“Right,” Bruce continued. “A real conniving beauty. I dated her about three years ago. It didn’t take long before I realized she was only looking for the Brass Ring, but she was like a seductive drug. Now I realize why.
“Strange. When I finally screwed up the resolve to break it off, she made some comment about how I had always been a weak-kneed wimp. I wonder how much she knew, even then? It made no sense to me at the time.”
Ashley morbidly kept worrying the chain, slowly working it loose.
“So then she found Keith,” Craig said.
“Or more likely, Keith found her.” Ashley said. “He was looking to replace his hooker.” She almost had the chain free. A locket or pendant, she thought.
“When she saw all the money, she latched on, not realizing it was mostly mine. That Keith’s family business was near bankruptcy. Eighteen-Forty-Five all over again.”
“That’s my guess,” Feldman said. “Your husband was handsome, apparently wealthy, and looking for action. The perfect mark. She probably encouraged their open relationship, planning on taking him away from you, not knowing that he’d be leaving most of the money behind.”
“He wouldn’t have gone willingly. The trust funds are too important to him. Luckily, his fooling around brought Craig and me together. Otherwise we may never have discovered our love. Keith forced things into the open.”
She continued fussing with the gold chain, doggedly slipped a finger under Nicole’s metal collar. The cloying odor of blood and an emptied bowel, voided in death, didn’t diminish her curiosity about whatever hung at the end of that chain. Somehow, she knew it was important.
“And my meeting Ashley, and Toni’s blatant cheating made it easy for me to finally end my tortured marriage,” Craig said.
“Yes. It was them, and their infidelity bringing us together.” She looked up from her task, a strained smile forcing its way onto her tear-ravaged face. A final tug popped the chain free, causing her to flinch.
“Oh, shit. That bastard. Look at this!”
“What?” Craig knelt at her side.
“My emerald pendant, the one Papa gave me the year before he died. The son-of-a-bitch put it around her stinking neck. I’d thought I’d lost it, somehow.” Anger fueled the next tug, breaking the chain. Marty rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut.
“It still doesn’t make sense,” she said, turning the pendant over in her hands, rubbing away a trace of blood.
“Keith knew where the money was.”
“But Nicole didn’t,” Bruce said, “and her sexuality was narcotic. I doubt he ever told her. She probably discovered the truth and decided it was up to her to get what she deserved.”
“Looks like that’s exactly what she did get.” Marty helped his brother to stand on unsteady legs.
“But why kill me… us? What would she gain?”
“All the money,” Craig said, cradling her in his arms. “You haven’t thought to change your will, have you? If you died before the divorce were final, everything would go to Keith and the children. He’d certainly be their guardian, with total control of their trusts.”
“Hmm,” the detective said, “I wonder what kinda alibi Mr. Easton has today?”
“My guess is, a pretty good one,” his brother said. “I bet he has no idea what Nicole was up to. She’d kill Ashley and Craig out here where they may never even be found and not say a word to him. He’s probably at work, with a solid alibi.”
“Okay, that’s possible. But how’d ya figure this was the day, Brucie? You tryin’ to put me outta a job?”
Bruce Feldman winced at the shooting pain his laughter caused.
“I thought I recognized Nicole from my regressions. The relationship in each life felt so familiar, so dominating. I ran into her at the City Club a few weeks ago, and she told me she finally found Mister Right, a rich guy with an even richer wife. Said she was going to get it all. Later, I recognized her voice on these trips back in time, and eventually I recognized her.”
“But why did you follow us here today? And how on earth did you even find us?” Ashley asked.
“I called your house to warn you of the danger. When Maria said you went on a picnic with the horses, warning bells went off in my head.”
“Of course. The same scenario as the other two times.” Ashley shivered.
“Exactly. I called my service to see if you or Craig had left a message and learned that my downtown office had been burglarized and the armor and mace were stolen.
“It never dawned on me until that very minute why I had been so compelled to buy that whole display at an auction. That was two years before I started dating Nicole.”
“It… it looks exactly like the same one from my memories.”
“I believe it may be, my dear. Nicole saw it in my office and was totally taken by it. Even asked me to sell it to her. More than just a coincidence, I think.
“Anyway, once I learned what was happening today, I rushed over to your stable, and the groom told me you were coming to this park. I found what I presumed was your car and trailer in the lot and saw what looked like fresh tire marks on the horse trail. Those led me to Nicole’s Jeep, and the horse tracks were easy enough to follow back here.”
“Good thing ya called me from the car, Brucie. I don’t get here when I did, things mighta turned out a lot different.”
“I was counting on you, Marty. Didn’t think we’d have much of a chance without you. That girl was strong. I’ve seen her bench 140 pounds.”
“Wow! Well, you got lucky. Why didn’t ya call the local Sheriff, though? They were a lot closer than me.”
“Right. They’d be real quick to respond to some lunatic babbling about a murderer from a past life.” Bruce chuckled, then groaned, bringing a hand to his bandaged head.
“Ya got a point there. I’d better call ‘em now, though. We’ll need the local cops and the meat wagon, and there’s gonna be a lot of questions. Just routine, but it’s gotta happen.”
“C’mon,” Bruce Feldman said. “Let’s give these kids a chance to finish dressing.”
“Okay. I’ll call the sheriff from my car radio while they get organized.”
In a moment, Ashley and Craig were alone. She sagged into his arms, tears filling her gray eyes, soft sobs shaking her. Adrenaline fueled tension had devoured the last of her reserves.
“It’s okay baby. Let it out. Let it all out. It’s finally over, and we’re safe.”
He stroked her russet tresses, enfolding with protective arms this woman whom he had loved for… three hundred years!
Finally, they’d have a lifetime together. Their new family was already started. Nothing Toni or Keith could do would stop them.
The circle of death was finally broken.
For now.
EPILOGUE
“Is it finished, Master?” The neophyte soul asked.
“Yes. They will have a full life to explore their love. Something long overdue.”
“And when they return to us, when this lifetime is completed?”
“They are destined to join the Fourth Level, as neophyte Masters.”
“Will they never return, Master? Will this one lifetime together suffice them?”
“They will be joined for sixty years, creating two new souls. There are many tasks for them as Masters, guiding younger souls. Their unique synergism will be a great benefit.”
“They will continue to work together then, once they return to us?”
“Yes, always together. A rare thing indeed.”
“And the other… the one just sent back?”
“It must return for at least three lifetimes of goodness and aid to others before even being considered for the Fourth Level. It will be many of their centuries before that time will come.”
“But, with the progeny of these two still on Earth, will that soul give up its quest for their destruction? We have rarely seen one so unwilling to mend its ways.”
“True. This one may never be desti
ned to join us, and that may be best.”
“Yes. That may be a soul never to be trusted.”
“Possibly. Only time, and new lives, will be the measure of that.”
THE END
If you enjoyed this book…
Check out George A Bernstein’s third suspense novel, DEATH’S ANGEL, the first of his new Detective Al Warner series. It’s available now in print and as a Kindle. Find it, and all his works, at: http://Amazon.com/author/georgeabernstein
His first novel, TRAPPED, is widely acclaimed, and an Amazon Top 100 Best Seller. It’s available at:
Amazon.com (http://amzn.to/P2xxaT)
in Paper Back & Kindle, and also at book stores and e-book sites.
Here are excerpts from both novels
≠≠≠
TRAPPED
PROLOGUE
Turn signal flashing, she eases into the right lane in front of a large, battered pick-up, with less than a half-mile to the Old Orchard Exit Ramp. Jackee Maren rarely drives so aggressively, but first delayed by her two sons’ late departure from school, and then navigating around a minor fender bender on Dundee road, she is already ten minutes behind, and she’s never late. The Northern Illinois Chapter of the United Way won’t start their planning session without their chairwoman, and Jackee hates the idea of keeping so many busy people waiting.
Peeling onto the ramp, her attention is drawn to her two boys, bickering and shoving in the back seat. Glancing back at the road, a ridge of goose bumps cascades down her spine. They’re hurtled toward a string of glaring taillights… cars unexpectedly stopped by a red light at the first intersection off the expressway.
Jamming a foot on the brakes, she’s stunned when the big Mercedes slews sharply right, smack into the path of the huge pickup truck, which had exited behind her. It slams into the rear fender of the sedan, sending it careening off the road, the seatbelts gouging her shoulder, crushing the breath from her lungs.
“Hang on boys,” she gasps. Oh God! My sons! They can’t die here.
They spin down the embankment like an eccentric top, ricocheting off a bridge column. The wheel torn from her grip, the air filled with the screech of rending metal and the stench of burning rubber, the car rears like a great angry beast, its rear legs hamstrung. Slamming down, it hurtles backward into the culvert, bucking and skipping along the steep embankment.
Despite seatbelts, Jackee is flung around like a rag doll in the jaws of some huge terrier. The air bag erupts in the midst of their tumultuous downward plunge, rushing out at 200 MPH, just as frontal impact slings her forward.
Her face catches the brunt of the blow, skewering lips on her teeth, smashing her nose. A searing bolt of pain fires across her brain, igniting a burst of red heat behind her tearing eyes. A sharp pitch right crushes her left cheek against the window, knocking her momentarily senseless. The sedan teeters, enveloped in a cloud of dust, hunkering precariously on its haunches before crashing down on its wheels, coming to a thunderous, grinding stop.
She awakens to wailing and blubbering from the two small boys in the rear seat.
“Mommy!” The call gasped through ragged breathing.
“Mommy!” Now a frantic screech.
“I’m…I’m here.” We’re alive! Thank God, we’re all still alive.
She sags against the seatbelt, every joint singed with agony, unable to will herself into action.
Help should be coming. She moans. Gotta hang on… She slips out of consciousness.
The continued bawling and moaning of her sons stir her, drawing her out of the fog of semi-consciousness. One of her eyes is swollen shut, but the other flickers open, glazed with shock.
Where the Hell’s Fire/Rescue.
She winces, her whole body racked by pain.
Seems like we’ve been trapped down here for…
The warble of a fast arriving rescue vehicle answers that question. She closes her eye, struggling to control the thunder in her head and the molten bands of fire across her chest.
“Lady? You with me?” A hatchet-faced EMT materializes at the shattered passenger-side window. She strives to focus on the man, who is futilely struggling with the door.
“Malcolm, Bryan,” the words slurred through blood stained lips. “Sons…back seat…”
“Yeah, they’re still strapped in. We’re gonna take care of everybody, but it’s you I’m focused on.”
Jackee’s head lolls forward, her emerald eye fluttering closed as she struggles to remain conscious. The swell and ebb of her breast confirms that, while battered, she still lives. Her sons in the back continue their chorus of terror, though it’s winding down to a pattern of whimpers as their surge of adrenaline burns out.
“Can’t budge this damned door,” the EMT, grunts. He’s joined by his thick-shouldered partner, hefting a crowbar.
“Move over and give me room to work.” forcing one end of the steel into the jamb, struggling to lever it open, he glances at his partner. “Those kids look okay?”
“Probably. All that loud wailing is a good sign, but we’ll check ‘em out once we get everyone free. The woman’s obviously suffered some airbag trauma and…Oh, oh, she’s coming around.”
Jackee’s eye blinks, her head inches up, and she tastes the blood oozing from her nose and lips.
“Oohhh. What…what…” She makes a feeble effort to turn her head.
Oh! My sons. The brakes…bad crash…are they…?”
“Mommy.” Malcolm’s voice a hoarse squeak. “Are you hurt? We’re okay, I think.” His voice and Bryan’s whimpering through ragged breathing is reassuring.
Thank God. So close. Don’t know how I could…” She sags, her thoughts fading again.
“We’re gettin’ nowhere with this bar.” He looks back.
“We need the hydraulics down here, and in a fuckin’ hurry,” he screams up at the road.
“On the way. How ‘bout a power saw now?”
“No way. Too dangerous.”
Ten minutes later, a hydraulic pry bar dispense with the door. Frantic minutes drag by as they disentangle Jackee from the air bags, and her two sobbing, shaken sons, from their seatbelts.
Jackee smells the fuel that continues to seep from the ruptured tank, pooling beneath the wreckage.
Fire…or worse…is an eminent threat.
She floats to full awareness. Her body is festooned with welts, and her face feels like she’d gone ten rounds with Joe Frazier. Strapped to a gurney, her head and neck immobilized, one medic checks her vitals, which, despite her tattered façade, are surprisingly robust.
“Looks like you’re gonna be okay, lady. Got someone you want me to call?” he asks.
“Husband. Phil Maren.” Mumbled with a thick lisp over a swollen tongue and lacerated lips.
“North Chicago Printing. In city. My sons?”
“They’re shaken and bruised, but don’t seem to have any major problems. We’re checking ‘em out now. They’ll come to the hospital as a precaution, and your husband can pick ‘em up there.
Moments later the ambulance races toward Skokie Valley Hospital.
A freak thing. Was it the brakes? Phil just serviced the car.
She sighs.
How did it…?” She slips off into a sedative induced slumber.
Jackee Maren had no idea that this terrifying accident was but a small taste of the true horror soon awaiting her.
CHAPTER ONE
Five Months Later
Where am I?
Intense, deep-cave blackness envelops her…smothering, almost thick enough to touch. She seems adrift, suspended a pool of dark, still water.
A bath? That doesn’t make sense.
Despite a shroud of absolute darkness, she senses herself rising, finally breaching the inky surface, floating weightlessly.
And she is awake.
What was that? A dream? It seemed so real!
Jackee Maren lay very still, confused by the eerie perception of bobbing gently on tepid, calm water
s. Despite a sense of warmth lapping at her, she shudders.
What’s happened to…? Oh… how stupid of me.
My surgery! It’s finally over. Five months since the accident, and breathing hadn’t gotten any easier. But why is it so... so dark in… where? A recovery room?
Why have they left me alone?
A pungency unique to hospitals floods her with unpleasant memories: momma, daddy, and her own last visit. Not a happy moment in the bunch.
Icy tentacles caress her spine, kindling a mountain range of goose bumps.
What’s going on? Why... oh...
Voices murmuring, bare whispers, apparently close by. What are they saying?
Spooky, laying here in this... this black place. Why haven’t they taken me to my room? Phil’ll be worried.
Won’t he? He promised to take time from work to care for their sons… to be supportive for a change… while she recovers from this reconstructive facial surgery he seemed so eager for her to have. She shivers, momentarily reliving that scary car accident.
Spinning, lurching, crashing down that embankment. The shriek of rending steel.
God, it was terrifying.
The boys tussling in back, and I was distracted, worried at being late… and wondering about Phil’s frequent late nights. He was seldom home evenings before then. But that changed after I spun the Mercedes into that ditch.
Whatever. That was then. Gotta figure out the now… why I’m still in Recovery. Get someone’s attention. If she moves, will stitches tear? The undercurrent of voices pulls at her.
Why are they whispering?
She shivers again, her skin peppered by an icy sleet of uncertainty.
Has something happened... something bad? No one’s here... no one to check on me. Did something go wrong?
Oh God, it must be terrible!
Her heart tumbles, skipping into high gear. This crushing darkness robs her of any sense of place.
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