“Yeah, I know.” Saint waved goodbye to Ned as he walked out of his office, leaving only him, Lawrence and Jagger in the room. Mostly everyone else was gone for the day. He peered out the window at the setting sun then turned back toward his friends, leisurely thumping his finger against the armrest of his black leather chair.
“I need to know who is working with him. Ned will take care of the legalities, just like he is dealing with my other charges, but it is going to be time consuming, costly and stressful and no one is to know about this. I’ve alerted all staff to keep quiet. Don’t answer any questions from anyone regarding the matter. You can’t speak to your friends about it either,” Saint stressed. He just realized he hadn’t had a bite to eat all day. His nerves were shattered.
“Saint, since your wife’s ex-boyfriend is doing these things, you do realize that I now believe timing is even more essential than ever. You wanted to hurt him? Well, he will have to suffer some consequences that will surpass your initial intentions when this all first began.” Lawrence crossed his ankles and leaned back leisurely in his seat.
“Oh, we are waaaaay beyond having an issue with that.” Saint’s eyes narrowed, and the heat change let him know that they’d changed colors, and changed again.
“Good. Because now, he is no longer a hazard to just you and Xenia, he is a danger to everyone here and will have to be treated as a threat. He is a menace to the company, to our livelihoods, to the secrecy of the Rainbeau Knights, to your message and to our longevity. Don’t go and do anything crazy just yet though, Saint. Believe in me, listen to me,” Lawrence said calmly. “We need something else from him, I am assuming it is additional information, but once we have it, we can proceed.”
Saint sighed, tucked his bottom lip and sucked it as he mulled things over. “Guys, I actually have a suspect.”
“The person you think is working with Sinclair?” Jagger questioned.
“Yes. Her name is Shianne, and she is Xenia’s personal assistant. I had the displeasure of meeting her not too long ago. When you see her, pick up on her energy, you will know exactly what I mean. She is not what I would classify as a leader; she is a follower, but she is heinous and devoid of empathy. Her emotional development is stunted due to past trauma and her materialistic nature makes her prone to trying to turn men into sugar daddies. She is a narcissist, a young viper. However, ironically, she developed quite an attachment to my wife.” He clicked his tongue and smirked. “She seems to see Xenia as some sort of mother figure.”
“Well then, why would she help Sinclair do anything?” Jagger questioned.
“Because she is driven by her primal core, versus her spirit. She is a follower, Jagger, and a user. She will put her needs before others, even at her own detriment. She does know the difference between right and wrong, however. Regardless, she is on auto-pilot. She plays out her role and has trouble breaking free. I thing she believes that she cares about Xenia but due to the imbalance I picked up, she is a morpher.”
“She changes when expectations change…” Lawrence whispered.
“Exactly. She becomes the person she needs to be in order to get what she wants. She is very slick and due to the fact that she is young and quite attractive, well,”—he smirked—“she uses that to her advantage. I don’t know if she and Sinclair had anything but a business relationship or not, but I do know he hired her and basically gave her to Xenia. This young woman, by Xenia’s account, presented herself to my wife as a quiet type of nerd when in actuality, she is a wild party child. Now, Xenia would probably say I was exaggerating about the party child, but she is definitely not innocent. And unfortunately, being the woman she is, Xenia tried to help this young lady and it caused some problems in our home.” Saint screwed the top off of a bottle of water and took a slow swig.
“So, here is what I need. Pay attention to this woman. Her energy is wide open; it will take little to no effort at all. Find out if she helped Sinclair with this tax evasion bullshit and the embezzlement charges against me and if she did, then we will know without a shadow of a doubt that he is responsible for everything going on right now. There is no way he could’ve done this on his own. The thing that perplexes me though is that this took some brains. I don’t take this chick as stupid, but she isn’t exactly academic excellence, either. There are probably more players, but she is the weakest link, so she will be the fastest to fall and rat others out. I’ll bet everything I own, she is the key to this bullshit.”
“We’re on it.” Jagger stood and grabbed his jacket, with Lawrence right behind him.
“Hey,” Saint called out as he swiveled to face the window, his back to his friends. “Lawrence, Donna should go on bed rest if she can. I had a dream last night. Don’t want you to worry, but just take my advice. Tell her to give her boss notice. This should be her last week at work and if she goes to the doctor, he should confirm it. Her blood pressure is sky high… I’ll see you two tomorrow…”
He could feel the worry in Lawrence and the man opened his mouth to speak again. Saint put his hand up. “Please. We don’t need to discuss it. I’m being on the up and up with you. She needs to get off her feet and stay at home for the duration of the pregnancy and she needs to go on a low-fat diet. It isn’t that she is eating badly; her body is just not processing the food correctly between her and the child. This will help. Everything will be fine, man. I promise…”
“Thank you…” Lawrence responded telepathically.
“You’re welcome.”
He heard the door close and continued to stare out the window and then, he tasted it—the tangy, metallic flavor he’d sampled too many times to count. The taste of blood in his mouth…
He ran his finger along his inner jaw, perplexed, but felt no cuts. The taste got stronger. His head began to throb and he squeezed it with both hands, gripping his temples, the pain growing from negligible to unbearable in moments.
This is the mother of all headaches! Where the hell did this come from?
Oh…oh shit!
He clawed at his chest. His heart pounded, beating fast, as if a rabbit’s feet were thumping hard and furious inside of it.
Xenia…
Confusion swam inside of him; his wife preoccupied his thoughts and he felt panicky. He reached for his phone to touch base with her, even though his physical state of distress was making it difficult to even form a coherent thought.
Before he could do anything, his cell phone rang. He snatched it up, not recognizing the number.
“Saint!” Pam cried. “Oh my God, Sweet Jesus!” Her voice faded in and out, as if she were in some sort of scuffle. He swallowed, trying his damndest to get past the pain so he could hear and understand what the hell was happening.
“What’s wrong, Mama Pam? What’s going on?”
“Saint, this is Porsche. Mama is too upset to talk so I took the phone. You need to get down here to the hospital right away. I called Xenia and the police answered her phone and…and…Please come here as fast as you can. We’re at Cedars—Sinai. Xenia has been in a bad car accident…”
Saint heard nothing else as the phone slipped from his trembling hand, and landed on the floor in a thud that echoed twenty times over. He felt like he was drowning, and soon, a trickle of blood trailed out his mouth.
He fell from his chair and started to crawl over the carpet.
I…have to get…to her…before…it’s…too late!!!
The more he tried to scream out, the heavier his body seemed to become. He finally got his strength and stumbled out the office. Everything was a blur and colors, furniture and windows all looked the same. Shaking his head, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy, he ran his fingers along the wall, attempting to keep his balance and stay afloat. He realized what was happening. Xenia’s physical state was hampering him, blending into his own body, causing him near paralysis. A cruel side effect of the soulmate connection had rendered him physically impaired once harm had grabbed her and mashed her into bits. He tried to push past it, to get to her,
but his body was failing him. Nevertheless, he kept on, and he wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop. His psychic abilities seemed to be short-circuiting. He couldn’t ‘dial-out’ for assistance from Jagger or Lawrence, his body and sixth sense were betraying him.
A faint, familiar voice called to him…
“Is someone there?!” he said in a panic, still blind, still trying, still tasting blood that was not his own…
“Saint!” the man screamed. A Rainbeau was still on the premises….
He knew that voice, and felt a sense of relief as soon as the hand landed on his shoulder. George. The old man was supposed to be enjoying his half days of partial retirement, but he’d come into the office late that evening to take care of a few odds and ends. The tall, lanky man grabbed Saint with strength that surprised him.
“Lean on me,” George said in his comforting British accent. “By God, you’re bleeding, Saint. Your mouth must be cut.”
“I’m fine…please…” Saint winced, pissed his legs wouldn’t do what he commanded them to do. “Drive me to the hospital, George. Xenia is hurt… She’s hurt bad…”
“Okay, son. Everything will be okay, alright? Just keep your wits about you.”
A tear cascaded down Saint’s cheek as George took him by the waist and marched him to the elevator doors to do as he requested…
~***~
Lawrence watched Donna come through the front door carrying an armful of black three-ring binders from work, and a large corrugated box of files. That meant she was planning on working through the night on some project that had exploded out of control. He turned off the living room television and greeted her with open arms.
“Well, you’re home late.” He smiled as he gave her a kiss on the cheek while she brushed past.
“I know, sorry.” She huffed. “There was a meeting running late and I brought some stuff to work on. I swear these people act like everything is some sort of crisis.”
Just then Lawrence’s cell phone rang. He looked down at the caller- ID.
“Hey Jagger,” he answered, turning away from Donna. He heard her walk into the kitchen, set her belongings down and open the refrigerator door.
“Hey. Have you found anything out about this Shianne person? I went by her place and tapped into her the best I could. I feel like I’m watching some teen show on Nickelodeon or some shit! This woman is a basket case, man. She’s actually screaming in her damn apartment, and cursing and running back and forth, but she’s alone! What a damn nut. I’m convinced she had nothing to do with this IRS or embezzlement crap, Lawrence. I want to be certain before I call Saint though.”
“Um, okay, can we talk about that later? Is it okay if I call you back? I need to talk to Donna about a few things.”
“Oh, yeah, of course, man.”
Lawrence hung up the phone and walked into the kitchen, smiling at his wife who was drinking a glass of orange juice.
“Hey, honey, I need to talk to you about something.”
“Is something wrong?” she asked as she sat down at their kitchen table.
“No, not really.” He joined her and held her hand.
“It sure does seem like it. Look how you’re looking at me.” She reached out and gingerly wiped a crumb from his top lip.
“Look, I’ll just get right to it. Saint told me that your blood pressure is high, honey and…even though he didn’t say it, he is worried about the baby. He suggested bed rest.” He gripped her hand a bit tighter.
“Well, you don’t have to tell me twice!” She laughed. “That’s amazing actually, because at the doctor appointment yesterday, he said my pressure was a little high again and he’d monitor it. I guess it was more serious than I imagined.”
“Oh, thank God.” Lawrence sighed. “I thought you were going to go off on the deep end and tell me how—”
“Now why would I do that?”
Lawrence grimaced. “Because the information is coming from Saint. We all know how you feel about him.”
“But this is about our baby, and he’s been right about everything thus far. I will get a note from the doctor and turn it into work. I’ll go in Thursday and Friday to train a temp, and that will be it.” She leaned over and kissed her husband’s forehead then stood and placed her glass inside the sink.
“I think I could use some bed rest as well.” He focused on her swaying hips as she moved to and fro washing and drying the glass.
“Oh, you’re sleepy or you just want to lie down? If you just want to chill out, let’s go on up and watch a movie together. I’ve got some Netflix picks I think… Ahhh!” She jumped when Lawrence slid up against her and caressed her hips.
“I’m not sleepy. I was talking about a different type of bed rest.” His nodded slowly and caressed his chin. “There’s something sexy about the way your stomach is poking out a bit…”
“Now you’re just being silly!” She turned to him, a big smile on her face.
Lawrence took her by the hand and led her to the stairs.
“You’ll get rest soon enough, but tonight, you’ll be a bit, shall we say, preoccupied…”
~***~
Trepidation took over Saint’s mind and body as the smells of ointments, bleach and wet gauze filled his nostrils. He’d gained his sanity back on the car-ride over and the warning he’d received, physically manifested, of his wife’s condition made him understand—as if he hadn’t before—just how bonded they were. Pam, Porsche and Stacey crowded the small room, their eyes filled with tears, while George waited in the guest lounge. The oxygen mask over Xenia’s face did little to hide the slits and scratches in her flesh from glass fragments and abrasions. So many bloody cuts… Her upper lip was swollen, her eyes dark with purple and deep blues, and her head was covered with wraps to stop the swelling of her brain. She hadn’t said a word, was completely unresponsive, though her heartbeat was still strong. Saint wiped tears from his face and cracked the sheets back to study her form covered in a thin pink-checkered hospital robe. He traced her lower legs with trembling fingers; most of the exposed flesh looked bruised and battered. One of her arms was in a sling, and her left leg had a deep gash in it that required stitching. Nevertheless, the doctors said she was lucky. She’d rolled off an embankment, landing roof down in the middle of rubble and by all accounts, the woman should’ve been dead.
Everyone’s pain in that little room flung him over some dark abyss. He needed a moment with her, undisturbed. No staff, no family. No one but him and Xenia. Instead, he abruptly excused himself, walked just outside the door and patted his pocket, realizing he must have left his cell phone at the office after he’d spoken with his sister-in-law.
“Shit!” He pulled at his hair. Pam had explained that the children were with their babysitter, Chantel, and that Henry called Porsche, saying he was on his way over after receiving her frantic voicemail. Saint made his way through the halls until he found George slumped down in a human puddle, half asleep. He lightly patted the man’s shoulder.
“Uh, yes? Yes? How is she, Saint?” The old man rubbed his tired eyes, looking a bit disoriented. “I’m so sorry. I started dozing off.”
“Don’t worry about that, George. Can I use your phone please? I forgot mine at the office.”
“Of course!” George handed his cell phone to Saint, who nodded in appreciation and walked away to a quieter wing of the hospital.
The phone rang and rang. “Come on! Pick up, Lawrence!” It continued to go unanswered until at last, it went to voicemail. He called back. The same thing occurred, causing him to curse out and stomp his foot as he paced the deserted hallway. He needed answers, so he called the next person he believed could help him—Osaze.
“Hello?” his father said in a semi-sluggish tone.
“Pop, it’s Saint!”
“Oh, I didn’t know who this was because—”
“Xenia has been in a car accident, Dad!” Saint’s voice cracked. A part of him didn’t want to believe what was happening and another part of him wa
s trying his damnedest to keep it all together, but that became more and more challenging as time wore on. When he walked into that hospital room, he wanted to pull her out of that damn bed and take her home, but he knew that could lead to more trouble. He’d have to do the best he could with how things were.
“Oh God, no! Saint, is she okay?”
“No, Dad.” It was happening again; he couldn’t control the quaking of his voice. He ran his fingers across his forehead, continuing to pace. The tears kept coming, drenching his face and neck. “I’m at the hospital. I need some advice. It’s bad, Pop, real bad!” He gripped the phone and looked around, searching for something…of what, he wasn’t sure.
“Son, I’ll catch a flight, I’ll be on my way.”
“No! Stay put.” Saint put his hand up, as if his father were actually there. “I can’t get a hold of Lawrence and…” He wiped another tear away that blurred his vision. “…I pray to God that you can answer this.”
“I’ll try, Son. What is it?”
“When Mama was in the hospital, if you had had the gift of healing, could you have saved her?”
“No, Saint. She died almost instantly and by the time the police called me, it had been at least thirty minutes, and I’m not a healer, as you know. There is a small gap of time after the heart stops when a healer Angel Child can bring that spirit back. I don’t know that exact time frame, but it is quite short.”
“So, if the person is still alive, but wounded…” Saint sniffed and pulled out a soiled napkin from his pocket to catch a thin trail of snot as it ran over his lips—“…we can still save them, even if they are our soulmate, right? Can I help her?!” His knees buckled and he quickly jammed his shoulder into the wall to keep his balance as the devastating emotions consumed him. “Please tell me I can help her!” He started to go into mild convulsions as he cried his eyes out, muffling a groan of misery with a heavy palm over his mouth. He felt the burn now. He shielded his face from any passersby, certain his eyeballs were some color that would cause the hospital staff to cart him away in a straitjacket.
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