The concussive blast followed by the sound of glass shards colliding against one another at incredibly high speeds woke Vernon Kelly out of a sound sleep. He sat up in bed, blinking in the darkness, and listened. He wasn’t sure if what he’d heard was part of a dream or if it was real.
He heard the unmistakable sound of heavy boots grinding against stone and glass downstairs. A few minutes more and he was positive it was just one pair of boots.
“This should be interesting.”
He pulled himself out of bed and grabbed a bath robe, throwing it around himself and tying it tightly. High desert nights in Nevada were always cold, no matter what the season.
His allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness as he made his way to the door. Out of habit he kissed the two front fingers of his left hand and brushed them against the surface of his wife’s portrait on his way out.
He made his way carefully down the stairs, not wanting to turn on the lights just yet. The last thing he needed was to fall and die some lingering death all alone because he broke his neck trying to investigate a thief.
He felt a brief moment of gratitude that Lucy wasn’t here, the first glimmer of gratitude he’d felt in over five years. She couldn’t be hurt by this, and she wouldn’t be here to see him get hurt, either. She’d always had such a tender heart.
Midway down the stairs, he paused to listen. He’d made no effort to disguise his movements in the hopes that perhaps whomever it was thought there was no one home and might reconsider before they could be discovered. Sure enough, there was only the sound of wind rustling the drapes over the French doors that led to the back yard.
He considered going back upstairs and dealing with the glass in the morning, but realized he was much too awake for that to work. He might as well take a look at the damage now and at least get an idea of just how bad things were.
He’d reached the bottom of the steps and was reaching for the light when he felt cold steel pressing hard against his forehead.
“Are you Vernon Kelly?”
The male voice was oddly familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He wondered if this might be some crazed fan. He still got letters and phone calls from time to time, but he rarely answered the phone and he hardly ever looked at the stacks of mail.
“I am.”
He waited patiently for the man to either shoot him and be done with it or explain himself. He didn’t have long to wait.
“I’ve waited a very long time to meet you, Vernon Kelly. I owe you so much. You took everything from me, everything! And you’ve left me with nothing, so I intend to do the same to you. I’m going to do everything to you that you’ve done to me, and then I’m going to take everything you ever loved away from you until you have nothing left.”
Vernon couldn’t help himself. He laughed. The absolute and utter irony of that statement hit him with full force and he laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks.
“How DARE you laugh at me!”
Something heavy, hard, and moving at a rapid pace connected with Vernon’s face. He felt as if his jaw exploded and he lost his balance, sitting heavily on the steps beneath him. It just made him laugh harder.
Another blow, this time from what he was sure was a boot, connected solidly with his middle. This time the air was knocked out of him and all he could do was wheeze.
“Not laughing now, are you, you fat bastard.”
The voice spat the words out of his mouth. Vernon could hear the pain that laced the edges of that anger. He felt sorry for whomever it was. He knew the kind of pain that fed such a rage. When he finally regained his breath, he felt he owed an explanation.
“I’m sorry. You don’t understand.”
He panted heavily. His insides ached from the kick and he felt his stomach churning.
“The thing is, you can’t take everything I ever loved away from me. It’s already been done. That’s what was so funny.”
The sound of the safety being released from the gun filled the air.
“Then I’ll take your life, because that’s all you have left.”
Vernon couldn’t explain what made him do it. He was all set to die. He’d even been looking forward to it. Before he knew it, though, he found his hand reaching up to turn on the light switch. It blinded both himself and his guest.
When his eyes adjusted to the light he looked at his attacker and a shiver passed down his spine.
“Donovan?”
The coal black eyes locked on his like a predator targeting prey.
“So, you do know me.”
Vernon’s first thought was that he had to be dreaming. This just wasn’t possible. There was no way that this could be Donovan Cole. As he was battling to reconcile what his eyes were telling him with what his mind knew could simply not be, suddenly he found himself back in the upstairs bedroom with Lucy.
The skin of her hand was so fragile and thin he could see the afternoon light illuminating the veins and outlining the bones beneath it. He held it with the care he’d once held her porcelain sculptures, so afraid that he would accidentally hurt her.
“Promise me, Vernon.”
Her voice was barely a whisper, every breath an effort.
“I promise, Lucy. Just don’t leave me.”
He hadn’t meant to ask it of her. He wanted to be brave for her. He wanted to be strong enough to let her go, but he couldn’t make himself do it.
She looked over at him with those impossibly blue eyes, so much larger in her skull than they used to be, and squeezed his hand.
“Three signs.”
He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.
“What?”
She fought for her breath. He could see how much this was taking out of her, and wished for the millionth time that he could suffer in her place. He felt so helpless in the face of her disease.
“I’ll send.”
She took another breath.
“Three signs.”
She coughed hard, trying to clear her airway. It took her five more minutes before she could speak again.
“So you’ll know,”
She drew in another labored breath.
“I made it.”
Vernon shook his head. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want her to be anywhere but right here.
“Butterflies at my funeral.”
She fought on in spite of the pain.
“Your book a best seller.”
She closed her eyes and coughed again. The spasms wracked her body and he could see her face cloud up with the pain.
“Your words brought to life.”
She lay back on the pillow, too exhausted to speak any further. A peaceful smile stole across her face, and her breathing stopped.
Jarred by the memory of her last words, Vernon looked into the face of his would-be killer. The coal black eyes and hair, the scar above the right eye from a sword fight in his first mercenary assignment, he was 6’ 5” of masculine fighting machine exactly the way he’d written that character in his book.
“Oh my God, she did it. She really did it.”
And for the second time that night, Vernon Kelly laughed so hard tears began to drip down his face before a blow came that rendered him unconscious.