Selective/Memory: The Depth of Emotion Book 2 (The Depth of Emotion)

by Lorenzo, DD

  Her words had begun to have the desired effect—Marisol seemed to be deriving pleasure from them. Aria saw that praise was like a drug to her—and that meant it could buy her time.

  Marisol’s repugnant smile revealed the euphoria being delivered. Measuring each word carefully, Aria attempted to continue the ruse.

  “You calculated the day you came to Declan’s house so well,” Aria said, as the agony brought fresh tears. “You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?”

  Marisol stroked at her hair like a cat, and relaxed her sick and twisted mind in her wine, as she soaked in, what she perceived, was being said to her as flattery.

  “I did,” she said, placing her chin against her shoulder with pride.

  She batted her eyes at Aria.

  “I’m surprised an estupido like you would even notice…” she cooed with the memory.

  Aria could see that she was luring her into a more tranquil psychosis.

  “You must have watched and waited until I had gone to the store,” Aria continued to compliment her, “your timing was perfect. Did you surprise him? I always wondered how you knew just when to arrive.”

  Marisol clapped her hands in front of her, like a delighted child wanting to share more details.

  “Oh, Aria!” she said. “Do you remember the delivery to your house?” she asked. “You know—the big green tree you received when Declan had his opening party.”

  She contemptibly smiled.

  “It was from me!! Wasn’t it pretty?” she asked, clapping her hands. “I placed a microphone—they call it a bug—in the pot. I could hear everything! I knew everything you did!”

  She bragged about her inventiveness, giving Aria a foul look.

  “See how wrong you were to think I was a dumb model?”

  The thought of what she might have heard made Aria feel sick, but she had to dismiss those images, choosing instead to stay focused.

  “That was very clever of you,” Aria commended her, wanting to wretch on each word.

  All she could hope was that she knew this bitch well enough to play her game.

  “Yes, it was very clever,” Marisol depravedly commented. “It was top equipment; like a spy.”

  She grinned villainously. “You never knew I was coming.”

  She nodded to herself in affirmation, the look of corruption returning to possess her.

  “I was going to have my Declan all to myself. He was enjoying me…my attentions. He loved every stroke I gave him…my hand…every hot breath of mine in his ear…”

  She defiantly glared at Aria.

  “What I hadn’t counted on was you coming back so soon, puta.”

  Memories sabotaged what little control Aria had maintained; she felt anger and vindictiveness creeping back in, fighting against the controlled strength as they warred to retaliate. She knew she was in no physical position to move her hands, but she wanted to kill.

  Aria lost the battle. No longer able to control herself, she let go. She knew she was going to die, and she didn’t care anymore. She wanted Marisol to rot in hell…and she wanted to send her there with a few bruises of her own.

  “Oh, I’m sure that gave you a great deal of pleasure, didn’t it Marisol?” Aria asked her.

  Her lips were cracked and bleeding from the dryness, but she taunted Marisol.

  “Hurting me. Seeing me cry and in shock. Tell me, what would you have done if I hadn’t returned?” she goaded.

  Marisol’s sinister monster emerged full force as she got into Aria’s face. Nose to nose, eyeball to eyeball. Cocking a haughty eyebrow at her, she dismissed her feelings completely, baiting her emotions with cavalier presumption.

  “Why, Aria…I would have done whatever I wanted. Don’t you know who I am?” she mocked in a most lyrical tone.

  Control.

  That was what Aria lost as it was annihilated with Marisol’s question. A missile of reserved hate, indignation, and anger launched without any care for her own safety. Baring her teeth, she prepared to attack the animal in front of her, knowing she’d be fighting back with her last breath.

  “Why, yes I do”—she snarled—“You’re the Wicked Bitch of the East!”

  With her heart racing, she forcefully pulled her head back as far as her restrains would allow and swung it with as much momentum as she could muster. Using it as a weapon, she bashed it with all her might against Marisol’s face, smashing up into her nostrils, forcing the bones and cartilage to forge up into her skull.

  Blood spurted everywhere as Marisol screamed. Grabbing at her face, Marisol pulled her hands away, seeing the blood, and the moment she did, vitriolic hate and shock made her lose all semblance of humanness.

  “I’ll kill you, you little whore!” she spat as she dominated Aria with superhuman strength.

  Marisol pulled her up by her hair with only one hand, as Aria screamed. With the other, she grabbed a pair of scissors. Aria caught the glint of the metal as Marisol began painfully shaking her head, yanking and tearing at her dark hair in a psychotic rage.

  “I am Marisol Franzi! You do not touch me, bitch! I’ll show you what ugly is!” she screamed.

  Certain she was going to die, Aria heard the slice of the scissor blade as it cut through the air. She successfully yanked her head out of the way, saving her from injury. Marisol combatively ripped at her scalp and yanked Aria’s head. The force was so hard it caused the chair to fall forward, and Aria felt the damage as her hair burned, pulling out of her scalp.

  She thrashed back and forth like a fish out of water, causing her to yelp and cry in pain with what little voice was left. Marisol placed the blade near her head, but Aria struggled with what was left of her waning energy. She had nowhere to go as she felt the metal closing in on her skin.

  “Put it down or I’ll kill you!!”

  It was an order…a command…a directive…

  …and it was the most welcoming sound in the world.

  Declan’s voice sounded like universal power.

  Marisol froze, and Aria fell limp.

  “Take your hands off of her—now!”

  His order was unmistakable. To each woman, he was separately defined.

  Aria’s savior, and Marisol’s executioner.

  Marisol turned toward his voice, to face her opponent, spinning Aria in the chair and making it wobble until it came to rest solidly. Twisting Aria’s hair around her arm and into her fist, she forced her to turn with her from the pain, and tilted the chair on an angle. Gripping the scissors in her hand, she placed the pointy dagger into the hollow at the base of Aria’s throat, pricking the skin and sending droplets of blood trailing between her breasts.

  “Hello, Declan. So nice to see you,” Marisol said through snarled and clenched teeth.

  The sight of Aria caused Declan to grit his teeth. He looked at Marisol with hatred, wanting to cross the room and snap her scrawny neck, but he had to stay focused until he got closer. The indignation he felt would help him to do that. Marisol had something of his—Aria. He’d play whatever game necessary to get her to safety—and then he’d kill Marisol.

  “Let her go, Marisol,” he demanded.

  Marisol pushed the blade a little closer and tightened the grip she had on Aria’s hair.

  “Not a chance,” she answered, as she shook her head at him. “I can’t do that. Actually, Declan, I don’t want to do that.”

  She grinned like a Cheshire cat. To drive home her point, she pressed the blade into Aria’s throat, causing her to cry out.

  Immediately, Declan’s eyes were averted to the woman she held. He lurched forward and she drove the blade even closer as Aria screamed.

  “Uh, uh, uh…” she warned.

  He fought with the rage inside of him, as he mentally entertained ways of killing her.

  “You don’t want to do this,” he said, getting her attention in a vain attempt to reason with her.

  “Actually…I do.” She smirked. “She has done nothing but cause trouble to me sin
ce the day I found out about her.”

  She moved the hand with the scissors away from Aria’s throat, waving it as she spoke to make her point.

  “I’ll make it very simple for you, okay?” she said, smirking at his distress. “I don’t tolerate problems because of who I am,” she explained. “She”—pointing her hand at Aria—“is a problem. I”—she pointed at herself—“eliminate them.”

  She twisted Aria’s head to the left, forcing her body to fall over in the chair. The blade tip now rested against her shoulder, pointing up toward her head and nicking her in the small space just behind her earlobe. Aria barely held onto consciousness.

  Declan continued to try and engage Marisol in conversation, attempting to divert her attention away from Aria.

  Aria, sound and vision slipping in and out, heard a sound from behind her, on the steps. She was positioned on an angle and could only see when Marisol would move to the side where the one eye wasn’t damaged. As she made out a shape, she recognized Paige moving quietly toward them, and she began to take little breaths. All sound then became muffled by her pulse pounding in her ears.

  Fearing for Declan, and now Paige, Aria desperately attempted to send some type of signal to him with her eyes, alerting him of Paige’s presence, but his concentration was on engaging Marisol.

  “…but if you kill her,” Declan threatened, “I’ll make sure you rot in jail.”

  “I have very good attorneys,” she assured him. “Declan, it seems you’ve been tainted by this little piece of trash,” she said with disappointment.

  Marisol shook Aria by the head, and Aria closed her eyes against the searing pain, using every bit of strength she had left to stay quiet.

  “So you see, I’d really be doing what’s best for you,” she antagonized.

  The buckle on Paige’s belt made a clinking sound, and Marisol turned with a start. Paige froze, looking down at the source of the sound, but Marisol saw Declan as he charged for her. She was quick and brought her arm around to stab Aria in the throat.

  Paige ran toward them, knocking Marisol’s arm lower. The blade tore into Aria’s flesh as Marisol concurrently pushed at the chair, sending it careening down the stairs.

  “Aria!” Declan yelled, horrified, as he watched her tumble down the narrow stairway…

  Declan quickly made his way toward the stairs, throwing his coat to the side. His thoughts exploded at seeing Aria lying in a heap, not moving, at the bottom.

  Paige charged again at Marisol, shouldering her like a linebacker. Marisol clawed her in the face and scratched at her throat. They kicked and bruised each other—Paige energized by love and Marisol by madness.

  It seemed that Marisol was about to lose the fight, so Paige lessened her grip to turn and push Marisol into a chair to await the police.

  In an instant, Paige’s equilibrium was flipped as something gritty was thrown into her eyes. She felt Marisol grab the back of her hair as she flung her in an attempt to escape. Paige felt the pulling motion on her head and knew what was about to happen.

  The force of Marisol’s depravity created a powerful momentum as they spun in a circular motion. As the hair ripped loose from Paige’s head, it projected her in the window’s direction. Marisol had thrown her with enough force that she catapulted through the glass, sending her airborne.

  Screaming as she propelled through the air, Paige’s cries resonated until her body hit the unyielding stone patio below.

  Marisol cared not if Paige or Aria survived. The only concerns she had were her own. Running through the house, she fished through Declan’s coat pocket, grabbing his keys. She ran out the front door and jumped into his car, tearing off in the direction of the highway.

  The carnage left behind at the house was great.

  Declan touched Aria carefully, afraid of causing more damage. He could tell her condition was critical and didn’t want to leave her. He could hear that something terrible had happened by the scream he heard, and sound of broken glass.

  “Baby? Aria? Can you hear me?” he pleaded, placing his hand gently at her face.

  Looking at each of her sides, he saw the scissors laying open on the bottom step. Grabbing them, he moved back a bit, and proceeded to cut through the rope that bound her feet. As he freed her from the rope, her feet flung apart. They were swollen and caused her to moan from the blood that painfully rushed into them.

  “Baby? It’s me,” he softly spoke to her. “I’m going to get help for you, but first, I have to move you to cut the rope at your wrists, okay?”

  He placed a gentle kiss against the side of her head. She weakly nodded, but he felt the movement. Using all of his upper body strength, he both lifted her in the chair, and simultaneously cut the rope. She whimpered in response, tearing at his heart.

  “I’ve got you, beautiful girl. It’s going to be okay,” he tenderly reassured her as he sawed through the last of the rope with the scissors.

  Blood covered his pants and shoes. He turned her ever so slightly and saw the source. It looked like it was coming from the front, in her pelvic region. A cold chill went through him.

  “Aria, listen to me. It’s important,” he said, positioning her in the chair. “Stay right against this chair in this position, okay? It looks like you’ve been stabbed low on your body somewhere. I have to run up and get my phone. If you stay this way, it might slow down the bleeding, so don’t try to move, okay? Do you understand?” he asked.

  Aria opened her eyes slightly, barely nodding her response.

  Declan went up the stairs as fast as his legs could push him, taking them two at a time. Reaching the top, he saw his coat on the floor and reached it, grabbing in the pocket for the phone.

  Dialing 911, he went to return back down the stairs to Aria, when he noticed the glass and saw Paige lying on the patio unconscious.

  “Oh my God…” he said, making his way to the broken window.

  “911. What’s your emergency?” the dispatch answered.

  “My name is Declan Sinclair. I don’t know the address of where I am, but I’ll leave my cell on so you can track the location. I have two women in a house who have been hurt. One’s been stabbed, and the other’s been pushed through a window. I don’t know how bad the injuries are, but they both need help. Send whatever help you can—please.”

  Declan’s hands began to shake, and his voice broke as he began to comprehend his own words.

  “Mr. Sinclair, what are their injuries?” the operator inquired.

  His body began to tremble as he, once again, saw Aria’s broken body.

  “I don’t know. Just send someone…”

  He made his way back down the stairs. Sitting the phone on the steps, he removed his clothing. Taking his tee shirt, he folded it and compressed against the flow of blood. He could see that Aria was breathing, but her whole body began to shake.

  “I know this hurts, baby, but I have to apply some pressure to try and stop the bleeding,” he spoke softly to her.

  She opened her eyes to him, slightly moving her mouth. He couldn’t make out what she was saying.

  “Please don’t try to talk. Help is on the way.”

  Through swollen eyes, he could have sworn she glared at him and moved her lips again, causing him to question her sanity, and admire her tenacity. He placed his ear to her lips as he applied the pressure, feeling her body stiffen against the pain.

  “What is it, baby?”

  He heard one word through her abraded vocal chords.

  “Paige.”

  Lifting his head, he sorrowfully looked into her eyes.

  “I don’t know,” he informed her. “She’s hurt, but help is on the way for you both.”

  Aria closed her eyes and drifted away…

  Carter was on his cell, talking with Blake.

  “Any luck at your house?” he asked.

  “None,” Blake reported. “You?”

  “No,” Carter’s voice reflected his disappointment. “I know she’s trying to pull s
omething. I can feel it. I just wish I knew what the hell she was up to. I mean, what’s she trying to do, put Aria out of business? It doesn’t make sense why she’d be buying her houses up.”

  Blake could sense the dejection by the tone of Carter’s voice.

  “Don’t worry,” Blake assured him. “We’ll figure it out. She’s smart, but she’s not invincible.”

  Carter started his car. He was about finished with their conversation.

  “I’m going to head over to where Declan is,” he told Blake. “I’ll give him a call. Maybe he’s had better luck than we did.”

  Carter listened, agreeing with him.

  “Me, too,” he said. “Maybe he’s talked to Aria before she went anywhere.”

  It was a hopeful statement, but his gut was telling him he was wrong. As he hung up, Carter pulled away from the house and onto the highway. Catching a red light, all kinds of questions ran through his mind, most of which had no answers.

  Looking at the light, he watched for it to change. He was stunned when he saw Marisol drive right in front of him with the moving traffic. As the light changed, he turned to follow her. Traveling behind, and going the speed limit, he thought it best to remain inconspicuous. She traveled at a normal pace as well, and he wondered what she was up to.

  Tailing her for about twenty minutes garnered him no information. She was doing nothing illegal, so he had no reason to question her. He was about to turn to meet up with Blake and Declan when his cell went off.

  “Yeah?” he said as he answered.

  The tone in Blake’s voice sent his suspicions on full alert.

  “Carter?” Blake paused, feeding his uncertainty.

  “Spit it out, Blake…” he ordered.

  “It’s bad,” he said. “Aria’s been stabbed and Paige…well, we don’t know…”

  Blake’s voice trailed off, adding to the seriousness of his manner. Carter couldn’t believe that Marisol was so calmly driving two cars in front of him.

  “She’s right in front of me,” he calmly stated.