Sophie’s Last Stand

by Nancy Bartholomew

  He collapsed against me for a long minute, holding me close and murmuring my name over and over, whispering it into my hair and kissing me softly as the insistence in his voice slowly subsided.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, finally.

  I giggled, but it was muffled by the weight and size of his body. “I’m fine,” I managed to say. Fine was an absolute understatement. I was beyond fine. I lay there in a sweaty embrace, totally sexually satisfied, and he wanted to know if I was all right? I was so all right.

  I stayed there, pinned beneath him, planning my return assault on his body. Perhaps Gray thought he could get away with driving me crazy, perhaps he was naive enough to think that he was the only one with a tongue, perhaps he even thought me incapable of sending him right up the wall of desire only to leave him there, begging as I had for completion. I chuckled to myself.

  Gray stroked my hair tenderly. “Are you laughing?” he asked.

  I smiled. He rose up on his elbows and looked down at me, concern replacing complacency. “You’re not crying, are you?” he asked.

  I smiled up at him and gently pushed him away, rolling him over onto his side and following him, until I was on top of him, resting my head on his strong chest.

  “Crying? No, honey, I’m not crying…but you might be.”

  He frowned, but when I lowered my head, running my tongue down the side of his neck, I heard him sigh.

  “Oh,” he murmured, “so that’s how it is, eh?”

  I nibbled softly on the bud of one nipple and let my fingers range slowly down across his stomach.

  “Yeah,” I said, “that’s how it is.”

  I believe he moaned then, but I was too intent on my explorations to really listen. Gray Evans had met his match, and I intended to show him just exactly how well suited we were.

  Chapter 12

  Late that evening, we settled on pizza. The Chinese food, cold and congealed, languished at the bottom of my trash can, sacrificed for a noble and very worthy cause. We sat, Gray barefoot, wearing his jeans and T-shirt, and me in a thick, terry-cloth bathrobe, on the couch in the living room, the pizza box open between us, pizza slices balanced precariously in our hands. We wore the happy but exhausted expressions of new lovers. I smiled continuously, never taking my eyes off of Gray, and was rewarded by seeing the same satisfied and happy look mirrored in his eyes. Was it any wonder, then, that I temporarily forgot the destruction in my basement?

  I remembered as the last pizza slice disappeared. I stiffened, looked toward the kitchen and said, “I need to show you something.”

  “Again?” he asked, licking the last bit of sauce from his fingertip. He smiled, running his tongue slowly around the edge of his lips, his mind a million miles away from Nick and the events that had thrown us together.

  I brushed the crumbs from my lap and stood up. “Come on. It’s downstairs.”

  Gray stood up, his smile vanishing as he realized that I was serious.

  “Darlene and I found it when we were moving my bedroom,” I said, leading him through the dining room and toward the basement door. “She thought I should show it to you as soon as you got here, but I wanted a little time to think about it. I thought it could wait.”

  I moved the chair away from the door and stopped, my hand poised over the doorknob. “You do understand that, don’t you?” I asked. “I guess I figured that every time the crime analysts have been here, they’ve left without any significant information, so I didn’t think this time would be any different. Besides I think it’s Nick. He’s looking for something.”

  Gray stretched out a hand, resting it gently on the nape of my neck. “Sophie, what is it?”

  I turned the knob, pulled open the door and fumbled for the light switch. “I think Nick broke in. He busted out a pane in one of the basement windows, undid the latch and got in that way. It must’ve happened late this afternoon because I had been down there looking for something earlier.”

  I led Gray down the steps. When we reached the landing I stopped, so he could look over into the dimly lit room and see the state of devastation that I had seen earlier.

  “Jesus! Sophie! You thought it could wait? Damn! Call 9-1-1. Tell them to send an ambulance. Sophie, Jesus!”

  I pushed him aside and peered over the edge of the railing. Lying below me, sprawled out on top of a pile of winter clothing, was my ex-husband.

  “Oh, my God!” I cried. “What’s he doing here?”

  The two of us ran down the steps. Gray reached him first, kneeling and touching his neck for a pulse.

  I stood beside him, trying to believe that the unconscious figure at my feet was really Nick and not a hallucination.

  “Call 9-1-1,” Gray said. “Hurry. There’s a pulse but it’s shallow.” He moved Nick slightly, enough to reveal a nasty bruise that had swollen into a goose egg on the side of his head.

  I turned and ran for the stairs, climbing them and emerging into the kitchen, the vision of Nick burning its way into my permanent memory bank.

  When had he gotten back inside? I grabbed the phone and dialed. When the 9-1-1 operator came on the line, I gave the address, told her there was an unconscious man in my basement, and hung up. I flung ice cubes into a towel and ran back down the steps to Gray and Nick.

  “I don’t know if he’s going to make it,” Gray said as I handed him the ice.

  I looked at Nick and saw how pale he was, how shallow and reedy his breathing had become, and how different he looked from the man I’d last seen in a Philadelphia courtroom a year ago.

  “Stay with him,” Gray directed. “I’ll go upstairs and wait for the squad.”

  “Gray,” I called softly as he turned away.

  “What?” His look was almost impatient.

  “He wasn’t here earlier. Believe me, ex-husband or not, I would’ve told you if I’d known….”

  Gray’s expression softened. “Soph, I know that. We’ll sort it out later.” He turned and took the steps two at a time, leaving me alone to wait with Nick.

  I looked down at the man who had so completely ruled my life for the past twelve years, expecting to feel the familiar surge of revulsion and fear, but finding instead that all I felt was pity.

  While he had assumed gigantic proportions in my mind, he was in reality a small man, thin and wiry, not at all muscular. Nick had aged in prison, well beyond his forty-nine years. His hair had turned completely white, but not an attractive, brilliant white. It was more mottled and yellowed, like newsprint left out in the sun for too long. His face was thinner than I remembered and his cheekbones were sunken and hollowed. Deep lines bit into his face and dark circles rimmed his eyes.

  Nick was wearing cheap clothing, polyester pants and a thin rayon golf shirt, the colors faded from many washings. There was a sour smell about him, as if he hadn’t bathed or even bothered to change his clothes in quite some time.

  “Nick,” I murmured, “what happened to you?”

  The man lying on the floor couldn’t answer me. I heard the sound of an ambulance siren wailing in the distance and found myself murmuring a quick prayer for Nick. Whatever he’d done to me, I couldn’t find it in my heart to want him to die. Nick had problems, there was no doubt about that, and deep in his heart, he may have intended to kill me for whatever imagined wrong I’d done him by testifying in court. Still I couldn’t believe he’d carry out his threats in reality.

  Once upon a time I had loved him. I now knew my instincts were probably all wrong. I had wanted to save him from himself and that was an impossible task. Nick obviously didn’t want to be saved. If he had, he’d have saved himself.

  A vision of Connie Bono, dead in the backyard, popped into my head. Then I thought of my father’s friend Pete, lying white-faced on the stretcher as he was loaded into the waiting ambulance. Finally I remembered Gray, knees buckling with the pain of his head wound, blood running down the side of his face. Who was I trying to fool? Nick Komassi, the man I was feeling sorry for, was probably e
very bit the cold-blooded killer. What delusion made me think he hadn’t been planning to kill me off, as well? Hadn’t he as much as promised that before he went to prison?

  A cold chill swept through me as I looked back at my former husband. How could I have been so wrong about him?

  The sound of Gray and the EMTs walking overhead interrupted my thoughts, bringing me back to the here and now. I looked up and saw the shaft of light from the kitchen widen as the door opened and the crew began their descent into the basement.

  I looked back at Nick and then at the window just above where he lay. Had he fallen? Was that how he’d hit his head, or had someone else hit him and pushed him through the small opening? If Nick wasn’t the victim of an accident, then who’d hit him and why had they done it?

  In the next few minutes Nick was loaded onto a stretcher and taken away. Police officers and crime scene technicians once again invaded my home. The man who’d held me in his arms only an hour before turned back into a New Bern police detective, all-business and very far removed from the teasing, playful lover I’d pulled up the stairs and into my bed.

  Gray stood on the landing overlooking the basement, talking in low tones to his partner. The two men surveyed the scene, Wendell frowning and Gray looking impassively at my strewn belongings. Below them, crime scene investigators once again spread their graphite powder everywhere, dusting for prints and photographing every tiny corner of the musty cellar.

  I turned away from them and withdrew to the kitchen to make coffee. It promised to be another long night. I peered through the kitchen window, trying to see to the back of my yard, wondering if anyone was out there watching me. I leaned closer, focusing and squinting out into the darkness, so intent upon ferreting out the details that I completely lost track of my surroundings. I shrieked when Durrell’s cold, wet nose hit the back of my leg.

  A nearby officer stuck her head in the kitchen, withdrawing when she saw me kneeling to pat Durrell. He was licking my hand, his tail wagging at a furious pace.

  “Where’d you come from?” I asked.

  Durrell grinned.

  “Bet you’re hungry, huh?” I asked.

  Durrell barked and turned circles around his tail, prancing over to the refrigerator and waiting for me to serve him.

  “Okay,” I said, pulling open the door and inspecting the contents. “We have a slightly aged package of sliced ham, some provolone cheese and a small container of leftover chicken Scapaletti.”

  I chopped the ham and cheese, added a spoonful or two of the pasta and chicken, then poured water into a second dish and set the meal down in a corner. Durrell, without a backward glance, rushed the bowls and forgot all about me.

  “Where’s your mother?” I muttered under my breath. Della hadn’t returned after Pete had been taken to the hospital, and now here was the long-lost Durrell. That seemed to be the pattern with the two of them. Durrell wandered off without much of an attachment to his owner and she did the same to him.

  “You’re feeding that mangy hound?” Darlene cried, entering the kitchen from the dining room.

  Durrell lifted his head and barked ferociously at my sister.

  “Get him away from me! He’s violent! He’s probably got rabies!”

  Darlene stood in the doorway, holding her broomstick skirt up around her knees, obviously terrified of the little dog. She had painted her toenails in wild, bright metallic colors that stood out in vivid relief against the pale white skin of her feet and legs.

  “You paint them like that for Wendell?” I asked.

  Darlene favored me with a withering glare. “His pager went off just as he was about to discover them,” she said. “Your ex-husband is ruining my love life!”

  “Yours! What about mine?”

  Darlene rolled her eyes. “Well, you were married to him. I’m just an innocent bystander…a frustrated, innocent bystander, I might add.”

  I heard a commotion in the living room and the sound of a familiar raised voice cursing in Italian.

  “You didn’t,” I said to Darlene.

  She shrugged. “What could I do? You want them to find out from a stranger that Nick was half-dead at your house? You want to face Ma and Pa after they see it on the morning news? All’s I did was call and tell them not to worry. Can I help it they took it upon themselves to show up?”

  It was too late now. Ma and Pa were right behind Darlene, pushing past her impatiently. Pa was loaded down with armfuls of brown grocery sacks. Behind him, Joey carried more grocery sacks, looking as if he’d been pulled straight out of bed without benefit of a comb or fresh clothing.

  “Shit,” I heard him mutter.

  “Where is he?” Ma asked. There was no doubt whom she meant.

  “They took him to the hospital, Ma. He got knocked out.”

  Ma set her bags down on the kitchen table and looked around. Durrell had returned to eating, but still managed to utter a low growl now and then. Pa and Joey set their bags on the counter and looked longingly at the coffeepot, while Ma took stock and prepared to issue orders.

  “Maybe they’ll take him to jail where he belongs,” Pa groused. “Then maybe we can get a decent night’s rest!”

  Joey ran his hand through what hair he had left on his head and looked up at the cabinet where I kept the Wild Turkey.

  “All right,” Ma said. “Pa, boil a big pot of water. Joey, put them groceries away. Darlene, get some milk and sugar out for the coffee and put out spoons and napkins. Sophie, I need a big stockpot.”

  Ma was beginning to move, reaching with a knowing hand into a sack and pulling out a bag of onions and peppers.

  “Thank God you got the stove in,” she said. “How many we got here?”

  “Ma, you don’t gotta feed them,” I said.

  Ma whirled around, knife in hand, and I jumped back. “You don’t gotta feed nobody,” she said in a dangerous tone, “but that’s what you do. You show some respect for them what’s helping you.”

  “Okay, Ma, okay.” I held up my hands and backed off. “I think there’s about twelve here.”

  “Go tell them there will be food in a little while, but for now there’s coffee and pastries.” Ma was giving me The Look, like she might leap out and beat me if I didn’t move fast enough.

  “On my way,” I said.

  “And put some clothes on,” she called after me. “You look like una puttana.”

  I looked down and realized I was still in my bathrobe and naked under that.

  “Ma, I was asleep when I—”

  How Ma knew, I’ll never know. “You were sitting on your couch eating pizza with that detective,” she said calmly. “Don’t try and bullshit me, Sophia. I got eyes.”

  I stopped, my hand on the doorknob to the basement, and looked at my mother. She was staring at me with a carefully neutral expression.

  “Wear something appropriate to the hospital,” she said.

  “What?”

  Ma’s eyes darkened. “What? Your husband lies in a hospital bed and you don’t go to see to him?”

  “Ma! He’s my ex-husband. He tried to kill me! Why would I go to the hospital?”

  Ma stiffened. “You go, Sophia. It is the right thing to do in the eyes of God! You go pray for his immortal soul.” Ma’s eyes narrowed slightly and she looked over her shoulder to make certain no one could hear what she said next. “You go to pray, yes, but you go to find out what the son of a bitch was doing here, too!”

  “Jesus!”

  Ma lunged and I flew down the basement steps, almost colliding with Gray and Wendell.

  “There’s coffee upstairs,” I said. “Ma insists on feeding the world, so prepare yourselves.”

  Wendell smiled and started for the kitchen. Gray touched my arm, detaining me while Wendell went upstairs to make points with Ma.

  “I’m going on to the hospital,” he said. “If he’s conscious we’ll try and get a statement. Either way, I think this may mean we can wrap it up around here. Nick won’t bother you an
ymore.”

  I nodded. “I’ll go with you.”

  Gray frowned. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  I shrugged. “Me, either, but Ma’s on my back. She says I need to go pray for his immortal salvation, and as she was holding a cleaver when she said it, I figure it’s just easier to go make an appearance. Maybe he’ll talk to me before he talks to you. He may hate me, but he hates police officers more.”

  “Sophie, the man was tracking you like prey. He’s killed one woman already. You don’t owe him your sympathy.”

  I looked away, staring at a spot on the floor in front of me. “I know.” I lifted my head and looked into his eyes. “But what if you’re wrong? Nick can’t speak for himself. What about the bump on his head? What if he didn’t kill Connie? What if it was the other men?”

  Gray sighed. “Don’t start making up stories to fit the moment,” he said. “The truth is usually the most obvious answer, and Nick has a history with you.”

  “But not a violent history.”

  Gray grabbed my arms, spun me toward him and brought his face close to mine. “Wake up, Sophie,” he said, his voice sharp with frustration. “He threatened to kill you in an open courtroom and now he’s out of prison and tracking you. The man is violent. And what about the guy who did this to him? What if he comes after you?”

  I jerked away from him and started up the stairs. “I’ll drive myself.”

  “Damn it, Sophie!”

  I walked slowly up the stairs to my room, grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom for a shower. I didn’t need Gray to take me to the hospital. All I needed from him was to feel understood, and that was something he couldn’t give me. In his mind, Gray probably thought he was taking care of me, protecting me from a man who wanted to harm me. How could I blame him for not appreciating my situation?

  I ducked my head under the warm soothing water of my new shower.

  When I returned downstairs to the kitchen, Ma was holding court. Gathered around her at the table were EMTs, crime scene technicians and assorted police officers, many more than had been in the house before.

  Gray wasn’t among them. He had left without me. I leaned against the counter, watching the others banter back and forth. One young female EMT was earnestly consulting Ma about her own mother, asking advice on how to handle some situation or another. Ma, with uncharacteristic gentleness, patted her hand and spoke in a whisper, shaking her head slightly from side to side.