Chailali’s Curse

by Anna Leigh Keaton

  The sadness in Christy’s voice echoed his heart’s pain.

  When he heard her leave the kitchen, he set down his utensils and dropped his head into his hands. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. The faster she got out of his house, the better off they’d both be. In time, she’d forget about her short stay with him, and he’d be able to get back to his life as it had been for so many years.

  Yeah, he had to keep telling himself that. They’d both be better off away from each other. She needed to go back to the city where she belonged. He needed to concentrate on his book. He hadn’t written a word worth printing in days.

  What was the point anymore, though?

  He got up from the table, his appetite gone. Christy held his heart and soul. The emptiness inside him was complete. He’d thought he’d lost everything before, but apparently there was still a part of him that wanted to go on. As he made his way down the hall to his room, he wasn’t sure even that remained without her.

  * * * * *

  I can’t believe you’re going to leave him.

  Christy ignored that annoying voice echoing her own thoughts and folded another T-shirt to put in her suitcase.

  Can’t you see how much he’s hurting?

  As if she wasn’t hurting? She picked up another shirt from the stack on the bed.

  If you leave, he’s going to curl in on himself and probably won’t ever come out again. Do you know how big of a deal it was for him to open up to you the other night? To tell you everything about himself?

  As much of a big deal as it had been for her to open herself to him. But that didn’t seem to matter now. He’d shut her out. Wouldn’t even speak to her other than to say thank you for the meals she prepared.

  Are you listening to me, Christy? How can you do this to him?

  “He’s the one doing it to me,” she all but shouted, then closed her eyes and bit her tongue because she’d promised herself not to speak to the voice ever again.

  The voice growled, and Christy frowned as she laid another folded shirt in the bag.

  Why are the living so difficult? Do you know that I’d give anything I ever had to have a man like Mike? He’s loving and gentle, and so sweet—

  Christy snorted. She’d thought he was sweet, too, until their trip to town. Now he was just like every other man she’d ever known. For better or worse didn’t seem to be in their vocabulary. She had too many things to deal with in her own life. She wasn’t about to try and talk a man who didn’t want her into letting her stay with him.

  Finished with all of her clothes, she zipped the suitcase and hefted it in her hand. She might as well take it down now. She could stuff her dirty clothes in the corner of it in the morning.

  As she turned the corner on the second floor landing and headed down the last stretch of steps, she heard Mike’s voice.

  “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “Shut up. Tell me where the money is.”

  Christy silently set her bag down on the top step and crept down the stairs, wincing when the old stairs creaked under her weight.

  “There’s no money in the house,” Mike said. “I swear it. There’s silver in the cabinet over there. Take anything you want.”

  Christy’s heart lodged in her throat, and she stopped moving.

  Put the money in the bag, the robber at the bank had said.

  “Don’t fucking lie to me, asshole! You’re stinking rich. Where do you stash the cash?”

  Christy! Christy. He’s got a gun!

  A gun. He’s got a gun. She sank down onto the stairs and covered her head as her breathing grew shallow and her chest pained.

  Don’t just sit there!

  “There’s no money. I swear my life on it. I don’t keep cash in the house. Take anything you want. The silver. There’s some antiques in the hutch, too. Take anything you want.”

  Something crashed to the floor—glass shattering. Christy bit her cheek to keep from crying out.

  The lights in the house went out with a loud pop that made Christy gasp.

  “What the fu—”

  The sound of a gunshot echoed through the house, and Christy screamed.

  He shot Mike! Chailali shouted.

  Heavy footsteps came down the hall, and then rough hands grabbed her by the front of her shirt, dragging her down the hall.

  “What do you think you’re doing hiding? Fucking bitch. The house is supposed to be empty.”

  He shoved her, and she fell to the floor, landing on top of... “Mike,” she cried.

  He groaned and pushed at her. When she put her hand on the floor to lever away from him, her palm slipped in sticky, warm...blood.

  “Tell me where the money is, bitch, or you get it, too.”

  The scream built inside her. She felt it coming. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t see a thing because it was pitch black, all she could feel was Mike’s sticky blood on her hand as he lay beneath her.

  “Where’s the money?”

  And then, low and soft in her ear, she heard the voice of the woman who’d been her companion for weeks. If you don’t stop this man, he’ll kill you both. There’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing Mike can do. Don’t panic, and stop him.

  “How?” she whispered, her throat so tight with the need to scream, she wasn’t sure how she choked out the one word.

  Something cold and hard jabbed her in the side of the head as she stared down into Mike’s face, barely discernable in the dark. The barrel of the burglar’s gun. He was going to shoot her.

  “Goddamnit, lady. Tell me where the money is or you’re dead!”

  She didn’t move a muscle, but suddenly she felt Mike’s cane bump her fingers, the rubber tip pressing against her fingernails. Her entire body shook with terror, but she knew what she had to do.

  “Help me,” she mouthed, praying Chailali was truly real and not a figment of her imagination.

  “Answer me!” The cold steel of the handgun hit the side of her head in a glancing blow.

  She rolled to the side, taking the cane with her, and swung it as hard as she could in the direction of their assailant.

  The gunshot nearly deafened her. She kept rolling, up onto her knees, and swung again. This time it contacted flesh and bone with a thud that reverberated up her arms. The burglar shouted, and another shot rang out, the white muzzle blast blinding in the dark.

  “I can’t see him!” she cried.

  The lights flared on, and she lunged to her feet, swinging the cane like a bat at the masked man’s head. He raised the gun toward her. The lights went out. The cane glanced off the wall, knocking her aim askew. Another blinding shot. Pain seared through her left arm. Raising the cane over her head, she brought it down with all her might and a scream torn from the depths of her soul.

  Thud. The assailant hit the floor. The clatter of the burglar’s handgun on the hardwood.

  Silence.

  The lights came on, and she blinked into the brightness. The man covered in black from head to toe lay at her feet. She stepped to the side and picked up his handgun, then nudged him with the handle of the cane. He didn’t move. Black mask. Black jacket. Just like the bank robber.

  A hot tear leaked down her cheek. “Fucker,” she said between harsh breaths as she gripped his gun.

  Mike groaned.

  Training the gun on the man, she swiveled around to see Mike trying to sit up. Blood poured from the wound on his side. “Don’t move, Mike. Don’t move!”

  He flopped back to the floor with another groan.

  She pulled the cord of the light on the end table and jerked it out of the wall, then out of the lamp base. The light went out, but others remained on. She flipped the masked man onto his stomach and wrapped the cord around his wrists behind his back, knotting it several times.

  Then she fell to her knees at Mike’s side. His flesh was torn through on his side. She prayed no organs were hit. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she jerked off her sweatshirt and pressed it to his side. �
�I have to get the phone,” she sobbed. “I have to call for help.”

  Mike laid his hand over hers. “Go. I’m okay.”

  She pushed to her feet, picked up the handgun, ran into the kitchen, and grabbed the phone off the wall, pressing 9-1-1 as she sprinted back into the hallway.

  The operator answered as she landed hard on her knees next to Mike again. He’d passed out, his hand slipping off the balled-up sweatshirt.

  “I need an ambulance and the police at 854 Pinewood Street,” she sobbed as she pressed on the wound. “He’s been shot.”

  Calm down, Christy. Everything will be okay now.

  She nodded at the disembodied voice.

  The operator asked her questions, but she wasn’t sure if she answered. Tears poured from her eyes, blinding her.

  “Come on, Mike. Don’t you dare die. Don’t you dare!”

  He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. You saved him.

  You saved both of you.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A cool hand touched Mike’s fevered cheek.

  Wake up, Michael. You have to wake up now. Christy’s worried about you.

  Mike tried to nod in agreement, but he hurt too much. Everything ached. His head, his back, especially his side. Pain radiated through him with each beat of his heart.

  Wake up, Mike. It’s time for you to wake up.

  “I’m awake,” he whispered through his dry throat.

  That’s it. You can hear me now, can’t you?

  He puckered his brow. Who was talking to him? It wasn’t Christy. The voice was too low, slightly accented. But it was a woman.

  “Christy,” he croaked.

  A soft laugh. No. I’m not Christy. She’s getting a drink with her sister. She’ll be back in just a moment.

  “Where am I? Who are you?” He opened his eye and gasped at what he saw.

  Don’t be frightened. That cool hand slid over his brow, down his unscarred cheek. I’m Chailali, and I’ve been watching over you for years. But it’s time for me to go now.

  Her long, black hair flowed over her shoulders in beaded braids. Her skin was dark, her features pronounced. The clothing she wore was made of soft, tanned leather, and the beads in her hair and on the fringes of her outfit tinkled when she moved her arm.

  Don’t let her go, Michael. You need each other. Christy is your chance to live again. To love again.

  His heart rate sped. The monitors beeped loud in the silent room, and he realized the woman’s lips weren’t moving, though he heard her.

  Shh. Calm down or the nurses will come. Don’t be frightened.

  He swallowed the lump in his throat as his brain reached for some explanation.

  Another figure—that of an old Indian in a great feathered headdress—appeared in his line of vision. It is time, Chailali. You’ve done all you can for this man. He must make his own decisions now. And it is time for you to come home.

  “Wait,” Mike croaked when she began to move away.

  The door opened, and he jerked his head in that direction. His heart nearly stopped as he saw Christy enter the room. She looked just as he knew she would.

  Look at her, Michael, the Indian woman whispered. I wish I could let you see forever, but you only have this one moment. Look at the woman you love. Don’t let her go.

  “Christy,” he whispered.

  She stopped so suddenly the woman behind her bumped into her. “Mike. You’re awake.” She rushed to the bed, set something on the nightstand, then leaned over him, touching his cheeks, running her thumb over his lips. “Thank God. Oh, thank you, God.”

  A tear dripped from his eye. She was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen.

  “Mike? Sweetheart. Talk to me.” She looked him right in the eye. In just that moment, he memorized her features, her bright, beautiful hazel eyes—more green than brown. Her chestnut hair, long and wavy. Her creamy skin.

  Slowly the vision of the woman he loved fuzzed, then faded to just a silhouette.

  Tell her you love her, Michael. And tell her goodbye for me. You two will always be my favorite couple.

  “Mike?” Christy said again, and he felt her lips against his forehead. “Mike, say something. Please. They said your head was fine, but can’t you speak?”

  A slow smile spread over his lips as another tear leaked from his eye. He swallowed hard. “I love you, honey.”

  A sob tore from Christy’s throat, and she brought her mouth down to his, kissing him with such tenderness his heart nearly exploded with the love he felt for her.

  “I was so scared. So scared. I thought I’d lost you.”

  “I love you,” he said again, this time stronger as he raised his hand and speared his fingers through her silky hair.

  “I love you, Mike,” she whispered against his lips.

  “Stay with me. I need you.”

  She buried her face against his neck, and he felt her warm tears against his flesh. “Yes. With you is right where I need to be.”

  * * * * *

  Four weeks later.

  Shelton laid his fingers against Ellen’s neck and found her heartbeat strong and steady. “That’s it, my love. Stay with me. You’re going to be fine.”

  In the distance, sirens blared, and he knew help was on its way.

  Ellen’s eyes fluttered open, and their clear blue depths captured him as they always had. “Shel—”

  “Shh. You’re going to be okay now. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  He scooped her into his arms and carried her from the warehouse. The forensic team would have a heyday with all the gore left inside, but he and the love of his life were alive. They’d survived the worst the world had to offer and come out on top. As long as they had each other, nothing else mattered.

  “I love you,” Ellen whispered as she relaxed against his shoulder.

  “I love you, too, baby. I always will.”

  Mike typed The End and hit the Save key. He smiled, which turned into a grin. His first happy ending. He wondered how his fans would take it.

  “Christy, honey!” he called as he grabbed his cane and levered himself from his office chair.

  “Yeah?” he heard from down the hall.

  “I smell food, is it done yet?”

  “Would you come out and spend some time with our guests? Jeez, they’ve been here since yesterday, and you’ve barely said ten words to them.” Her voice grew louder as he ambled down the hall toward the kitchen.

  He heard Roger chuckle, then Beth said, “He knows I’m not leaving until I get that book.”

  He stepped into the kitchen. “I just finished it. Where are you, hon?”

  Christy wrapped her arms around him, and he lowered his head for a kiss.

  “Mmm, you taste like cinnamon.”

  “Dinner’s ready,” she said, her voice low and soft, so beautiful. “And I made my apple pie for desert.”

  “Yum,” he said against her soft, juicy lips. His love grew for her every moment, with every touch, every gentle word she spoke. Looking back, he couldn’t imagine that he’d ever wanted her to leave him.

  They’d exchanged vows the night before. They were spending Thanksgiving—the first day of their honeymoon—with the in-laws, and he’d never been happier. They’d take a real honeymoon next year, after they were one-hundred percent sure Christy’s anxiety attacks were truly gone.

  He raised his hand and cupped her cheek as he brushed his lips over hers. Her tongue snuck out and teased his lips, making him smile. She hadn’t had an episode since she knocked the burglar clean out and saved his life—in turn taking her own life back under her control.

  “I love you,” he whispered, wishing he had words that better expressed everything he felt for her. She was his everything.

  Frannie, Beth’s daughter, made a gagging sound.

  “These two are mushy enough to make even me sick,” Beth said, teasing in her tone.

  Roger chuckled. “I remember when we were like that. Gotta give them a few years un
til the honeymoon stage wears off.”

  “Ugh,” Frannie said. “Can we eat, pahh-leeeze?”

  Mike chuckled and hugged Christy hard. “Let’s feed the hoard,” he whispered in her ear. “And then I’m taking you to bed, guests be damned.”

  “Sounds good to me, husband.” She squeezed him, and he knew he was finally right where he was meant to be.

  * * * * *

  Chailali sighed and smiled as she opened her eyes, pulling herself away from Mike and Christy. She’d known they were meant to be together, and now they knew it, too.

  “You’ve done well, daughter. I am proud of you,” Chief Dai’ Co Shu said as he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  She turned into her father’s comforting embrace and breathed in the smoky scent of fire-cured leather that always clung to him. The spirit world was more spectacular than she’d ever imagined. Her family was here. Everyone she’d been separated from for so long. Turning her head, she looked out over the lush green valley and the ocean in the distance. Home.

  She’d made amends for her crimes against life and love and had been allowed to join her tribe.

  “Be happy,” she whispered to Christy and Mike as her father led her toward their village.

  The End

  Author Bio

  Anna Leigh has been reading and penning romances for as long as she can remember. After she met and married her very own real-life hero, romance took on a whole new meaning. She now knows married life can sizzle and romance can be erotic - even in her own home. Now her writing has taken on a spicier flavor, and while hubby's off at work, she lets her imagination soar...

  www.annaleighkeaton.com

  www.leannekarella.com