Grasp of Darkness

Chapter Two

She plucked the thorns from the roses, some of them burying themselves in the pads of her fingers. She winced every time it happened, but relished in the pain, knowing that she had just spared a prick of a thorn from some other individual who would be lavishing in the love offered to them. They couldn't afford to be distracted from that; it was simply rude to allow that to happen.

"Doing great, Sweetheart," her manager called, offering her a broad smile. She was a beautiful woman, fulfilling her dream of opening her little shop in the city and bringing people just a small ounce of joy, if only for a minute. It's the simple things in life, she always said with an apathetic shrug.

"Thanks, Tilly!"

Life was good in the flower shop.

Life immediately turned a corner depending on which way she walked through the front door. If she walked inside, a sense of relief immediately overcame her, the knowledge that she would be safe for at least the next six or seven hours comforting her in her distress. When she walked out, the world was once again an arena, anyone becoming a threat.

The ring of the telephone broke through the silence. Her head whipped around to the landline as Tilly reached for it. "Hello?" she answered, her face immediately being pulled into a frown. "Oh, dear God." Tears filled her voice. "Is he alright? I have to–I see. Ok. I'll be there. Buh-bye now, buh-bye."

"Tilly?" Phoebe said, emerging from her little annex and reaching for the woman. Tilly's cheeks had become blotchy while her mascara ran down her face. "Tilly, what happened?"

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart. I'm sorry; I have to go. I've got to go." She pulled away from Phoebe, packing up her things. "Are you alright to run the shop by yourself? I know your shy, but can you please do it for me? Please?"

The risk of someone seeing her was far too great. But Tilly had done so much for her, far too much to ever repay. It was the least she could do. Besides, no one of consequence would waltz into a flower shop and recognize her. Most of them were in New York, anyway, waiting for her to pop out of some alley like a jack-in-the-box. One thing she had to attribute to his men was their lack of brain cells as a whole.

"Of course, Tilly," Phoebe said, giving her a smile of encouragement. "Make sure everything's okay. Take as much time as you need."

Tilly nodded. "You have a copy of the key? Just in case I can't come in for a few days? You need to open and close, Sweetheart, you know that right? Lock the doors, check the windows, be sure the place is clean?"

"Of course."

"Good girl." Tilly pulled Phoebe in for a hug before scurrying out the door, arm raised to call a cab.

...

Three days had passed since Tilly left. She left messages every now and again, the humor slowly seeping into her voice. Everything had gone to plan; nothing was too busy, and no one seemed to recognize her.

Sleep still evaded her, but her confidence in the idea of escape was slowly returning to her and Angela, especially over the course of the time Phoebe had run the shop. No one had caught them; no one would take them and Caty away. They were safe; they were sane; they were–she dared to say–happy.

The bell tinkled as she finished plucking the thorns off of one last rose. She turned toward the counter with a smile before it quickly faded, the space between her eyes being met with the cold barrel of a gun. Her heart sped up, erratic beats filling the silence. She hoped he couldn't hear it.

"Open the register; this doesn't have to be difficult," he said, his hand shaky as his finger laid on top of the trigger.

She nodded, opening the register.

Before she could give it to him, she hesitated. That was Tilly's money, not hers, Tilly's. Tilly who had been through so much, Tilly who had given her everything and more. She reached under the counter for the knife taped beneath it. It was her best shot; she had to defend the register, and she had to help Tilly no matter the cost.

She slashed at him with her blade, but he leaned back. There was no way she would win; they both knew that, but she had to show Tilly that she tried her best, that she did not do it for nothing and leave her disappointed.

She had to do it for Tilly.

...

Wailing was heard from above her as her eyes fluttered open.

"We have her! Keep it coming; the bullet wound isn't doing too well."

She let her eyes close again, allowing sleep to overcome her again.

...

Her eyes opened to a bright white light; she brought her hands to her face, noting a stabbing pain in her shoulder. She hissed.

"Mrs. Colombo?" a nurse called, poking her head around the curtain. She had not heard that name in a long while. Phoebe shot up despite the pain, panic filling her eyes.

"How do you know that name?"

"We took some blood and identified you; you didn't have any identification on you, so we just figured it out ourselves. You were quite popular, our Jane Doe, you know? But Phoebe Colombo suits you much better."

She breathed in, her eyes scanning the empty hospital room. He wasn't there, but there was no doubt that he would be soon enough.

"Oh, don't you worry, Sweetie. We called your husband. He was very worried, and he's on his way. What you've been through is so tough," she said, her lips forming into a slight pout in her sympathy. "I'm sure you'd love to have him by your side to help you through it."

For a moment, Phoebe considered telling the woman that she would have to be moved to the ICU. A heart attack was coming on.