Burned Bridges: Oliana Mercer Series Prequel (Crossing Series)

by Marguerite Ashton

  “Babygirl set the gun down,” the step-father said. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s too late Pop.” The gun shook violently in her hand.

  “Olivia,” I said, wishing I could touch her shoulder and reassure her, but afraid to for fear she’d squeeze the trigger.

  Norman stood to my right while Kevin remained behind me. They had my back. Slowly, I moved closer. “He is not worth going to prison over.”

  “Like hell he’s not. Reginald’s nothing but a liar. No one knows what he has done to me inside. No one knows how dirty I feel. I trusted him. I loved him. My mom knew and pretended like it never happened,” Olivia cried, putting the gun to her head.

  Reginald’s smile never wavered. His eyes mocked her.

  Norman grabbed my hand and positioned me behind him. “Olivia, please, don’t do that.”

  “I just want the nightmares to end.”

  “Olivia, hand me the gun. Come with me, sweetie,” Norman said.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Yes, leave the crazy girl alone,” Reginald said.

  A look of madness danced in Olivia’s eyes as she pulled the gun away from her temple and aimed it back at Reginald. “Say you’re sorry.”

  “You stupid girl,” Linda said. “Leave your brother alone and put that gun down.”

  Reginald snorted. “Mom, she’s not going to do anything. This is just another one of her episodes, like the time when she pulled Pop’s knife on me, and she didn’t have the courage to do anything then. She needs to be back in the hospital.”

  “Just say you’re sorry, Reggie,” Linda said.

  “You need to forgive and move on,” he replied.

  Olivia’s gaze clouded, going distant. I tried to think of something to say to relax her, but it was too late. She fired the gun.

  Reginald fell back against the tiled fireplace, grabbing his chest. As he continued downward, he knocked over the empty andirons, collapsing with his torso lying on the tile and his legs twisted underneath him.

  The shot electrified the crowd of onlookers. Panic set in, snapping everyone out of their shock. Some screamed. Most fled.

  “Reginald,” his mother shrieked, reaching for him.

  “Hurry, someone, call an ambulance,” someone yelled.

  “He’s been shot!” another cried.

  “Oh, my son! Please, not my son,” Linda cried, bending over the crimson pool spreading over Reginald’s chest, staining his green shirt.

  Olivia aimed the gun again and pointed it at Reginald’s body.

  “Stop it, Olivia,” I yelled. “He can no longer hurt you.”

  Norman jumped in, gently squeezing Olivia’s wrist, trying to remove the gun from her hand. But she fought like someone possessed.

  Suddenly, Kevin pushed me to the side so he could help Norman. No one else seemed inclined to help them.

  I watched as both tried to overpower Olivia – this skinny Minnie who had developed astonishing strength in a matter of seconds.

  “Let me go!”

  I didn’t know what to do. All I could think about was the baby I was carrying, realizing there was no option for me to offer help.

  I was powerless. I hated the feeling.

  Just as Norman managed to wrestle the gun from Olivia’s grip, the sound of sirens broke the silence.

  Olivia stumbled to the couch; I followed, wondering what I could possibly say to comfort her.

  Authoritative voices were heard below, coming in the front door. After assessing the situation, an officer radioed for an ambulance to help with Reginald, shaking his head as he made the call.

  When the paramedics arrived, they conducted their assessment with a detachment I envied.

  “Bag him,” said the older female EMT who appeared to be in charge.

  The younger fellow working alongside her did as instructed, placing a handheld resuscitation bag over Reginald’s nose and mouth. The first paramedic checked for a pulse, then immediately began CPR.

  It felt as if time was standing still, as if the seconds and minutes that ticked away were on a slower pace than I would’ve liked. I squeezed Olivia’s hand without realizing it until she winced in pain.

  The emergency response team continued to work on Reginald, inserting an intravenous line directly into a vein in his arm, and administering medicines in a futile effort to shock his heart and get him to breathe again.

  Heaviness filled my limbs as I contemplated the scene that lay before me. There was Reginald, lying so still with the life ebbing out of him, wondering what this would mean for Olivia. Here were the paramedics busy trying to bring their patient back from the brink of death regardless of whether he was an evil person or not.

  I didn’t envy their job, but I was grateful they were there.

  “Call it,” the female paramedic finally said.

  “7:34.”

  The tension in the room increased exponentially. Policemen began taking statements and questioning the party-goers who were now eyewitnesses, asking everyone to give an account of what happened.

  A tall, beefy officer came up the stairs and locked his eyes in on me. His presence was intimidating; I had no doubt that any offender would probably surrender rather than be forcibly apprehended by this man.

  My grip tightened on Olivia’s hand. I knew what was coming.

  “Are you Olivia Durning?”

  “No,” I responded.

  “I am,” Olivia said.

  “My name is Lieutenant Selleck. Do you want to tell me what happened, Ms. Durning?”

  Olivia swiped at her tears. “He raped me, so I shot him.”

  The officer looked from her to me and wrote down notes on his pad. He turned to one of his officers, exchanging looks only they understood.

  “Ms. Durning, Officer Sheers will take you downtown, and we can get this all straightened out,” Lieutenant Selleck said.

  A pained expression crossed Olivia’s face as she nodded and was led outside. I hurried out to be with her, but the officer had just shut the door with Olivia in the back of a squad car.

  I followed Norman and Kevin to their cars. The flashing of red and blue lights lit the front of the house like a circus.

  I fought to get one last glance of my friend’s face before they hauled her away. I had failed her. If there were some way to fix it, I would.

  As I neared Norman’s truck, Olivia’s eyes, tired and worn, met mine. I waved. She touched the glass and turned away.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked, crying.

  Norman pulled me into an embrace, and I melted into his warm, strong arms, happy for him to act the shining knight shielding me from the flames that burned as a funeral pyre. “We’ll figure out something. Right now, I need to find her an attorney,” he said.

  “You were right, Norman. I should have paid more attention to her.”

  “Stop it right now. You couldn’t possibly have known.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Kevin said.

  Norman helped me up into the truck. Desperate to rid my thoughts of what had just taken place, I put on my seat belt, closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the headrest. It did me no good. In my mind, Olivia pulled the trigger again... and again... and again.

  Chapter 8

  After we left Olivia’s, I called and texted Marc but couldn’t get a hold of him. Just before we pulled into my driveway, I tried again. Nothing.

  “He’s not answering his phone,” I said. “I need his support right now. Damn it.”

  Norman pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine. Kevin arrived a few seconds later, and we went inside. I attempted several more times to contact Marc but was unsuccessful.

  “If you want, Kevin and I will crash here tonight. You shouldn’t be alone.”

  “I’m sure we all could use the support,” Kevin said.

  “That would be great.”

  “I’ll take the couch,” Norman said.

  “I’ve got the bed in the guest room. Don�
�t worry, I’ll hang up my vest.”

  “Very funny,” I said.

  Kevin chuckled as he closed the bedroom door.

  “Don’t mind him,” Norman said, stretching out on the couch.

  “He’s fine.”

  “Wake me if you need to talk.”

  Exhausted, I went to my room and got ready for bed. I looked over at Marc’s side where he slept, feeling overwhelmed with emptiness. The only thing that comforted me was the coolness of the sheets I pulled over my head.

  The next day, Olivia’s story—or at least selected sensational parts of it—dominated the news. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. According to the news, Olivia, with a sketchy mental history that began in her troubled teens, had shot and killed her brother, unprovoked, in cold blood, while at her birthday party. I watched all day. Not one broadcast mentioned what Reginald had done to his sister.

  “Hey, Sunshine,” Norman said, coming into the front room. “Maybe you should turn the channel.”

  “Do you hear what they’re saying?”

  Norman handed me a glass of orange juice. “It’s common. When we get patients that have been involved in some form of violence, hospital staff is not allowed to talk to the press. It’s to protect the ongoing investigation and the victim.”

  “Olivia’s the victim?”

  “The law’s going to see it differently than we do.”

  “Is Kevin still asleep?”

  “Like a log,” Norman said. “Marc left a message on your home phone while you were in the shower.”

  “I know,” I said, picking up the phone.

  I had been desperate to talk to Marc last night. Today, the last thing I wanted to do was relive what had happened. Reluctantly, I pushed the talk button and dialed Marc’s cell. I thought if God were going to smile on me today, Marc would have forgotten to charge his cell phone like he so often did, and I wouldn’t have to have a conversation with him.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey.”

  “Sweetheart, I heard about what happened with your friend. I’m sorry for what you’re going through.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I just got back in town early this morning. Do you need me to come over?” he asked.

  “No, I’ll be fine.”

  “How’s the baby?”

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll be over after my nap, and you can cook me one of your delicious dinners.”

  “Pick up something on your way here.”

  “I prefer your cooking over take-out. You know that.”

  “Okay. I need to talk to you anyway.”

  “I’ll be over in a bit.”

  We disconnected, and I tossed the phone on the coffee table. “I appreciate you sticking around to help. You guys can go home.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded.

  “All right. I’ll go wake Kevin, and we’ll let ourselves out. Take it easy.”

  “I will.”

  As soon as they left, I dashed to the linen closet and lifted the pile of sheets where I had hidden Olivia’s gun. My heart flip-flopped. The gun was gone.

  Chapter 9

  My trip to the grocery store was short and a cold reminder of what had happened to Olivia. Her mug shot was on the front page of the Denver County Daily accompanied by a short blurb about the shooting.

  I forged ahead past the newspaper stand and used the shopping cart to hold me up as I trolled the pasta aisle for Marc’s dinner.

  I was not up for cooking him something to eat. In fact, the information I had learned before the party came rushing to the front of my mind and sat idle as I chose the items I was going to fix.

  How dare he insist that I cook him dinner after he spent the weekend banging his little temp while I watched my friend blow her brother away?

  It was time for me to confront Marc and find out the truth. I wanted him to tell me that he was not having an affair and assure me that he would never do such a thing. More than that, I wanted to be able to believe him.

  So he thought he could just snap his fingers and make me cook for him? Fine. I’d cook. I’d make Karin’s special spaghetti sauce. It was a dish no man soon forgot.

  I bought what I needed and was soon back in my kitchen getting dinner together.

  As the thick, chunky sauce simmered on the stove, I cut up mushrooms and three peppers, just as he liked them and added them to the saucepan. I inhaled the aroma, but it only made my stomach queasy.

  I ran my fingers over the bag and deliberated if I should add the final pepper. The special one. The one so spicy that no one stood a ghost of a chance ignoring it. The one that made Karin’s sauce so unforgettable.

  I dumped the bag and cut up the fourth pepper. Exhaustion crept up on me, draining my energy with each slice of my knife. Finally, I left the sauce to simmer and rested on the couch, studiously ignoring the news on TV while I waited for Marc to arrive.

  When he arrived, he was dressed as if he had just come from the office.

  “All dressed-up for the weekend,” I said.

  “I had somewhere to be and drove straight here. Is dinner ready? I’m starved.”

  “Have a seat, and I’ll make your plate.”

  He took off his coat and sat at the table. “What did you make?”

  “Spaghetti.”

  “Spaghetti? I was hoping for a broiled steak.”

  “I told you I was tired. You want steak; we can go out.”

  “It’ll do. Did you at least add my favorite peppers?”

  “You bet.”

  I watched him out of the corner of my eye, wishing I could dredge up enough boldness to confront him. Damn him to hell. I loved him so much.

  “You took Stephanie on this trip with you?”

  Marc fidgeted with his cufflinks. “Dana needed time off.”

  “But the law firm no longer has a contract with her. So, who’s paying her?”

  Marc raked his fingers through his hair. “Checking up on me?”

  “Can’t you understand why I’m concerned?” I placed his plate in front of him.

  “Not really.” He stabbed the spaghetti with his fork, twirling it around until strands of pasta cocooned the tines.

  “Why won’t you answer my question?”

  “I took Stephanie because I needed someone who was focused. Dana’s personal issues are having an impact on her work performance.”

  “Do you still love me?”

  “Don’t be silly. You’re carrying my kid. Of course, I do.”

  “And you’re happy with our relationship?”

  “Where’s all this coming from? Is it the thing with Olivia that’s making you so clingy? Or is it your hormones again?”

  I sat back in my chair, anger crashing through me.

  “Cause if you are, I understand.”

  I could feel my temper battling for me to release it. I gripped the table firmly, counted to five and asked, “Was the trip successful?”

  “I’ve had better trips. May I have something to drink?”

  I got up, grabbed the half-gallon of milk and a glass, and sat across from him. Marc stuffed his mouth with a forkful of food. Whatever he’d been doing for the past few days, it wasn’t eating. Any feelings of remorse I may have had evaporated as I watched Marc devour his meal like some wild animal that had been scavenging for weeks and had finally found a feast.

  After his third bite, he dropped his fork, grabbed the milk and began gulping from the carton. His Adam’s apple moved up and down like a fishing bob being tugged from the bottom.

  He set down the jug, loosened up his tie and pointed to his mouth.

  “It’s too hot.”

  “Ooops.”

  Marc grabbed the milk again and swished it around in his mouth. Tears welled up his eyes and snot trickled from his nostrils.

  I slid a box of tissues across the table to him and stood. “How is that for hormonal?”

  I pivoted and left him stewing in his mess. There were other
things for me to worry about; I hoped Marc knew this restaurant was now closed.

  Chapter 10

  It took Marc longer than I expected to recover from eating Karin’s special sauce. I even worried that we would end up in the emergency room when he was stuck on the toilet for over twenty minutes fighting diarrhea and begging for me to find a way to cool his tail end down.

  “You’ve never made spaghetti that hot! I can’t get rid of the burn. My throat and stomach are killing me. And you’ve set my ass on fire.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I almost meant it. “I thought I would try something new.”

  When he was finally able to leave the restroom, he went straight to bed, blaming me for having to miss his regularly-scheduled night out with the boys.

  Sleep for me that evening was difficult. I went to bed early, only to be awakened at ten o’clock by a flood of nightmares involving Marc and Olivia.

  My nightgown clung to my body like a second skin while sweat traveled along my hairline and ran down between my breasts. I reached over and turned on my desk fan, but no matter how hard I tried, I was unable to go back to sleep.

  That old urge I remembered all too well had found its place once again. A desperate thirst lured me out of bed. I checked to make sure Marc was still asleep then ducked into my walk-in closet, staring down at the small pink trash can that used to contain empty beer bottles.

  Outlines from dried-up beer, stained the bottom of the trash can, with crusted edges that flaked upward in the center. I inhaled, drinking in the smell of stale beer, reminding myself what I had been missing for so long.

  I pushed the hanging dresses to the side and stared at the six-pack of beer sitting on the floor. Just what I needed to calm my nerves and help me sleep.

  As my mind bounced on the emotional trampoline about the safety of drinking during pregnancy, my hands begged to hold a tall pilsner glass effervescing with frothy golden nectar. However, the deep-seated cramps reminded me that I was not the only one in my body.

  A faint clink echoed in my ears as I looked down at the brown bottles once more. The knurled caps beckoned for me to open them. I lifted one up, walked out and put the beer in the freezer.