False Facades (Best Sellers: Best Romance/Humor )

by Martha Greenwood

  He scrambled up the stairs, taking them by two. He stumbled and tripped at certain points so he half crawled, half hopped the steps. His fingers grasped the steps before him as his legs pumped behind. It reminded him of how he went up the stairs as a child, darting up the steps. He had always felt so fast, his hands slapping against each step as he propelled himself forward. So how come now, he felt so very slow?

  "Vincent!"

  His breathing was in short gasps and he wondered why. He was never in such bad shape. He could probably have picked up Sammy and ran up and down the steps without so much as heaving a breath. Sammy. Chills ran up his spine. Sammy, you're too light. You're too thin. You're too small. You're too fragile. Frank is wrong though. You're okay. You're okay. Sammy.

  He bounded up the steps and found himself facing a long hallway. Doors. So many doors. But they didn't feel right.

  His eyes brushed past them and he found that there was another set of stairs. Third floor? Yes.

  "Sir! Please! Let's stop the bleeding first!"

  "Vinnie! Stop this! You're being childish!"

  Childish? Spoiled. Sammy called me spoiled, but I'm trying. I'm trying to be better. Sammy.

  He ran up the steps and turned around at the final landing. His hand clung to the railing as he gasped. Once again, there were several doors. But it was the one all the way down the hall that drew his attention.

  His smile quavered as he staggered forward.

  "Of course I return your . . . feelings. You - you like me, too?"

  "So . . . we're together then."

  "Guess so."

  "Cool."

  "Yup."

  He raised his hand toward the doorknob.

  She laughed. "You're so contradictory."

  "And you're being a tease. What happened to my blushing, shy Sammy?"

  A soft smile touched her lips. "Still here - even though you can be such a bad influence."

  His hand closed around the knob. Sammy. Sammy. Sammy. The knob twisted and – didn't budge.

  Vincent closed his eyes. A sudden desperate urge to laugh pounded through him. Of course it would be locked. He shook his head and then backed up a few paces before kicking the door. Pain jolted through his foot and his teeth chattered. The door was immobile. Damn. Not as easy as it looks in the movies. He heaved a breath, resting against the wall for a moment.

  "Sir! Please! Just wait a minute!"

  No time. He backed up again and went for another round. This time, the door creaked and crashed open. He grinned wearily.

  A hand grabbed at his sleeve. "We have to stop the bleeding –"

  He shrugged the paramedic off. "I'm fine. I'm okay. There's no more pain."

  He stumbled through the doorway and for a moment, couldn't see anything. Too dark. As his eyes grew adjusted, he stared as the details of what seemed to be a crumpled heap in the corner delineated in front of him. Tiny. Fragile. His heart clenched. Sammy.

  He staggered over, dropped to his knees, and peered closely. She was resting on her right side, just like the way she always sleeps. Her lips were cracked and her skin splotched with purple contusions. Sammy. "Oh, Sammy. I'm so sorry." Sorry. Sorry. He trailed a bloody finger along her bruised cheek. "Sammy. I'm here now. You can wake up." She didn't respond. He leaned forward to press his cheek against hers. "Are you cold?" Her eyelashes were fans against her pale skin and her red hair was stringy and matted with dried blood. She was so quiet, so serene – it scared him. It terrified him.

  He hiccupped and he realized that he was crying. Shuddering sobs that reverberated throughout his body.

  He turned around and snarled at the paramedics, "What the hell are you standing around for? Can't you see that she's hurt? She's hurt, right? She's hurt?"

  His eyes were intense as a paramedic bent down and checked Sammy. The man straightened up and nodded, "She's unconscious, but her pulse is still strong."

  Vincent nodded. "I knew it. She's hurt. She's hurt. But she'll be okay."

  The paramedic nodded and then said, "But sir, we should probably check you –"

  The boy waved him off. "I'm alright. I'm not the one who's unconscious. Get your priorities straight. Sammy's hurt."

  Vincent watched the paramedics load Sammy onto a stretcher because he had to make sure she's okay. They have to be careful. "Be careful! She – she's hurt."

  A hand settled on his shoulder and he looked up to see Danielle. Her eyes were teary and he thought she must be crazy since everything's fine now. Sammy's okay. She spoke, "Vinnie, you found Sammy now so you can stop worrying and get help, okay?"

  Vincent arched an eyebrow. "Well, of course – but I have to make sure Sammy is okay and watch her wake up. I have to explain to her that everything's okay now."

  Tristan interrupted. "Vince, you're acting really freaky now. You've lost a lot of blood. Why don't you let the medics tend to you so that you're refreshed and not on death's door when Sammy awakens?"

  Vincent shook his head. "Guys, I'm fine. There's no pain anymore. It's just a small scratch. I was just putting on an act for my mom. I'm okay. Really. You're all acting weird. Sammy's the one who's hurt. We have to see to her first. Why are you all fussing over me?" He watched the paramedics lift Sammy up and walk toward the door. He stood up. "Now if you'll all excuse me, I want to ride with Sammy in the ambulance."

  He managed two steps.

  He swallowed as a spasm of pain coursed through his body and throbbed in his head. Spots of light danced before his eyes as he swayed. He closed his eyes.

  "Ah hell."

  "Vincent!"

  Darkness finally overtook him.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  It was twilight. The time of day when horizon is held suspended in a moment of ambiguity. Hovering between day and night, light and dark, life and death, twilight gloried in its very imprecision.

  The mauve glow of the sky outside tugged at Danielle's heart even as she steeled herself. For the first time in her life, she didn't raise a racket about Caine's arm around her shoulders, feeling rather small and safe in the crook of his arm. She remained expressionless, staring at the number 231. Room 231. Vinnie's room.

  As Caine leaned down to press his lips against her hair in a whisper of comfort, she closed her eyes. Stepping forward, she could already feel the tears well up in her eyes. Her hand closed around the doorknob and she turned it, letting the door creak open.

  Her eyes immediately fell upon the lone prostrate figure on the bed. Her breath caught in her throat before lashing out in a harsh shuddering sob. "Oh, Vinnie! Why? Why did you have to do that?" Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Vinnie!"

  Caine pressed his hand against her back. "Hush, Dani. There's nothing we could have done. We'd just have to let him rest in peace."

  "Vinnie! You stupid idiot! You stupid, stupid, stupid –"

  "Oh, for crying out loud – I'm not dead! When are you going to stop crying already?"

  From his reclining position, Vincent bent his head slightly toward his sister before slowly rolling his eyes back to blink up at the ceiling. He was too pale, as if he had somehow leeched the severe color away from his hospital sheets, and his rumpled hair was a dark shock against his features. His dried lips parted again. "Do you have a reservoir of tears saved up or something?"

  "Oh, excuse me. I just can't help it. The tears just come naturally whenever I think of my brother's utter stupidity."

  "Where's Sammy?"

  "Any reasonable person would have just let the police do their work, but no, you had to sprinting around the house like a maniac –"

  "Why weren't we put in the same room?"

  "If I could have just tackled you and strangled you myself, you wouldn't have –"

  "Danielle."

  "What?"

  "I'm fine."

  "I know." And the tears started again.

  "Mother already gave me the same spiel, only with no tears – thank goodness."

  "I know." She scrunched up her nose and reeled aro
und to Caine, slapping his shoulder with the back of her hand. "What's wrong with you? Can't you see I'm crying? Stop mauling me and give me a tissue. My nose is running!"

  As Caine fished through his pockets for a napkin, Vincent sighed. Leaning back against his pillow, he croaked, "Shit, it's freaking embarrassing fainting like that."

  Danielle snatched the tissue from Caine's hand and blew her nose. Caine watched her carefully while responding absentmindedly, "Yeah, now that you mention it, retrospectively, it was kind of funny –"

  Vincent's bloodshot eyes pierced him, his teeth bared.

  Caine added hastily. "- I mean, in a totally horrific, fearsome way, of course. The force of your body's impact against the floor sent a tremor throughout the house. You were really, truly scary unconscious."

  "Oh, shut up." Both of the siblings retorted.

  Danielle spoke, "The doctor said that while it was a deep gash, it was fortunate the knife hadn't gone clear through your stomach. If it had, you would have –" She choked on her words. "Oh, for –" She turned away.

  Caine took over. "Basically, if you had gotten impaled, your innards will be bathing in digestive acids. Sizzle sizzle, there goes Vinnie's organs. You'd basically be –"

  "DEAD! Dead! You idiot!" Danielle jabbed a finger at her brother, her eyes red again.

  Vincent tried to smile. "Well, it's good then that my stomach only feels like it's seared by fire and not actually being liquefied inside out, isn't it?"

  Danielle ignored him. "And not to mention all the blood you lost! Were you trying to kill yourself in every way possible? What kind of a stupid plan was that, huh? I mean, sure, you got lucky, but if Frank had actually just – I – you're so stupid! Did you think putting yourself in danger would have made Sammy feel any better –"

  "Where's Sammy?"

  Danielle sighed. "You're never going to listen to me, are you?"

  "Where is she? Is she okay?" Vincent insisted.

  She burst into tears again and Vincent panicked. "What? What's wrong with her?"

  Danielle turned to Caine and threw up her hands helplessly. "I don't know what's wrong with me. In one day, I've cried more than I've done in all my nineteen years."

  "Where's Sammy?"

  Caine shuffled his feet and Danielle looked away.

  Vincent's heart failed. "She's not dead, is she? Is she?"

  Danielle blinked. "Oh god, no! Of course not. No!"

  He calmed down a little, but his heart was still pounding hard in his chest. "Then what? Is she in a coma?"

  Caine shook his head. "Doc said she had a Grade 3 concussion, what from Frank bashing her head against the wall and all."

  Vincent's fingers whitened in their grip on the bed sheets.

  "Said she might have a hard time awakening and when she did, she might experience some memory loss –"

  "So did she –"

  "She woke up this morning while your mother was in here talking to you."

  "So does she –" If possible, Vincent's face turned whiter, agitated.

  "Yeah. She remembers." Danielle's eyes were anguished. "She remembers everything."

  * * *

  Sammy watched the ceiling, her green eyes unblinking and her red hair half hidden underneath white bandages. Her lips opened and closed, murmuring silence.

  "Sammy? Are you okay?"

  "Sammy? Are you okay? Oh, sweetie, you got a fever again?"

  She rolled over in bed, burrowing herself underneath her covers. She kept her eyes closed and mumbled something indistinct.

  Her mother perched herself on the side of the bed and felt Sammy's forehead, her hand cool against the heat. "Just get some rest, alright? I'll make your favorite chicken soup and bring up some medicine later, okay?"

  "Jack, She's been like this for a while. Why isn't she responding anymore? What did the doctor say? Why is she like this?"

  "Calm down. She'll be fine. I'm sure she will. Please stop crying, Carrie."

  "Sammy? Sammy? Come on, you sexy girl. Come back to Will. Please? I'm going to be hurt if you keep ignoring me like this. Sammy?"

  "I think you need a nickname."

  "Oh, I do, do I?"

  "Yeah. So I hereby dub you Sammy of the Great Westlanes!"

  She wrinkled her nose. "Sammy? What an awful name."

  Terry rolled his eyes. "Well, so is Terry, but you don't see me complaining."

  Their mother protested, "What's wrong with Terry? It's a perfectly fine name."

  "It's just not very macho, Mom."

  "Macho? Like what? Fabio?" James teased.

  Sammy laughed. "Alright then! Terry, I hereby dub thee Fabio Westlane!"

  "Oh, come on!"

  "You asked for it!"

  "No, I didn't! You must be crazy!"

  "What's the matter, Fabio? Pouting isn't very macho."

  "Don't call me that! And I'm not pouting! Sammy! Sammy!"

  "Tristan! Just what in the hell is wrong with her? Did the doctors mention anything about this?"

  "She's having a tough time dealing with … everything. You should have seen her when she first woke up. You could tell when she started to realize – when she started to – she started to cry and – She's tired herself out. She's very confused right now and – oh god, I just wish – Sammy, please, talk to me. Please, Sammy? I'd rather you cry and scream at me."

  "That's it! Cry! Scream all you want!"

  Samantha jerked back and kicked. She felt herself crash down against the floor, a heavy weight pinning her to the ground.

  "You think you can simply ignore me? You think you can treat your own uncle like that?"

  She struggled, her teeth snapping, trying to tear into his flesh, hurt him.

  "Like you'll ever escape me. You should have known. Your life is mine."

  Her head jerked slightly to the side, her eyes wide and her mouthing grew frantic. She felt numb, too weary to think about anything. She didn't care. She didn't want to care. She just wanted to fade away. Mist. Mist. Foggy mist. Take me away. Far, far away.

  "Sammy?"

  "Sammy!"

  "Samantha."

  "Sammy?"

  "Sam?"

  "Sweetie."

  "Sammy?"

  "Sammy!"

  "Sammy, please."

  Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Everyone just leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Everyone just leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Everyone just -

  "Vincent was hurt."

  - leave -

  "They stitched him back up. He's too hardy to ever let himself die anyway – at least not before he sees you. But you knew that already, didn't you?"

  - me -

  "Don't you want to see him?"

  - alone.

  No.

  Wait.

  Don't.

  She saw him across the ballroom floor. Decked out in a midnight black suit, his dark jacket clung closely to his physique and his light gray eyes emanated an aura of smoky mystery behind his mask. His hand reached up to remove the black velvet mask and he smiled then, a weary lopsided grin.

  And she, in turn, slowly slipped off her own green mask and started toward him.

  He met her halfway.

  No facades were ever needed between them.

  She should have known.

  "Sammy? Do you want to see Vincent?"

  She resurfaced, breathing in the cold hospital smell and feeling the warmth of Tristan's hand on her own. She relished the throbbing pain that resonated throughout her body and her head, declaring that she was alive.

  She turned her head, her eyes soft, and said, "Yes, please."

  * * *

  "I want to see her."

  "Well, you can't."

  "Why the hell not?"

  "Remember the nasty gash running across your abdomen, Vincent?" Katherine Grenford calmly arranged the flowers in the vase by his bedside. "You're too hurt."

  "Like hell I am. I can still get up." He winced as he tried to prop himself up on his
elbows. "S – see?"

  "Lay back down before you hurt yourself," Katherine snapped. "Doctor's orders are that you remain in bed. You go prancing off and you'd likely tear out all your stitches."

  "I'll just be careful. You can get me a wheelchair and I'll just roll myself down -"

  "For the last time, Vincent, no. Don't make me have the nurses strap you down."

  "What's wrong with you? Sammy's hurt and all you can think about –"

  "- is you. My son. My son who got diced up by a lunatic and bled himself into a faint. Now tell me, is there a reason why I shouldn't worry?"

  "I'm fine now, Mother."

  "Well, you will be even better once you get ample rest and healed a bit. Samantha Westlane is not going anywhere so rest assured that you'll see her sooner or later."

  The door opened then and Tristan stepped in. His blond hair was ruffled and he looked exhausted, his shirt wrinkled and his eyes straining against the light. He stuffed his hands in his pocket and cleared his throat. "Am I interrupting anything?"

  Vincent responded, "No."

  "How are you feeling?"

  "Fine. Did you just come from Sammy?"

  "Yeah."

  "How is she? Danielle's too busy sobbing to tell me anything. Caine is trying to hug her. Carrie won't even look at me. Jack said Will will tell me. Will, well, he just kind of petted me. So will you please just get straight to the point and tell me if Sammy's alright?"

  Tristan nodded slowly before sighing. "A few of her ribs were broken, which the doctor said should take around six weeks to heal. She just woke up from a concussion so she was still a bit woozy. She started to cry a lot at first, but then she kind of drifted off –"

  "Drifted off? What the hell does that mean?" Vincent's voice was sharp.

  "She wouldn't respond to anyone and just kept staring off into space."

  "What? Why? What's wrong?" Vincent almost sat up, features drawn.

  "I think – I think she just needed some time alone to think – or well, to stop thinking."