deal with his response. I didn't want to deal with anything right then. I just wanted to . . . . No. Not yet. I had to finish thinking it through; planning it out.
I shook my head. "Could I get a ride home, please?"
"Sure." He gave me a warm, one arm hug. "Come on. I'll take you right now." He thought I would be okay with Mark and Gina. That I would hold myself together so as not to concern them. That I would maintain until tomorrow, until Will got home and we would work this through together.
If Will had been there to tell him what thoughts and feelings were churning inside of me, and into what conclusion they were coalescing, he would not only have refused to let me leave, he would have . . . .
Well, that was neither here nor there. No use thinking about what might have been, or should have been. Or what I had so desperately wanted to have. Or be, for that matter. I surreptitiously left my phone on the sofa as we got up to leave. No distractions. No turning back.
Only one option left.
The ride home was quiet. Dr. Stuart kept looking at me, but I was careful to keep my face in good order so as not to worry him. He already had enough to deal with. But he wouldn't have to deal with me much longer. No one would.
He pulled up at the curb in front of the house, and came around to open the door for me. Just like Will. "I'll call as soon as we know when we need to leave for the airport."
"Okay."
"And if you're not already with us by then, you'll call tomorrow when you're ready to be picked up? For New Year's Eve?"
Oh, right. I had forgotten. Better just agree.
"Yes. Thanks again." For everything.
I told Mark and Gina I wasn't feeling well―something about that time of the month. Mark wouldn't touch that with a ten foot pole, and Gina knew too well what it meant. So I was free to be alone in my room. To think. I didn't want to feel. Just think.
It was not the first time I had realized how dangerous I was. The people that I cared the most about were in constant danger solely because I existed. It didn't matter if I were good or bad or anywhere in between. Just my being, and being in their lives, endangered them. Will had risked his life to keep mine safe before, and paid for it with serious injuries and tremendous pain. My birth parents had abandoned everything―including me―for the purpose of saving me. And now they were dead. And the little brother I didn't even know was dead. What had he ever done to deserve this? What had any of them done?
Nothing. They simply had the misfortune of being connected with me.
So―
What could be done to prevent further harm and death? To make them all safe?
Only one thing. And it was purely logical―
There had to be no more me.
It would upset them. Probably take them by surprise. But there would be no explanatory letters, no tragic last words. I would make sure it looked accidental. No one would think to blame themselves. Just one of those things that happens sometimes. And this time it would happen to me. Not someone else. Not someone I loved.
But what about Will? I couldn't do it without leaving something for him. Something reassuring. Or comforting. I sat down at my desk, and took out some paper and an envelope. I don't know how long my brain searched for the right words, but nothing came. Nothing except the simple truth. So I wrote that down:
Dearest Will,
I miss you. I love you with all my soul.
Always, Cassie
I had to say "Always." Surely there must be a happier, less troubled existence waiting for me. And he would eventually be there, too. That was the only real hope left in me. Other than a safe life now for him, and my families―all of them that had survived, anyway.
He wouldn't think anything of this note but that I missed him while he was gone, and that I had to do something to ease my mind about not being able to connect with him so far away. Hence, mailing him a note. Not necessary, but symbolic.
Or maybe . . . .
No. No maybes. I couldn't afford to have any doubts about anything right now. I had to be certain.
And I was: He could only be safe without me.
I folded the paper carefully, addressed the envelope and sealed the letter inside. I would mail it on the way tomorrow, before I . . . took care of things. Entirely and irrevocably.
The gems from the ring on my left hand caught the light, and my attention. What should I do with it? Leave
it behind? I still had the box in my nightstand drawer. No. That might look suspicious. I hadn't taken it off since Will put it there . . . how many days ago? It all seemed hazy in my mind right then. Probably ought to leave it that way . . . .
I didn't bother to get into my pajamas. There was no purpose in it. I lied down on my bed and waited. I concentrated on staying in my head, going over and over the incontrovertible logic that led to this one and only viable solution.
It must have been more energy consuming than I realized. I must have gone to sleep because the bad dreams that hadn't visited me lately came back in a very potent way. And they wouldn't let go of me. I kept telling myself it was a dream. Just wake up; just open your eyes. But I couldn't. I found myself in the same terror-ridden situation over and over again. I tried to get away, to run away. But I kept slipping and falling. Something dark and evil was getting closer, and closer. I could hear its raspy breath and shuffling footsteps as it came near, reaching out a claw-like hand to grab me . . . .
My eyes jerked open, and I was shaking and sweating and breathing heavily. Oddly enough, the experience confirmed my conclusions and decision. There was only one way to make sure this never happened again, either.
I didn't have to look at the clock to know it was already well past midday, but I wanted to know exactly what time it was. I had to allow enough time to reach my destination. I should just have enough time to walk. Looking out my window, I could tell it would probably be snowing soon. That could be helpful. Who would be out walking in the storm but me? No people, no witnesses.
It was going to be cold, especially with the snow. So I took off my sweater, put on a T-shirt, then the sweater again. I put my shoes on and grabbed my heavy winter coat. Then I put it down on my bed. For some reason I felt like I should brush my hair, as I did every night before I went to bed. So I did. Somehow, it struck me as apropos. Only this time, a different kind of sleep awaited me. I again picked up my coat and the envelope for Will and walked out of my bedroom for the last time.
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