To Leap From Heaven [A Romantic Thriller]

21.

Carl took a few steps back feeling absolutely dazed. He couldn't believe his eyes. Nothing registered. His mind was blank. What he saw was absolutely impossible, and yet, there they were, right in front of his eyes. A numbness spread through his body. His hands fell limp to his sides, and he felt paralyzed. He was on the brink of getting a stroke or a heart attack. He stood still because for a few moments he had lost consciousness. Suddenly the reality of the situation returned, and his head exploded with the terror-stricken howls of a thousand raging demons from Hell. He held his head in his hands, but they would not stop. He opened his mouth wide like a person who wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

The wind rushing through the trees made the voices worse. He regained mobility of his legs, and in a trance he walked into a clump of trees. His insides were on fire as if a volcano had erupted within him. His mind and emotions were in a chaotic state while the fire within burned and torched his blood and guts. Carl fought with the tree trunks as if they were sparring partners, but he felt no relief from the boiling madness which threatened to spill over and give vent to a violent outbreak. His body shook violently like a man who was about to fall down in a paralytic fit.

His rage was so great that his knees buckled underneath him, and he fell down in the grass, writhing like a man possessed. He was out of control, and with difficulty he felt his pockets for his medication. In his disordered state he found them and took one while spilling the rest of it. He did not care, because the only thing that went through his mind was that tonight someone was going to die, and it sure as Hell, was not going to be him. By slow degrees the howling voices started to subside, and his shaking decreased. The fire in his bones died down slowly, and the wild look in his eyes disappeared. Inch by inch he lifted himself off the ground.

He stood up straight, and the look of anger was replaced by revenge. Slowly he walked back to the cabin. He wanted to make sure he was not hallucinating like the last time, but that what he was was real. He peered through the slit again, where he saw Catherine and Matt sleeping peacefully in each other's arms, and to add insult to injury, she was wearing the hoops he had bought her. He felt for his service revolver as he made his way to the front door. A calmness had come over him, and tonight they shall both die, even if it meant his execution. Standing a few feet away, he ran up the steps, and with a flying kick, he crashed through the door. Once inside, he switched on the lights. The entire cabin was lit up, and he saw everything clearly. He saw Matt's service revolver laying on the bedside table and he grabbed it, while releasing the safety catch and pointing it at them. 

-•-

The lovers were in dreamland when they heard the door crashing around their ears. At first they thought it was a tree that had crashed through the roof, but when they saw Carl standing over them with Matt's revolver in his hand, they jumped to their feet, and standing side-by-side held each other's hands. They saw murder in Carl's eyes, and a sinister smile which lit up his face.

Pointing the revolver from one to the other he said, “We don't have much time. Which one of you wants to die first?”

When Carl pointed the firearm at Catherine, Matt jumped in front of her, and screamed, “Cathy, run!!”

Carl pulled the trigger, and shot Matt through the heart.

Catherine could not believe her eyes. For a moment she stood transfixed when she saw her lover collapsing at her feet, while blood poured from his heart and mouth. The next moment she screamed as if she was going to lose her mind. Her scream came from the depth of her soul, and it had the anguish, grief, and heartache which only a lover could feel. It was too much for her.

She fainted. When Carl saw her lying in a fainting fit, a brilliant idea struck him. Catherine was going to be executed. She was going to die, in the eyes of the public for killing her lover. He hastily dragged her body to where he had stood, and placed the smoking gun in her hand. There would be none of his fingerprints on the firearm or in the cabin, because he wore standard issue gloves.

His communication system buzzed and he said, “Man down, man down, in the cabin. I have summoned the ambulance service, but there is no pulse. Hurry!”

When the other security personnel heard the shot, they hurried in the direction from which it came. Their earpieces were buzzing, seeking for information until they heard from Carl. They were on the scene in less than a minute, and Carl knew it was all the time he had. He had worked fast, and by the time they arrived, he was kneeling over Matt trying to stop the bleeding.

“He's gone,” he said to the others. They stood around while looking at the scene in total bewilderment. They looked at Catherine with the firearm in her hand.

“What about her?” someone asked.

“Fainted, I guess,” Carl answered. “I pressed the emergency button to summon the ambulance service. They'll be here any minute.”

Carl had pushed the emergency button on purpose, because he was afraid they might want to hush things up, or change the narrative. With external witnesses it would be difficult, or nearly impossible. The only people he could think of was the President's private ambulance service.

“What a mess,” one of them said.

“Indeed,” another replied.

One of them frantically tried to revive Catherine, but to no avail. They heard the sirens at the gate, which stood open for their speedy entrance. They headed straight for the cabin. When they arrived at 13.01 am, they declared Matt dead on arrival. The servicemen placed them on stretchers and sped off to the private hospital.

-•-

The shot had woken up the entire mansion, and in slippers, nightgowns, uncombed hair, and sleepy eyes, they were ushered into the library, where one security officer locked the door, and guarded it from the outside, while another took his position at the bookshelf, awaiting further instructions. They did not know from which side the threat may come, and was preparing for every eventuality.

Mrs. Rossdale looked around but did not see Catherine. She went to the locked door, and banging on it she screamed hysterically, “Catherine is not here. Open the door, because I want to go and get my daughter.”

“We searched her room ma’am, but she wasn't there. As soon as she's found, she'll be taken to a safe location. In the meantime I have orders not to unlock the door, or let anyone in or out, until the threat has passed.”

Mrs. Rossdale turned to her husband, and fell in his arms.

“My baby, where could she be? I hope to God she is safe,” she cried despondently.
When the threat had passed, the security officer unlocked the door, and told everyone it was safe to return to their quarters.

“Mr. President, I need to brief you on the situation,” he said after everyone had left. “Alone,” he added when he saw the First Lady remaining in the study.

“Is it about Catherine? Where is she? Have you found her? Is he back in her room?” she asked. The officer remained silent while looking at the President. A mother knows how to interpret silent looks, and she had the horrible feeling that something terrible had happened to her daughter.
“It's Catherine,” she wailed. “Has she been shot? I demand to know. I'm not leaving here until I know what has become of my baby girl.”

“Ok, my dear, you may stay, but you have to control yourself. Wait until the officer has told us what has happened.”

Mrs. Rossdale took a seat still shaken by the events of the evening and the uncertainty about Catherine.

The officer briefed them calmly and in his most soothing voice. The couple listened horrified to the tale of murder. He further informed them that he did not want to speculate on the events leading up to the incident, but that he was merely relating events as they had occurred, and Carl's version of it.

“Should we know more, the Head of Security will update you.”

He got up and left.

They sat frozen, unable to cry, or say a word. Their grief was too great. It felt as if their daughter's life had just ended. After a while the President picked up the phone and dialed two numbers, and the only answer he received was, “Yes, Mr. President.”

-•-

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