Starcrossed Hearts

by Star Crossed Hearts (lit)

  Their distance from one another lasted the entire evening and was painful for them both. Mac struggled with his decision, Jessica regretted her harshness. Even in bed they lay apart, each absorbed in their disquiet.

  Jessica’s mind anguished over the events of the day. The unwelcome, no, horrifying suggestion that Jackie might be pregnant with Dane’s child overwhelmed her. That Dane may not be sterile renewed a terrible nightmare she thought long forgotten.

  Thinking Mac was asleep, she slipped out of bed and quietly entered the nursery where Devon dozed peacefully on his back. Tenderly she adjusted his blanket, marveling at the perfection of his baby fists lying above his head as he slept, his tiny mouth working in a dream about nursing. She wished she could look into his eyes, to see once again that they were Mac’s eyes, so brown, so open, so true. Indeed, everyone, even Dane himself, said Devon was a picture of his father. His father.

  "Is he okay?"

  Mac’s whisper from behind her made her start and she spun around. The sight of him in the doorway prompted an unwanted memory and for an instant she felt the shame and guilt return, as though she had again been found in Dane’s arms rather than just thinking about him as she wondered about Devon. But Mac was coming to her, his loving arms wrapping around her cold shoulders in the darkness as he, too, gazed into the baby’s crib.

  "He’s fine. He’s perfect," she whispered, shaking off the memories and at least temporarily, the uncertainties.

  "Come on." Gently he urged her back to their room and into bed. "I’m sorry," he murmured, holding her close.

  "Me, too," she replied, closing her eyes, listening to his pain filled heart throbbing as she pressed against him.

  "I’ll be going down to police headquarters first thing in the morning."

  It was only now, after midnight, that Mac realized Dane had not called.

  ~ * ~

  Dane Pierce sat on the upper balcony, his view of the Hollywood Hills never-ending. Sipping black coffee, he leaned comfortably back in the cushioned patio chair, squinting in the bright sunlight, the cool morning breeze just beginning to dry his freshly showered, neatly groomed hair. Overhead, a red-tailed hawk swooped low as if to check out the scene. Dane grinned, his clean-shaven face thin but relaxed, his hands steady as he held the cup, his white cotton shirtsleeves rippling in the light wind. On the glass-topped table beside him, a .38 pistol lay in plain view.

  A soft smile stayed on his lips as he watched the hawk climb and then dive, enjoying a vicarious flight. Behind him, he heard the sliding patio door open.

  "Good morning, Jacqueline," he said without turning.

  "Good morning, darling. Enjoying the fresh air?"

  "Yes, my love. I’ve been waiting for you to join me. Sleep well, I hope?"

  Her expression suspicious, Jackie walked to the balcony wall and turned to nod at him. Wearing a striking white pantsuit, her attractiveness caught him off guard and he wished fleetingly that he could have had sex with her once more. It would have been different, now.

  "You look lovely. Sit down."

  Wary of his flattery, she sat, placing her oversized handbag on the chair between them, then noticed the revolver with surprise. "What’s this?" she asked softly.

  "A gun. It’s a prop gun from the studio. Shoots blanks. I brought it home to show it to Alex."

  Jackie seemed visibly shaken, staring at the gun with wide, fearful eyes.

  "What’s the matter? Surely you’ve seen them before."

  "Do you think that’s wise? Taking a gun around a little boy?"

  "It’s pretty harmless…" Dane picked up the gun as if to demonstrate, and Jackie gasped, straightening noticeably in her chair. "So where are you off to, all prettied up?" he cooed, turning the gun slowly in his hands, cocking the hammer and then uncocking it again and again.

  "Just…shopping."

  "Thought you might have a…doctor’s appointment."

  "N-no, not today. It’s Saturday, Dane."

  "So it is. By the way, I visited my doctor yesterday. Know what he said? Of course you do." Dane’s tone was sweet and condescending. He was enjoying every moment of his performance; Jackie was becoming more edgy by the minute.

  "What are you talking about, darling? Your ulcer acting up again?"

  Dane pointed the revolver skyward and aimed carefully at the hawk, slowly cocking the hammer. Jackie jumped forward.

  "Don’t!"

  "I told you, it’s harmless. We were supposed to use it yesterday when the congressman aims it at Mac, but we ran out of time. It’s a great scene; it doesn’t fire and he kills himself instead. At least, that’s what it’s supposed to do." Slowly Dane depressed the trigger, and Jackie’s scream was lost in the loud report of the pistol.

  The kick of the gun threw his hand backward as his wrist bent with the recoil. Dane turned to Jackie with a look of mock surprise.

  "Holy shit, did you see that? I could have killed that magnificent bird. And…the congressman…could have killed…Mac…" He purposely let his words trail off. Jackie stood suddenly and backed away. "I wonder," Dane continued thoughtfully, "how this gun got loaded with real bullets? Guess there’s a conspirator in our midst, princess."

  "You’re overworked, Dane. You’re totally stressed out. You need some rest." Jackie’s voice quivered, undermining her attempt to sound assertive.

  "Yeah, maybe I do." He put the gun down on the table. "Now where was I? Oh, the doctor. Funny thing, Jacko, he ran this neat little test, a lot of fun for me, and it turned up the strangest thing. Seems I’m still shooting blanks, even though this gun here isn’t. Imagine that."

  And now he knew she saw it; the unmistakable glint in his green eyes, letting her know it had all been an elaborate act, a scene played out to entrap her.

  "I--I have to go," she stammered, tentatively moving toward the door. She would have to pass by Dane to make her exit, and he casually extended his leg, bracing his foot against the wall and blocking her path.

  "Don’t go, Jacqueline. We have a lot to talk about."

  "I have nothing to say."

  "I do. First, your maternity is entirely your own problem. If you are pregnant, which I don’t doubt, it’s some other poor slob’s obligation. Your brother maybe? Hey, that would be novel. Incest is best, huh?" Dane chuckled to himself.

  "Dane, stop…"

  "I’m calling the police, Jackie. I’m making a statement. I’m willing to give you a head start; if you go now, you might be able to escape. Otherwise, I’m afraid everything’s going on the table, and your pretty head just might end up there, too."

  Jackie reached for her bag. Her eyes never leaving Dane’s, she pulled out a small, black book and held it up. "What about this, Dane? What about this nasty little record? If you think I won’t use it…"

  "I already told you. It doesn’t matter anymore. Take it. Call the God-damned Enquirer if you want."

  Rushing forward, Jackie tossed the journal onto the table and grabbed the gun from where Dane had put it down after firing it. Training it on him, she backed toward the door as he jumped to his feet, now clearing the way for her exit.

  "You’ll regret that you crossed me, Dane. Because if I can’t have you, neither can she. And despite everything, I love you and could never use this against you…but I can make you miserable for the rest of your life. You and that choirboy husband of hers, you can both mourn her forever. It will be a pleasure to wipe that goody-good smile off her face once and for all. And I’ll be laughing, Dane, because I know real life, and real love, and real passion. She couldn’t begin to know life the way I do."

  Suddenly she turned and went into the house, and Dane leaped after her. "Jackie, stop!"

  He overtook her in the living room, throwing his arms around her from behind and pinning her arms tightly to her sides. Violently she struggled, the loaded .38 clenched in her fingers.

  "Let--me--go!" she shrieked through her snarled mouth, turning her head brusquely to the side and biting into his muscled forea
rm.

  Abruptly he released her and stared down as a seeping red circle began spread on his shirt sleeve. Before he could react, however, Jackie landed a debilitating kick into his left knee and was rewarded with the satisfying crunch that said she had successfully crippled him. Despite the immense pain that surged throughout his leg, Dane lunged forward, grasping her again and wrestling her to the floor.

  Desperately trying to pin her arms away, Dane’s entire body began sweating from the intensity of the pain in his knee.

  "You think you can stop me, but you can’t. While Jessie’s alive you’ll never be free. You’ll never love me! I can’t live with that." Jackie screamed the words into Dane’s face, twisting and arching as he tried to restrain her movements.

  "If you lay even one finger on her--" he growled as they struggled on the floor. In response Jackie brought her knee up hard and fast between his legs, but her renewed attack seemed unnecessary; his left side was already blazing as he attempted to wrest the revolver from her hand. "It’s over, dammit!"

  "Yes, it’s over." Violently wrenching her body away from him, her back to his face, Jackie seemed super-human as she freed her hands and cocked the hammer on the gun. Gritting his teeth against the agony of his throbbing knee, Dane tried to turn her around as she fumbled with the weapon, only to receive her elbow in his ribs with a new rush of pain. From behind her, he could not see as she turned the gun toward herself, pressing the barrel against her chest.

  "Give me the gun!" Dane shouted, reaching around to try and take it from her just as she engaged the trigger.

  The bullet burned through Jackie’s body and into Dane’s.

  Twenty-three

  …and Peace

  Mac had already gone when Jessica awoke. There was no coffee made, and her head ached, a hangover, no doubt, from the depression of the night before. Nibbling on an English muffin, she nursed Devon and then packed him up and strapped him into his carseat. Soon she was on Canon Road heading for Malibu.

  Roxie greeted her with surprise.

  "Can I leave him for just awhile?" Jessica asked as Roxie traded gurgles with Devon.

  "Welcome to Boy’s Town. We have Alex in the kitchen eating Lucky Charms."

  "Alex?"

  "Dane dropped him off an hour ago."

  "Did he say why?"

  "Nope. Just something about he and Jackie finishing up some business and Alex just being bored. He said he’d be at home if we need him."

  Jessica was thoughtful. "Everything he needs is in his bag. I’ll be back soon, I promise. Mac’s picking up Charlene, and…I just wanted Devon out of the line of fire, you know?"

  Roxanne nodded and kissed Devon’s head.

  Jessica drove back through the canyon with the top down, something she rarely did anymore. The air was still cool, the sky clear, the foliage a rushing, watercolor palette of greens and browns. She didn’t make the conscious decision to turn onto Benedict Canyon, but wasn’t surprised, either, when she parked the Miata just behind the gold Porsche in the driveway. She stared up at the grand, white columned entrance for a moment, not really seeing it as Dane’s house but a kind of established image for superstars living as they were expected to live. She went to the front door and knocked.

  While waiting, she looked to the attached garage where all three doors remained closed. She noticed the heavy draperies that hung in the entrance were drawn. She rang the bell.

  Perhaps Dane and Jackie had gone out. With a sigh, she turned and was preparing to retreat when a sound from the house stopped her cold. The sound was muffled, coming from somewhere inside, but Jessica thought she recognized the unmistakable crack of a single gunshot.

  Turning back, she began to knock, then pound, furiously on the front door.

  "Dane! It’s Jessie! Open the door!" When no answer came, she pressed her ear against the huge, solid white door and listened for any sound. There was none.

  She paused, trying to put together her thoughts. Looking back at the windows, she knew she couldn’t break the heavy, leaded glass panes. There was a door, she remembered, from the garage to the laundry room, but she didn’t know the garage code to open it.

  "God," she whispered, her mind racing. She looked back to her car, thinking of her cell phone and wondering if she should try to reach Mac. She walked toward the car, passing Dane’s, and another thought came to her.

  Of course, the driver’s window was down on the Porsche. She opened the door and slipped into the driver’s seat, then began looking around the car. A key, maybe? Dane was careless, she reminded herself, but not that careless. Boldly she pawed through the glove box, frowning at crumbled cigarette packages. Under the seat was an empty silver bourbon flask and two coffee cups. On the floor of the backseat was a never-used steering wheel lock, and two or three CD boxes. And on the visor was a garage door opener control. Jessica wasted no time in pressing the button.

  The opening garage door revealed Jackie’s convertible BMW and the door into the house. Holding her breath and saying a prayer, Jessica turned the knob. The door swung open.

  Mountains of dirty laundry blocked her way, but Jessica was now oblivious to the details.

  "Dane! Are you here? Dane? Jackie?" she called as she made her way through the kitchen and into the dining room. "Dane! Where--"

  Jessica’s words were cut short by the scene waiting for her in the living room. She couldn’t even scream.

  Frozen to the spot for several moments, Jessica stared at the two motionless people on the floor, their bodies still bleeding onto the carpet where they lay entangled. She forced herself to move, to kneel before them, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

  "Oh, Dane," she whispered, her fingers shaking against her lips, afraid to touch him and find out the truth. Her eyes wandered over them, seeing the gun still clutched in Jackie’s still fingers, its barrel now pointing toward the ceiling; Dane’s arm around her, almost embracing her from behind, his white cotton shirt rapidly turning a wet crimson.

  A sob caught in her throat, a prelude to a whimper that grew into a cry. "No!" she shouted. "No! No, no, no! Oh God. Dane, no…" Unmindful of the blood staining the knees of her jeans, Jessica crawled around Jackie and hesitantly touched Dane’s face, stroking his cheek. Doubling over, she bent to kiss his forehead, his eyes, his cheek. "Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead," she whispered, then uttered a sharp cry as Dane fell onto his back with a groan.

  "Oh my God. Thank you, God." She kissed him again, then hastily got to her feet. "The phone. Where’s the phone, Dane?"

  Dane didn’t respond, but at least he was alive.

  Running into the kitchen, she found a telephone and with trembling fingers dialed "911."

  ~ * ~

  Police stations never close. Inside, waiting on an old, oak chair, Mac was reminded of the casinos in Nevada, where you couldn’t tell if it was night or day outside; the activity went on without regard.

  "MacKendall?" the desk sergeant called. "She’s on her way. Paperwork’s all done. You can go."

  He looked up as they brought Charlene through the door, carrying an envelope containing her personal items. She stared at Mac in silence, her face unreadable. Sergeant Denehy appeared next, speaking with Mac as Charlene now waited in the hard chair.

  "I hope you’re up to what has to be done, Mac."

  "So do I. Whether what I do is right or not, I have to believe in it; I couldn’t believe it was right to leave her in jail. I’m probably a fool."

  "Sergeant Denehy? There’s a call coming in for you. A shooting."

  "Good luck, MacKendall…I’ll take that call here." Denehy reached for the desk phone.

  Mac walked to where Charlene sat staring up at him with a deep hurt in her eyes. She now looked younger, more vulnerable, and Mac held out his hand to her.

  "Come on. We’ve got a lot to talk about."

  "I don’t need you, you know," she said, the tremor in her voice belying her bold words.

  "I know that. But maybe I need my si
ster."

  Behind him, Denehy slammed the phone down. "Mac! Wait up."

  Mac turned.

  "There’s been a shooting. Two people down…Pierce’s place in Benedict Canyon. It’s against department policy, but I thought you’d want to know. I’m on my way."

  The color drained from Mac’s face as he absorbed the detective’s words. "I’m right behind you."

  ~ * ~

  Charlene clung to the door handle of the Ford, hoping it wouldn’t rip off in her hand as the old truck rumbled up the canyon toward Dane’s house.

  "You might not want to come in. It could be bad," he said to his sister, whose face wore a cold mask.

  "I’ve seen bad," Charlene replied, her expression cool despite the wild ride behind the police car. Mac was wishing he had taken the Miata that morning as he maneuvered the Ford onto the steep concrete drive leading to Dane’s grand entrance. They could see the yellow police tape already flapping in the breeze, the ambulances and squad cars parked helter-skelter near the door. And amid those vehicles a flash of bright blue paint caught Mac’s eye. The startling realization that Jessie’s car was parked there ceased his heart; he couldn’t get out of the truck fast enough. Running up the driveway in terror, Mac was only dimly aware of the officers impeding his path. Somewhere behind him Charlene followed.

  "Whoa there." A policeman blocked their way.

  "Please, let me by! I’m Cory MacKendall…My wife’s in there!"

  A nod from Denehy and the MacKendalls were allowed to cross the line and approach the house. At the porch they were met by two attendants rolling a gurney out the door; its passenger’s face was covered and Mac held up his hand. The attendants paused as Mac pulled away the sheet covering Jackie’s beautiful face.

  Swallowing hard, Mac’s face contorted in pain and he re-covered her, turning away. A great swelling in his throat threatened to strangle him.

  "Someone you knew?" Charlene asked quietly.