Young Love Murder (43 page)

Finally getting up and out of the armchair, I strip out of my clothes and take a shower. Resolve and determination are guiding me as I get dressed in a charcoal pair of slacks and black crewneck sweater. I notice that my black shoes are a little scuffed, so I grab a washcloth and methodically clean them. As I pack my belongings into my two suitcases, I leave out a few essential items. A few minutes later, I’ve called the pilots for my dad’s private jet and have a car on standby downstairs. 

I look around the luxurious suite once again. Annabelle’s belongings are scattered throughout and it’s the first time that I’ve looked at lingerie of hers and not been aroused.

Extreme highs and lows are all I’ve known since I first met her. Before that, my life was sort of like that movie where the guy wakes up every day to live out the same day over and over again. Routine, I guess would be a better description of it. I was going to class every day, partying and self-indulging in every way possible. Basically, just being your typical spoiled, wealthy teenager. 

Then,
bam!
I meet the girl of my dreams. 

Then,
bam!
The gun goes off that ends my dad’s life. 

Since then, I’ve mostly known extreme lows, the occasional high and total unpredictability. 

After the assignment in Australia, we were off to Barbados. That trip consisted of Annabelle’s next assignment, Jackson’s annoyingness and finally getting rid of Brent.
His
next assignment thankfully took him elsewhere in the world. After the assignment was completed, we spent an extra week there, making love on the beach, dancing at clubs and actually acting like two normal people in love. 

Love
. Even now, I still love her. I still love Anna. 

What’s so crazy is that I was becoming desensitized to my new environment, my new life. I didn’t even ask the details of this latest assignment in Sweden. I have no idea what the name is of the person Annabelle has been sent here to kill. I know that it’s a female and that this female is guilty of some sort of heinous crime against humanity or society. Or so Annabelle says . . . .

Do I want this life? Do I want to be this kind of person? 

First things first, I need to go home to bury my mother. 

The thought has crossed my mind that my mother’s soul is in jeopardy from committing suicide. My father was Catholic and my mom converted to Catholicism before marrying my dad. Of course, I was also baptized Catholic, but we didn’t go to church much. Mainly just on the important religious holidays. According to our religion, when you commit suicide, you lose your chance to enter heaven. Because you didn’t appreciate the life God gifted you with or something like that.

Is my mom in hell? Will she suffer eternally in death because she chose to end her suffering in life? 

I have to believe that isn’t the case. I don’t think God punishes you after death for not being strong enough to bear the pain in life. But why’d she do it? I know she loved my dad deeply, but she didn’t need to give up. I would have even welcomed a new step dad someday so my mom could have love again. She was still so beautiful, had so much to offer. She had so much life ahead of her. 

I know now I shouldn’t have left her alone in Miami to go off on my quest to find Annabelle. If I had been there to keep an eye on her, maybe I could have coaxed her into better mental health. I could have somehow saved her. A change of environment may have helped.

Now, all there’s left to do before I fly back to Miami is say goodbye to Annabelle. 

She should be back shortly. She and Jackson left this morning to complete the assignment and are expected to be done with it in a few short hours.
Easy kill
, was their description of the target. Strangely, or maybe not so strange after all, the words bring to mind my parents. Were they easy kills? Did I make it oh-so-easy for Annabelle to get to my father? I’m convinced of it. Will Annabelle get some sort of bonus for indirectly killing my mother? 

You never know. My dad was supposedly some sort of drug lord, mob boss and murderer-slash-businessman. Maybe my mom ran a sex slave operation while she wasn’t busy being a socialite housewife. Maybe she drowned puppies and ran over homeless people. 

To this day, I’ve never seen proof that my dad ever did anything illegal. I was hoping that one day, when our relationship wasn’t still so new, Anna and I could have a talk about the mistake she made in killing my father. Maybe we could have investigated and hunted down the person responsible for hiring her. That’s where I had thought the real villain lay, where justice needed to be served. During that same talk, I could have told Anna that I’d forgiven her. Then we could really put it all behind us. 

Interrupting my thoughts is the beep of the key card being swiped at the suite door. The handle goes down and the door begins to open. 

My suitcases are all ready to go and lined up near the doorway. 

Annabelle walks in, smiling. Her hair is reddish-brown again, like when we met. She dyed it back to please me. 

I raise the gun that I’ve been holding. Her brown eyes widen.  

I fire. 

Blood begins to bloom on her chest, soaking through her ivory shirt. 

As she looks at me in shock, still trying to digest what’s just happened, my own shock wears off . . . and I realize what I just did. 

Chapter 33

Annabelle

As I watch Gabriel raise the gun and point it at me, a familiar sense of inevitability washes through me. It doesn’t lessen the shock of the moment, though. Death at the hands of the person you love most in this world is never easy to take. 

Guess he doesn’t love me quite as much. 

Unlike the other times, I can see in his eyes that he means to do it. There’s almost a crazed quality to the look he gives me. He has the gun fully raised now. The shot fires and, even though I had those few seconds to brace myself, my entire body jerks back, a rush of air leaves my body. 

For a long moment, I look down at the red stain growing on my torso, then all strength leaves my body and I crumple to the floor. Falling onto my back, with my legs bent at the knees and to the side, I close my eyes. Opening them a moment later, I look up at the ornate ceiling of the suite. The sun from the large bay windows is reflecting off the gold molding above me, giving it a heavenly glow. I’m sure that’s all it is. I’m not so sure that heaven is for me. Not so sure that I even believe in it. 

It’s so hard to breathe. 

“Annie!” I hear Jackson call out from the doorway behind me at the same time I hear Gabriel shout, “Anna!”

As I struggle for breath, I rasp out, “No,” but I don’t know if it’s even loud enough to be heard. Ironically, I’m more fearful for Gabriel right now than I am for myself. 

Jackson is going to kill him. 

Gabriel’s face is suddenly hovering over mine. I feel no anger, just incredible sadness. In the back of my mind, I guess I always knew this was a very real possibility, but I just couldn’t let him go in order to save myself. Gabriel’s kneeling body is roughly pushed aside and Jackson’s face comes into view. 

“No,” I manage to rasp out more forcefully, looking Jackson straight in the eyes. The difficulty of getting the word out causes me to cough. The feel of blood spraying out of my mouth and onto my face as I’m coughing confirms the severity of my wound.

Jackson just shakes his head stubbornly as I plead with my eyes, not sure I have the air to speak aloud again. Finally, reluctantly, he nods. 

Gabriel is safe. 

I feel something being pressed against me and realize that one of them is putting pressure on the wound. “Hold this!” Jackson yells. The pressure is momentarily gone and then back again. 

Jackson’s face leaves my sight and Gabriel’s is back. The horror and devastation in his eyes does nothing to make me feel better. It is what it is. I’m not one to romanticize situations like this. They just plain suck. 

Through my pain and panic, I wonder about the shock on Gabriel’s face. What does he have to be shocked about? He’s the one who pulled the trigger. Did he not realize that my bleeding to death would be the result? 

Why now? What finally set him off? 

My eyelids feel heavy so I close them. I feel so tired and at the same time panicky and out of breath. Faraway sounding, Jackson starts yelling about paramedics and an ambulance, so I figure he must be on the phone with the front desk. I doubt dialing 911 would help here in Stockholm. Didn’t really think we’d ever need that info while here.
I thought I was invincible . . . .

I know I’m panting, gasping for breath since I feel as if I’m suffocating, but I can’t hear it anymore. There seems to be a roaring in my ears. Feeling dizzy, I force my eyes open to see Gabriel again. Before I close my eyes for good, I have to tell him something. 

His eyes are pleading with mine, with tears spilling over, and he’s saying something, but I can’t hear it. This is the end for me and him. Keeping eye contact with him, I have to tell him, I want him to never doubt it. When my mouth starts to move, he brings his face closer. 

“Loved you.”

Gabriel

When Anna closes her eyes, I feel as if my whole world is crashing down. My heart is beating so fast in my chest that I feel as if it’s going to burst.
Remorse
,
regret
,
pain
, those words aren’t nearly strong enough to describe what I’m feeling. Though her, I’m feeling death. 

‘Loved you’
was what she said. Not wanting to think about her exact meaning, I shake my head and glance up at Jackson, where he’s pacing, gripping the hotel room phone with white knuckles. I think the front desk put him through to an emergency line, because he’s staring at Anna on the floor and giving them information on her condition. 

I look back down at Anna and use the tail of my sweater to wipe the blood from the corners of her mouth. There’s too much blood pooled around us to effectively wipe up, but at least her face is cleaner. Still holding pressure on the wound with my free hand, I brush back a piece of hair that’s fallen into her eyes. Not that they’re open. 

Please open. 

I can’t believe I shot her. She could be dying right now. As the reality of the situation starts to really sink in, I briefly let go of the pressure on her wound and grip her shoulders, pulling her upper body onto my lap, cradling the back of her neck with one palm. Then I return the pressure, using the hotel towel that’s no longer white.

Her breathing is labored and I’m not sure if she has much time left. If these are her last moments, I just want to hold her, but I still have to keep pressure on the wound. The blood is flowing so fast. At the close range that I shot her, it went in through her front and out her back. Inadequately, I place a palm at her back to try to stop the blood flow. Her head falls limply back without the support of my hand.

I press my lips roughly against her forehead as my tears stream down my face. 

This is really happening. I killed my girl. I glance up at Jackson and meet his hard stare. There’s some comfort in knowing that I’ll soon follow her. Jackson probably won’t let me live to see tomorrow. I move my left ear closer to her lips, wanting to hear it, if she breathes her last breath. 

Even though I know she can’t hear me, I still have to tell her what’s in my heart. “I love you too, Anna. I’m so sorry, baby, I didn’t mean it. Please don’t die. But if you do, I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

Just then, there’s a knock on the door. Jackson moves to answer it. A short middle-aged man wearing glasses rushes through the hotel room, speaking rapid Swedish and carrying a black leather bag. The
thud
of Jackson dropping the phone on the floor sounds out right before he’s helping the man pull Anna out of my arms. I hand her over, hoping that this little man can work a big miracle.