I Can't Own You? (BOOK 1)

Epilogue

PLAY THE MUSIC

Blood.

I smell the irony scent of it. My popped eyes search Sam's petrified gaze. Blood on his chest...drips, some crawl down my face. In a delayed reaction, Sam stumbles, dropping his walking stick, patting at his injured chest and stomach roughly. In disbelief, trying to form words but his mouth can't say them. He gags on the blood, pouring from his chest; stumbling backwards.

I step after him, baffled, as he backs away to the other side of the bridge.

NO...THIS ISN'T REAL!!!

Sam's feet tangle, causing him to fall backwards, towards the bridge's railing. I grab his red soaked hand...trying to catch him, pull him in. "SAM!!" I sob, gripping his hand, a slippery palm breaks my heart as it rips away from me.

I lose his hand...it departs from mine painfully. Sam topples over the railing. In slow motion, I gape, watching his body fall over to the water below. I cover my ears, not wanting to hear the splash. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" I wail, running to the blood-streaked railing, glancing over to spot a pool of red spreading the water around Sam's body, fast.

My baby's eyes motionlessly stare upwards, cold, startled, and dulling.

"NOOO!!!" I jump over the bridge's rail, flying down into the water, falling, and landing hard onto its surface, splashing to my love. "Do something, please...someone!!!! HELP!!" I bellow at the people in the playground who shield their children and watch, stunned.

Sam's chest and abdomen leak red, a thick, spewing fountain of blood...so much blood. I shake him, rocking his body. Sobbing, wailing, and losing my sanity.

My heart.

The weight of his emotionless, green eyes, brings a wrenching, shattering screams from my mouth. Buzzing, throbbing, and crying is all I hear. My attention stays on Sam, eagerly searching for movement. A glint, a sign of his affection...nothing. Nothing at all.

He's gone...

My hands press at his chest and stomach, adding weight. My heartbeat drowns out all sound. "NO. NO. YOU'RE NOT DEAD. YOU'RE NOT DEAD!!!! BREATHE, PLEASE. SAM!!!" I perform CPR on his ruined chest, vigorously, raging, crying up a storm.

REBA

FLASHBACK - 9 AM, EARLIER

I pace the kitchen, in front of the wall phone, waiting on Chris's call, jumping to bad outcomes. He hasn't called since last night. I walk to the front door, peering out of a window to see a cop car staking out. "What's wrong?" Phil queries, a sound of dread in his voice.

"I'm waiting on his call."

"There's nothing to worry about..."

I turn to my husband. "Yes, there is, how can you say that?"

"Because I feel it."

An automatic gun spits from outside. I back away from the door, a hand on my heart. Phil nears it with a shotgun. "Phil, no!"

POP.POP.POP.POP.POP.

Five bullets ricochet through the glass. One to Phil's throat, two into his arms, and two into his head. Blood rains onto my face...onto the walls. I shriek breathlessly, falling to the floor, scooting away from my husband...who's face is blown into red paste; dark and disfigured.

The knob of the door is shot off. I scoot backwards, using my weakening arms. My skin fierce with goosebumps. The door is kicked down. A red-haired man points an AK47 my way. My heart rattles my chest, chilling like ice. I get to my feet and run down the narrow hallway, leading to the study.

POP. POP.

Two, hot bullets break the skin of my back, scraping out clumps. I fall face first to the floor; whimpering...crying out in agony. The barrel of the gun pokes at my side, before turning me over on my back. The man points the gun at my head. I lose air...my body goes numb of reaction. My eyes shift to the family portraits on the wall, now splattered with blood.

Mines.

Pictures of Phil and I on our wedding night, black and white. Of Chris's first bubble bath and first birthday...smashed cake, and a joyful beam on his face.

I gulp deeply, my face streaming with tears and stinging with prickles.

POP.

FRANK

I lower my sniper, smiling at the panic I've caused, the parents and kids in the park gawk at the murder bath. I drape the sniper over my shoulder. The guy's wounded screams sing to my location, which is a few blocks away.

This is the lesson James should've gave...a simple killing is too easy for someone who tested you, too weak...

The best revenge is torture.

KAREN

I peep in on James as he sits in the conference room. He hasn't left the room since yesterday. His hands clutch at his head as if trying to crush it inward; using much pressure. I ignore the boundaries and flee to him. "Are you okay?!" I grab his hands from the side of his head. "Who did you have killed...?"

James gives no response.

CHRIS

In a hazy state, the people flee the park, and onto the streets frantically. I watch the bloody water soak my clothes, my hands. I sit in it, numb, dead inside, unresponsive. I lay beside Sam's pale body, cuddling up against it, and into the nape of his neck...trying to catch his minty scent through heavy salt.

We're in the car going to Nebraska...we're not here. We can't be here...

Sam, just....hold me!!!

Someone pulls me away from the love of my life's body, I cling to it. The sound I want to make, my throat doesn't allow; it's burnt, made of sand paper...faded and useless.

"Get the fuck up." A man's voice orders distastefully. I don't care to, I don't obey when he places a gun barrel to my temple. My eyes don't move from the red water. The man pulls me by the collar, flinging me from the pond, dragging me through grass, dirt, and concrete, like a rag doll. Away from all the hell.