I turn to him with an innocent expression. “I am so, so unbelievably grateful. Let me buy you all your next beer.”
When he and the men nod their agreement, I bounce out of my seat and walk over to the bar, asking the bartender for three more of what they’ve been drinking. As the bartender places the first two on the bar and opens them, I grip the neck of one of the beers. Tucked between my index and middle finger on one hand is a small opened packet of cyanide salt. Tilting my fingers, the packet tips ever so slightly so that the powder pours down the neck of the bottle. This is completed in a matter of seconds and the small, now empty packet, is crumpled in the palm of my hand.
The bartender turns back to me and places the third opened beer on the bar top. I throw down some bills, gripping all three bottles to deliver them to my ‘savior’ and his amigos. After placing the poisoned beer in front of Arturo, I distribute the other two to the men across from him.
For the next twenty minutes, I sit angelically with the three men while they converse and periodically check me out. They mostly ignore me and that’s okay, because I’m more interested on Arturo’s progress with his beer. With a shave and haircut, I think the terrorist could actually be almost attractive. Mid-thirties, his build is strong and healthy underneath the black tank top he’s wearing. Well, healthy for the next few minutes.
A man walks in the bar whose hair color reminds me of Gabriel’s, which just makes me think about how I’d like to hurry back to the real hotel we’re staying at and get on my computer. When Arturo drinks his last sip, I stand up and announce, “You know what? I think I’ll just call a cab.” Cyanide salt is fast-acting, so I better head out before the sucker drops dead in my lap.
“Not so fast girl.” Arturo once again grabs my wrist, but this time in a firmer grip. Now, that’s just plain annoying.
“Faster than you think,” I mumble in English and yank my wrist out of his grasp. As he starts coughing violently, I start backing up. Looking at his two buddies, I gesture towards Arturo, saying again in English, “I think something’s wrong with your homeboy.”
Arturo’s body starts to spasm as he goes into seizures. Time for Annabelle to skedaddle. One of the men reaches over in a bewildered attempt to help Arturo, a useless endeavor. The other one exits the booth in an effort to grab me, also useless. I guess when you’re dying of cyanide poisoning, you find out who your real friends are. Homeboy number one is concerned about Arturo and homeboy number two is concerned about the potential kidnap victim, therefore ransom money, that’s getting away.
As I’m walking away from the death scene, I sense homeboy number two come up behind me. Sliding two blades from my tan crocheted purse, I whirl around and jab them into either side of his neck, pulling them out just as quickly. With that, I spin back around and leave the bar, wiping the blades on my ugly skirt and tucking them back into the purse.
Jackson is lounging against a post on the decked porch. “Run,” I hiss at him as I pass by.
We run.
Gabriel
Sitting down at my computer desk, I lift open my laptop and log into my email account. As expected, another email from Annabelle. I read through her description of Peru and her false words of love for me.
The morass of emotions I feel when receiving each one of her emails is there again.
Zeroing in on one single emotion, hatred, I email her back:
Murderer,
Graduation fever is in the air. However, I anticipate my graduation more than my friends do. I feel that I have so much more to look forward to. My hands around your throat. Your last breath leaving your body. Justice being served.
As I watch my mother’s health and sanity deteriorate, I wonder, does something like you have a mother? Or are you just spawned from hell by a succubus?
I diligently continue my various training classes and exercises. I can only hope that my weapons and fighting skills will be sufficient enough when we meet again. Sadly, my killing skills could never compare to yours.
I will be anxiously awaiting your devious reply.
Your executioner,
Gabriel
Chapter 23
Annabelle
Miami, FL - May 25th
As I step off the plane at Miami International Airport, I glance around, half expecting the Feds to ambush me. Guess not, I shrug and mosey along through the terminal, feeling both invincible and elated.
Once at baggage claim, I run into an ambush of another kind, my pain in the ass older brother. The baggage carousel still hasn’t produced my luggage when I hear from behind me, “Naughty Annie.”
I turn around, already knowing who it is. “Dammit Jacks! You are such a stalker!”
He has a pissed off evil grin on his face. “Didn’t think I’d know what you were up to, did you?” His now pitch black hair has grown out enough to give it a good yank and I’m tempted to do just that.
I break eye contact, trying to hide my guilty look. Caught in the act like the criminal I am! “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He leans close behind me and says in my ear, “What the hell are you doing back in Miami, Annabelle?”
“I’m on vacation.” I stubbornly refuse to admit the truth.
“You came to see your loverboy,” He laughs mockingly. A good yank of the hair and knee to his face would do Jackson some good. He’s way too high almighty.
“I just wanted to go to his graduation,” I mumble pathetically.
“Somehow,” he begins, “I don’t think he wants you there.”
“You don’t know that!” I pivot back around so he can see my glare.
“For Christ’s sake! The boy wants you dead!” Instead of yelling, like I know he’s dying to, he whispers his words harshly.
Now I spin away again so he doesn’t see my pain. “He doesn’t mean it.”
Jackson says more gently, “His last email implied otherwise.”
I throw back my elbow into his gut and hear the corresponding grunt. “Stop hacking into my email, asshole!”
“Annie, if someone is threatening my baby sis, you better believe I’m going to know about it.” Damn, can’t fault him in that, I’d do the same thing if some crazy bitch wanted to kill him.
“So, I suppose you’re going to accompany me to his graduation?” I ask in a disgruntled tone.
“You better believe it,” Jackson answers matter-of-factly.
I grab my suitcase from the carousel and turn to face him again. “You’re going to have to disguise yourself.”
“Annie, who taught you everything you know?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at me.
I roll my eyes at his arrogance. “Simon.”
Gabriel
I can feel her eyes on me. Don’t know how to explain it, but I know she’s here, watching me. What does she want from me? Is this entertainment for her? I know what I want from her, for her to lay down and die.
She still sends me email love letters or ones pretending that we’re friends. All lies. I think she just likes tormenting me. She’s secretly gloating about what she did to me. What she did to my now dead father and my practically dead mother. I clench my fists, waiting for the principal to call my name as I wait in line behind the other graduates on the grass. A girl named Clara Samuels climbs the steps to the stage ahead of me.
“Gabriel Thomas Sanchez,” the principal announces as I walk up the steps and onto the stage. I take my diploma from him, glancing out into the crowd, searching for her in the bleachers on either side of the football field. Too many flashing cameras blind my view of the crowd. The professional photographer below probably captured a narrow-eyed, searching look. Let them all see my anger. My mom isn’t even here to see me graduate. Couldn’t get her to wake up this morning, she was so doped up.
I walk across to the other side of the black stage, decorated with blue and yellow balloons, and down the opposite steps. Returning to my seat, I glance over at Max and see his satisfied grin, having already been up there. I should al
so feel victorious at finally being done with high school. It’s kind of hard with a heavy heart. My father is dead, my mother is addicted to prescription pills and I’m planning to kill my first love.
As the hot sun beats down on us, the last graduate accepts his diploma five minutes later and the principal presents the graduating class. Graduation caps with blue and yellow tassels are thrown into the air, minus mine, and cheers go up. I just stand there, still searching for her in the crowd. The crowd is too thick, it’s hopeless and I’m probably being paranoid.
I’m startled at being gripped around the chest and arms to be picked up in a bear hug. Max is so cheesy. “We did it, dude!”
Not like it was hard, like becoming a doctor. I separate myself from his enthusiastic grip, repeating my thought aloud, “It’s not like it was hard.”
Max looks a little surprised by my lack of enthusiasm. “Well yeah, but . . . we did it!” Again, I’m gripped in his annoying bear hug. My sunglasses start slipping from their perch. Giving up on me, he turns to other classmates and continues his celebration, acting like a maniac. When he starts picking up cute girls in the same bear hug, I finally smile.
While at a late lunch with Max and my aunt, I feel Anna’s eyes on me again. I get up out of my seat, pretending that I have to use the bathroom in an excuse to survey the other diners at the steakhouse. Again, I don’t see her. Maybe I’m so obsessed with her that I’m imagining her in the shadows. It’s not as if she cares about me enough to take the time to watch me graduate.
After our family celebration, which my mom was still unable to attend due to being passed out on meds, my aunt drops Max and me off at my house so we can pick up my car. We’re going to a party at a classmate’s house and I’m thinking that getting drunk sounds like a good idea right about now. They should give me a second diploma for being so brilliant. Once my senses are dulled, maybe I’ll stop sensing someone who isn’t there.
Five hours later, I’m drunk off my ass. Well, I’m actually sitting on my ass on a brown leather sofa at some kid’s house who I don’t even remember the name of. The party is in full swing and my graduating class is celebrating their induction into adulthood through immature acts involving casual sex and binge drinking. I hold up either my seventh, eighth or ninth beer. To the future leaders of America! Toasting by oneself is kinda pathetic isn’t it?
Max disappeared with some chick an hour ago and I’m starting to feel a little nauseous. Fresh air is needed. After a minute of struggling, and spilling some beer on the nice dress shirt my aunt bought me to wear today, I manage to pull myself to my feet and stumble out the back sliding door.
As soon as I step out onto the patio, I get a strong whiff of pot smoke. The sour smell is not helping the nausea situation. I stumble further along to the side of the house, where it’s darker with the sun sinking below the horizon, only to run smack into two people propped against the wall and going at it.
Laughing in drunken amusement, I’m not in any condition to be anything less than a jerk. “Dude, I hope you’re using a condom, because everyone’s been in that bitch.”
I hear a startled gasp as the girl pushes the guy away, pulling down the miniskirt of her white dress and running her fingers through her blonde hair. “You are such a prick, Gabriel! Don’t forget to include yourself on that list of everyone.” Not very bright of her to agree with me, she must be pretty drunk too.
I do a fake shudder. “Ugh, don’t remind me, Carmen. I’m lucky to have gotten away alive, without a fatal STD.”
The guy mumbles something about taking a piss and walks off, zipping back up. Personally, I would have just taken the piss out here, right at her feet.
“What the fuck’s your problem, Gabriel? Haven’t gotten laid since your little girlfriend disappeared?” She sneers while smoothing down the hair she’s already ran her fingers through.
Yeah, Annabelle going MIA after the death of my father is widely known. Obviously my self-imposed celibacy may also be just as widely known. At least people don’t know what a fool she made of me. “Get lost, Carmen.”
Abruptly, her demeanor changes and she puts on a sympathetic face, which I don’t buy for an instant. “Oh, do you have a broken heart?”
I look at her suspiciously. “Not likely.”
My scowl doesn’t deter her from the topic and she takes a step closer, pressing her breasts against my chest. “I could make you forget about her, Gabriel.”
I think about the dude who was just doing her and decide that I definitely don’t want to go there. But maybe she could help me forget about Annabelle. The fling that Carmen and I had last summer was fun, until she started whining the words commitment and exclusive, causing me to end it.
Determined to stop being a fool for a girl who doesn’t give a shit about me, I decide to take Carmen up on her offer. Leaning back against the side of the house, I spread out my arms. “Well then?”
She presses against me again and tries to kiss my lips. I turn my head to the side to avoid her lips and say, “No kissing.”
She pouts, using that whining tone I remember so well, “Well, what can I kiss?”
“Use your imagination.”
She gets a wicked smile and starts to unbutton my navy shirt, kissing her way down. I see where this is going. Through my drunken mind, a voice is screaming for me to stop. It’s screaming that I don’t really want Carmen. That it isn’t going to help me forget Anna. I recognize that voice and tell my heart to shut the hell up.
Finishing with my shirt, she unzips my black dress pants and starts to stick her hand past the elastic waist band of my boxer briefs. Suddenly, her whole body goes limp and collapses against mine. What the hell? I barely manage to catch her before looking up into the enraged brown eyes of the girl standing behind her. Even with lighter hair, it’s easy to recognize Anna. Somehow, I think it always will be.
In shock, I begin, “It wasn’t-” Then I stop myself, squashing down the irrational guilt that I’m feeling at Anna catching me with another girl. “What the fuck are you doing here, Annabelle?”
“What the fuck are you doing, fucking someone else?” she yells, slapping me on the shoulder.
“I wasn’t going to screw her,” I say calmly, surprisingly happy with the drama unfolding. She’s actually jealous. She may not love me, but she can feel some emotions, jealousy being the current one. Daringly, I add, “I was just gonna let her suck me off.”
She lets out an enraged huff and glares down at the girl that I still have propped up by her armpits. “I should kill her.”
“That is your way,” I say, as I gently lay Carmen down on the grass. Girl’s gonna wake up with one hell of a headache, especially if she’s been drinking. “What did you do to her?”
“Pressure point,” she says distractedly, then slashes her hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. “She’ll be fine.”
“I know all about that,” I mutter bitterly.
She looks up at me with a guilty expression, which I don’t buy. Then her familiar blank mask returns as she starts to back away. “I shouldn’t have come here. It was a mistake. I just thought . . . .” She looks away in thought before gazing back to me. “Goodbye, Gabriel.”
I can hear the finality in her voice. She means it. She turns around and starts to walk away. Panic consumes me as I follow her. It seems like I’m always chasing her, across distances short and long. I catch up with her in the near darkness of the front yard.
Grabbing her from behind, I wrap my arms around her, clasping tightly. Leaning my face into now blonde hair, I can smell fruity shampoo. Coconut? Keeping Anna in my grip with one arm around her front and that hand clasped onto her bicep, I run the opposite hand across ribs and down a jean-clad hip. The dark tank top and jean skirt she’s wearing aren’t much of a barrier against what I have in mind. I want to see her in the light so I pull her into the driveway, under the lights attached to the right of the garage doors.
Figuring that tomorrow I’ll get to blame my a
ctions on being drunk, I continue to hold her. She’s stiff in my arms when I turn her around. Cupping a tensed chin with one hand, I lift her face up to the light. Tears are streaking her soft skin. Now I stiffen, asking, “What game are you playing, Annabelle?”
She clears her throat and whispers, “I’m not playing any game, Gabriel.”
“Why the tears?” I ask skeptically.
She lets out a derisive noise. “Why do you think, Gabriel? How would you feel if you caught me with another guy?”
Laughing humorlessly, I shake her body gently. “Like I’m going to believe there haven’t been other guys in the last six months.” Pretending indifference doesn’t stop me from holding my breath while waiting for her answer. The thought of another guy touching her kills me.
She places her palms on my chest two seconds before pushing me away. I stumble back against the metal garage door with a bang, hearing her say, “Of course there haven’t been other guys. There’s only you, jackass. Why the hell would I be here otherwise?” Okay, the thrill I get from that information is inappropriate since I shouldn’t care. But damn, I do care. Her jealousy and hurt are making me feel things I shouldn’t be feeling in regards to her. Love. Hope. Tenderness. Guilt.
Obviously more pissed than hurt again, she stalks down the long driveway, most likely to where she’s parked this battle’s getaway vehicle. I have no idea what she’d even be driving. The police informed me that the yellow Lamborghinis her and the fake Russian had were both rentals.
Once again, and probably not for the last time, I chase after her, catching up on the sidewalk in front of the house next door. I start speed-walking alongside her, intent on not to let her escape again. “Where are you going?”
“Elsewhere,” she responds in an unfriendly tone.
Undaunted, I refuse to give up. “Can I give you a ride there?” What the hell is wrong with me? I want to kill her, not keep her close.
“I have a ride.” She points to the taxi parked near us and I notice the driver waiting patiently in the dark interior. His scruffy face is glowing faintly from the light being cast off the cell phone he’s looking down at.
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