“We need a distraction,” Sam explained. “Petra told me there were at least two of them. Do you have a gun?”
Liam shook his head. He was an artist. Guns were not part of his world, as much as he certainly wished he did indeed have one at this moment. “What do you want me to do?” he asked. “I’ll provide the distraction.”
“Drive the car to the other side of the house and honk…a lot,” Sam said. “Flash your lights at the house, but stay out of sight. When one of them comes out, come back here if possible. We may need a quick exit.”
“What are you going to do?” Liam asked, mercilessly squeezing the steering wheel with his hands.
“As soon as one comes out, I’m going in,” he said. “I can handle one of them on my own. Hopefully, I’ll be able to rescue Petra and get out of there before the other one comes back.”
As plans go it was pretty simplistic, but they did have the element of surprise on their side. The two men with Petra had no idea she had contacted them. As far as they knew, Sam was still in town. Liam may be unarmed, but he was also another unexpected element. They wouldn’t have expected him to have enlisted anyone else’s help. Sam was certain they held a good chance of success.
Stepping out of the car into the darkness of the night, Sam waved Liam away. He watched as the Brit drove around to the back of the house. Wound up like a spring, Sam waited to hear the commotion. He didn’t have to wait long. In a few minutes, he heard the car’s strident horn cutting through the silence and saw lights flashing into the sides of the house. Soon after, a big man came running out of the house pointing a handgun in the direction of the light source. Good as his word, Liam turned off the lights, and, Sam hoped, fled out of the area with the armed man in pursuit. This was Sam’s break. He sprinted, heading toward the front door of the house, which had been left ajar. The coast was clear and he could hear muffled sounds coming from the inside. He followed the sounds, listening closely for any movement ahead. The corridor was very long, straight, and narrow. Not many places to hide, but he managed to get to the end of it without incident. It opened to an old large living room sparsely furnished with some chairs, a small rickety table, and boxes that were being used as tables of sort. Petra was sitting in a corner on the floor. Her feet and hands were tied, but she wasn’t gagged. The house was so isolated from everything else, the kidnappers must have not thought a gag to be necessary. Sam stood hidden by the wall. The other man was along the opposite wall with his back to Sam as he looked through the window, probably checking on the progress of his buddy. Sam waved, trying to catch Petra’s attention, but she had her eyes on her feet at first.
Her head suddenly snapped up and her eyes lit up when she saw him. Soon, though, her eyes reflected fear, a terrible dread that her boyfriend would get hurt or worse while playing her hero. Sam stuck a finger in front of his lips to quiet her and she obliged. Coming out of his hiding place, he walked swiftly and stealthily toward her, gun at the ready, wanting to get as close to her as possible before the other man turned around. With his head, he gestured to Petra to try and move away. Shuffling as fast and as quietly as she could, she moved a few feet along the wall to put some distance between them. It was very hard to move with her legs tied like that.
“Put your hands where I can see them,” Sam yelled out suddenly. The other man made as if to turn, but decided against it. His hands went up on his head. “On your knees. Now!”
The big guy laid down on the wooden floor and Sam was able to tie his hands behind his back with a bit of twine left on one of the boxes. He removed the gun the man had stuffed in the waist of his pants and walked to Petra, still tied and trembling by the wall. Moving quickly, he cut her free. “Are you okay?” he asked as he got rid of the ropes around her wrists. Petra wrapped her hands around his neck and hugged him so tight he thought she would choke him. “I know, I know,” he cooed, hugging her back. “But we have to move quickly. There’s still another guy on the loose.” As soon as the words had left his lips, another man came noisily through the door waving a gun in front of him.
“Drop the gun,” Sam yelled, standing up in front of Petra, shielding her. The men pointed their guns at each other. “Drop it.”
One shot rang out and Sam fell, his heavy body dropping to the floor like a rock right before a terrified Petra. Sam’s gun now lay by her feet, a few inches away from his lifeless hand. Screaming in anger and shock, Petra stared at the other man with his gun now trained on her. Running on adrenaline and instinct, she grabbed the discarded gun and shot in the direction of the criminal, hitting him twice. The man went down with a sickening pop of bone and muscle hitting the wooden floor, but Petra wasn’t paying attention anymore. She dropped to the floor and crawled the short distance between her and the inert body of the man she loved.
“My God, Sam,” she called as her hands searched his body for wounds. The hands came away bloody and a sob caught in her throat. “Sam, please, don’t leave me.” A groan left Sam’s mouth, letting her know he was still alive. “Sam, are you okay?” She froze as a dark red puddle of blood, coming from a wound in his upper chest, grew alarmingly fast underneath him.
Coming to, Sam groaned again. “I’m okay,” he said, slurring his words. “Let’s get out of here. Call Liam. Tell him to pick us up in front.” His voice was groggy as he tried to sit up and failed, collapsing on his back again.
By the time Liam came running inside, Sam was barely conscious, the bloody puddle extending further away from his body. “Oh my God, Sam, you were hit,” he exclaimed, raising a hand to his mouth.
Petra, on her knees, tried to sit him up with her hands wrapped around his shoulders. The adrenaline and pure panic running through her veins at that moment made her stronger than her body would normally allow, and Sam’s dead weight did not deter her from the work at hand. A little gasp of distress escaped her lips every time their movement caused more blood to gush out from the wound.
“I’m fine,” Sam said, startling Petra into almost dropping him. He leaned on her, feeling dizzy and weak. His vision came and faded away in spurts. “Let’s go now,” he said, moving to prop himself up. But the movement caused the room to spin madly around him and he had to shut his eyes to stop it.
Liam pointed at the man trussed up like a turkey on the floor. “What about that guy?” he asked, coming to help his friends.
“He’s not going anywhere,” Sam assured him, his eyes still closed as a wave of nausea climbed up his throat. Liam was now on his other side, supporting him and helping him up. Bookended by the two, Sam headed toward the exit, dragging his uncooperative legs behind him and leaving a trail of blood in his wake. They all got in the car, Liam at the wheel, Petra and Sam in the backseat.
“We were so worried, Petra,” Liam was saying as he drove away. He called the local police as he drove off. Sam was slumped over Petra’s shoulder, unmoving and bleeding onto Liam’s very expensive leather seats. “How are you feeling?”
Nestled against Sam, Petra was very quiet. “Petra?” Sam whispered, suddenly concerned about her silence. He could feel her small body shivering as if in the freezing cold. “You’re safe now, honey. You’re safe.” With his healthy arm, he pulled her to him and kissed her cheek gently. Her skin was wet. “Don’t cry, we’re okay.”
“You’re hurt,” she said, touching his chest, examining his wound with her fingers. Sam flinched as more blood poured out. “We need to stop that bleeding. Liam, take us to the hospital, quick.” Her voice was panicky, almost hysterical. “Quick, Liam, he’s bleeding out.”
Sam grabbed her chin to look her in the eye. “Stop, Petra,” he urged, realizing she was in shock. “I’m okay. It’s not the first time I’ve been shot, you know.” The shaking in her body told him she was sobbing. He held her closer, hoping the heat of his body would somehow calm her down, give her some peace. “I’ll be all right, really. We’re going to be fine,” he continued, whispering words of comfort in her ear even as he realized it had suddenly become very d
ifficult to breathe. Liam occasionally threw a concerned glance in their direction.
“We’ll be at the nearest hospital in a few minutes,” Liam said. His driving, while still incredibly fast, had taken a more cautious, almost protective pace. The curves were tackled in a gentler way, and Sam could tell he was being much more careful when hitting potholes. Soon enough, the massive white building of the hospital appeared around a street corner. Liam didn’t park the car; he went straight to the ER entry to let the two of them out. When Sam tried to leave the car, he couldn’t find the strength to walk or stand on his own. Petra tried to support him, but he was too heavy for her. Liam got out of the car and ran inside to fetch a wheelchair while she tried to slide Sam’s feet out of the car.
Wheeling him in the emergency room lobby, Petra displayed that same weird apathy she had ever since the rescue and the sight of a wounded Sam falling into a bundle of lifeless flesh and bones. A nurse came running to them when the wheelchair carrying a slumped Sam left a trail of blood on the white tiled floor. There was a flurry of activity and firing of questions. All were left unanswered; Sam was too weak to talk and faded in and out of consciousness, his breathing becoming labored and audible.
With a glazed look, Petra stared at her own palms as if looking for answers to what had just happened. Liam reached for her, sliding an arm over her shoulders and squeezing her gently against his side. Tears clung stubbornly to her eyes and her lip quivered.
“Petra, are you all right?” he asked.
She stared up at him, unseeing. Her body seemed to be running on auto-pilot, more aware of her circumstances than her brain was. “Sam was shot,” she mumbled. “My eyes keep telling me that, but my brain can’t accept it. He could have died right there in front of me. What if he did die?” Liam gave her another comforting squeeze, not quite sure of what to say.
Sam, slumped over himself, looked briefly back at her. In his state of fogginess, he was aware of her small body huddled by Liam, distress evident in her body language. “I love you,” he whispered, not certain she could hear him. His head was heavy and his eyes would not stay open. The fight went off him. All went dark and quiet. Peace finally, was his last thought before passing out.
Chapter Nine
HOSPITAL GOWNS, DREAMS, AND EXES
Petra
Dreams are funny things—part based on reality, part fiction, written by your subconscious mind, produced by your strongest inner feelings and fears. Some dreams you forget even before your eyes flutter open, others linger with you for a lifetime. Petra wondered whether this dream would be one of the latter. Awake now for hours, she kept playing it in her mind, over and over again. The dream had left her panting for air, heartbroken and in pain, but it had also shown a window of hope into a future she had always yearned for but had stopped believing in. Isn’t it true that you must take the bad with the good? Maybe she wanted to remember this dream forever and be able to feel that lovely warmth that came from believing something wonderful can and will happen someday.
The previous night, after all the commotion of checking Sam into the hospital, being checked herself for possible injuries, waiting anxiously to hear from the doctors as to Sam’s status, and finally being able to take stock of everything that happened and relate it to the police, she had eventually fallen asleep on the recliner in Sam’s private room. Sam had been heavily drugged to ease the pain of the bullet wound and succeeding extraction. He now slept peacefully in his drug-induced oblivion. She wasn’t going to leave him, scared as she was of losing him. So she sat on the recliner, covered herself with a blanket a nurse had brought her, and fell asleep. She dreamt…
It was dark and Petra couldn’t see anything around her. She turned around a few times trying to discern her surroundings, but the thick darkness isolated her from everything else. With surprise, she realized she was wearing the beautiful ball gown she had worn for the art gala, the one with the back that plunged all the way to the end of her spine. The one that had so attracted Sam’s attention that night. She could still feel his hands on her bare skin as if imprinted there for eternity. Where was she right now? Why was she wearing formal wear in the middle of such darkness?
Her heart beating furiously in her chest, Petra took a small step forward, feeling her way through the oppressive blackness. One foot carefully put in front of the other, her heart hysterically beating, her hands trembling, she kept moving forward…or maybe backward, she couldn’t tell. Suddenly, the ground seemed to open below her and her feet found only emptiness where a solid floor should have been. She felt herself fall through space through the gloom. Strangely, she was falling upright, as if the laws of gravity did not apply in this place, the folds of her dress flapping around her like a parachute. She waved her arms and her legs trying to stop, but to no avail; she kept falling into the obscurity of the blackness. She braced herself to meet solid ground, but instead she fell into water, cold and silent as a tomb.
Kicking her legs, Petra tried to float to the surface, but she felt herself being dragged deeper and deeper. The darkness gave way to an eerie brightness, and even as she fell, her lungs beginning to hurt from the lack of air, she wondered at what her eyes were seeing. The light revealed a big room decorated with exquisite pieces of furniture and artwork. Incongruously, nothing else other than herself floated. Instead, the room and its contents seemed solidly anchored in place. In spite of her desperate need to breathe, she couldn’t help but admire the beauty of her surroundings as she fell even deeper into the room, never quite reaching the bottom. In the fog of her mind, she realized she was in Jonas’ house or a very faithful replica. She recognized the gorgeous French antique chair in the corner, the luscious silk curtains that billowed in the water, the elegant crystal chandelier hanging just above her head. She was trapped in the gilded cage that Jonas had built for her after they got married, the one he had lured her into with its tantalizing artistic beauty and charismatic charm.
Pumping her legs even harder, Petra frantically pushed herself through the heavy water, reaching for the surface, but the room seemed to expand in height every time she inched upward and she made no progress. Her lungs burned, her chest crushed under the weight of the water, Petra gave up and accepted the dubious peace of this watery grave as she sank to the bottom.
Just as she had lost all hope, a great ray of light beamed down from the surface, and a being of such beauty, such majesty, descended down toward her. She averted her eyes for fear of being blinded by the sight. It was an angel, she knew. An angel here to save her and carry her into safety, away from the effects of her pretty watery jail. The angelic being took her in his arms and with his powerful wings carried her out from her misery and pain. In her ear, the angel whispered, and his voice was strangely familiar, warm, and masculine. “Hot pepper,” he said, “you are not alone anymore.”
The sound of the cart being rolled in by the nurse woke her up from her strange dream. A little disoriented, Petra watched as the nurse checked Sam’s vitals, jotted them down in his chart. Then, realizing that Petra was there, the nurse offered her a friendly smile.
“You must be hungry,” she said, examining Petra closely. “I’ll go get you something to eat.” Petra protested but the nurse wouldn’t take no for an answer and went in search of some kind of sustenance.
Petra sank deeper into her recliner, curling her legs underneath her and pulling the blanket closer to her chin. She stole a glance toward Sam, who slept in the hospital bed, his face relaxed into an expression of blissful peace, and Petra found herself feeling envious. She almost wished they had drugged her as well. It might have prevented her from thinking about all that had transpired in the past twelve hours. It would also prevent her from having disturbing dreams that made her stomach burn and her heart tighten.
She had trusted her ex-husband, a man who had cheated on her numerous times, who had rubbed his illicit affairs right in her face, and who had never shown any interest or affection for her as a woman, as his wife. In spite of
all that, she had trusted him. She wanted to believe that he had some redeeming qualities, that underneath all of that murk, there was a decent man, a fraction of what she had believed he was when she married him. How naïve and stupid of her. His soul was dark. He had now moved on from petty sin to mortal sins, the kind that landed you in jail for a long time; the kind that dragged innocent bystanders down in the quicksand of his doing. She was still finding it hard to accept that he had someone kidnap her. Not so sure now that he would have stopped at just kidnapping, Petra shivered under her blanket.
Sam was lying in that bed with a bullet hole in his chest. He easily could have been killed trying to rescue her from the hands of those criminals. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was Sam lying on the floor, bleeding, not moving, the color on his face fading into a ghostly white, his beautiful green eyes closed. She thought he had died, that she had lost him forever in a single heartbeat. Rage and pain taking over, Petra, who had never once touched a gun, had not hesitated to shoot. Despair must have made her aim well, for the thug soon laid in his own pool of blood. She had killed a man. How was she going to deal with that knowledge? Her emotions were so raw and so mixed up. She swung between feeling elated that she had been able to hit the target so expertly to feeling guilty and wallowing in remorse for having taken the life of another human being. How do people whose jobs often lead them into similar situations deal with these feelings? Was she always going to feel so ambivalent about it?
Her heart filled suddenly with hot, unadulterated hate for Jonas. How could he have done this to her—the one person besides Liam who had loved and trusted him?
“Do you need help with anything, miss?” the nurse asked as she came in the room with a tray of food. Petra looked up, surprised by her presence and bewildered by the question. The nurse nodded at Petra’s hands, gripping the blanket so tight her knuckles had turned a sour white. “You look like you’re in pain. Do you want me to fetch a doctor?”
We Will Always Have the Closet Page 16