Beyond the Quiet Read online

  Wondering how much time had elapsed since Terry had collapsed, I smiled at Rick. Was Terry still breathing?

  Gathering my breasts in my hands, I pushed them to my mouth and stuck out my tongue as if to lick them.

  Rick’s erection tented his slacks. “Get your pants off,” he said, his voice a rasp. “I wanna smell your pussy again.”

  What? Smell my pussy? What was he talking about? Then I remembered. “My panties. It was you, that time in my house.”

  He smirked. “Yeah, it was me. I liked being in your house, touching all your things. You might’ve been out with dickhead there,” he indicated Terry with a nod, “but I was having my own fun. Just like I’m gonna have fun now.” He grabbed my hair and pulled me to him.

  “I can’t do it here, Rick. Let’s go into the bedroom. You can lie back and let me do all the work. I have a good tongue, and you won’t have to do a thing.” I reached up to fondle the bulge, then unzipped his fly. His erection sprang free. He smelled of dried urine and I had to keep swallowing so I wouldn’t gag, but I took a teasing, quick swipe with my tongue. I tasted unwashed flesh but I kept licking. Moaning, he closed his eyes and tilted his head.

  I pulled back. “I can’t do a good job here, Rick. Let’s get on the nice, comfortable bed.”

  He yanked me to my feet. Thank God!

  As we stumbled down the hall, his fingers still pulling my hair, I told him again exactly what I’d do to make it good for him. By the time we reached the bedroom, he was panting. He threw me on the bed and dropped his hands to unbuckle his belt. Immediately I rolled off the other side of the bed, yanked open the drawer of the bedside table, grasped the .45 and pulled it out of the drawer. Sliding the action backwards, I released it to chamber a round. The heavy click was loud. And unmistakable.

  Hands on his belt, Rick froze.

  Aiming at his chest, I assumed the police stance with legs spread and both hands gripping the handle.

  “Now, you sonofabitch,” I said, “get back into the living room.”

  “That thing loaded?”

  Not wanting to waste more time trying to convince him, I shot into the bed next to him. The boom was deafening in the small room and my arms jerked back from the kick, almost throwing me off-balance. The bedspread puffed up as if from an inward explosion, and when it settled, we could see a blackened hole about the size of a quarter.

  “Holy Jesus!” He backed away from the bed.

  “Hold it!” I yelled at him.

  Someone was shouting from the apartment on the other side of the bedroom wall and I heard running. To make sure they called the police, I fired again.

  “Are you crazy?” Rick yelled.

  I pointed the gun at him, but then I heard Terry’s voice, weakly calling for me.

  In the split second that I faltered, Rick lunged at me and we both sprawled to the floor. The gun flew out of my hands. Rick crawled over me to get the gun and I scooted to the nightstand for one of the twenty-pound geode bookends. Rick was just turning around to point the gun at me when I struck. With every bit of strength I had left, I smashed the geode against the side of his head. For just an instant, he looked at me with shock, then he sagged to the floor. I didn’t stop to look at him. Instead, I ran for the living room.

  Terry’s eyes were closed and I couldn’t hear him breathing. Oh no, oh no, please God. Placing my fingers on his throat, I felt his carotid artery for a pulse and felt a faint, erratic beat. Grabbing the phone, I punched in 9-1-1 and tried to keep my voice calm enough to tell them what happened. They said neighbors had already called it in and they were on their way.

  “Hold on, sweetheart,” I told Terry. He was barely conscious. “I’m getting help. Just hang on.”

  I ran to the bedroom, grabbed a blanket to cover Terry, then ran to open the front door and peer out. Where were they?

  Finally, in the distance, a wailing siren grew louder; it was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

  Cradling Terry’s head in my lap, I told him he was going to be all right, that the police were here. Then everything seemed to happen at once.

  The police pounded on the door and yelled for us to open up. Rick staggered into the living room, his hands bloody from the gash on the back of his head, a dazed look in his eyes. He was carrying my gun. I leaned over to protect Terry’s head and didn’t move. Several uniformed police burst through the door and Rick raised his hand. Someone shouted for Rick to drop the gun, but he just stood blinking at them. They shouted again then fired. Hit several times, Rick crumpled to the floor.

  It was over.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Rick was dead.

  Since shots had been fired, two uniformed officers separated me from Terry and led me into the kitchen. Four more officers, weapons drawn, secured the apartment. A young Hispanic officer questioned me.

  “Please,” I begged him, after telling him what had happened, “let me go to Terry. I won’t do anything, just let me stay with him. He needs to know I’m here, please....”

  “Just stay calm, Ma’am,” he said. “Is there anyone you’d like to call?”

  “Let me go!” Jumping up, I ran into the living room, the officer running after me, but I didn’t care. I had to get to Terry. “Call Jack Morales. He knows what’s been happening.”

  “Sergeant Morales?” The officer eyed me warily.

  Paying no attention, I took Terry’s hand. “I’m here, sweetheart,” I said, “everything’s going to be all right.”

  “Please, Ma’am,” the Hispanic officer said. “I don’t want to cuff you.”

  Just then several men and women from the fire department poured through the door, followed by the paramedics and more cops. Two detectives questioned me, taking careful notes about everything that had happened. Neighbors gathered outside the door and two teenage boys and an elderly woman in a robe eased into the living room before they were stopped. Within minutes, the entire apartment was filled with police officers and paramedics. One female paramedic with a ponytail crouched by Terry and examined him while another set up the equipment. I recognized a defibrillator. Backing away, I gave them room.

  “My God, it’s Chief O’Neal!” I heard one of the fireman say.

  “Yes,” I whispered, “it’s Terry O’Neal. That man,” I nodded in Rick’s direction, “tried to kill him.”

  An older cop kneeled next to Terry. “Hey, Chief, we’re going to take care of you. You’re going to be fine.” When Terry managed a weak smile, the cop stood.

  “I’m glad the son of a bitch who did this is dead,” he told me. “Chief O’Neal’s put his life on the line more than I can count. A hell of a man.”

  “Why, I remember back in ’92,” another one added, “I’d just joined the force and we got this call about a warehouse fire....” He told about the building collapsing and Terry’s heroics. Then a fireman joined in, adding his experiences with ‘The Chief.’

  Just then I heard the heavy thumping of the Flight for Life helicopter approaching.

  “We can’t waste time. Let’s get him out there,” the female paramedic said, working frantically, making sure the oxygen was securely attached.

  Then, it seemed every officer, whether it was a fireman or a member of the police, assisted in loading Terry onto the gurney and fought for the privilege of carrying him down the stairs.

  ***

  In the intensive care unit, the lighting was soft, the voices hushed. I sat by Terry’s side while he drifted in and out of consciousness. An IV ran from the top of his hand to the tall T-pole standing next to the bed, and the slim oxygen tube attached to his nose helped him to breathe. A monitor beeped with each heartbeat, and the green-numbered readings changed with constant updates on his blood pressure and heart rate.

  A heart attack, the doctors had diagnosed in the emergency room, perhaps due to a combination of the Taser and the drugs he was taking for his disease, and they didn’t know if he was going to make it through. Time, they said. If he lived throug
h the next forty-eight hours, he had a chance.

  Betty was on her way to the hospital. In honor of their thirty years together, I felt it was only right that she be notified. I was prepared to leave the room when she arrived, but I hoped she wouldn’t get here for a while yet. Not yet. I didn’t want to leave him.

  “Hello, honey,” Terry said suddenly in a voice that was so faint I could barely hear him. But he had spoken!

  I jumped up to caress his face with mine, careful not to disturb the tubes.

  “Oh, honey, don’t worry so,” he said. “It takes more than that punk to put me down. Could I have some water?”

  I held the straw to his lips so he could drink.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice a little stronger.

  “Now that you’re awake I am.”

  “Sorry I wasn’t the big hero for you.”

  “Sweetheart, you’ll always be my hero, but you need to rest and conserve your strength.”

  “Lisa, I want you to listen to me. If I don’t make it—”

  I squeezed his hand. “You’ll make it. I’m not ready to let you go.“

  He grinned, briefly reminding me of the man I loved. “There are some things even you can’t control. If I don’t make it, I want you to go to your daughter. You need your family, and you won’t have anything here to hold you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that now.”

  “Well I do, and since I’m the sick one, you have to cater to me. At least you’re supposed to. It’s a rule, you know.”

  “I thought you didn’t like rules.”

  “For you, I’ll make an exception. I always have, you know.”

  I couldn’t help it. I smiled.

  “That’s better,” he said.

  “But nothing’s changed, Terry. I’m still not financially secure enough to risk—”

  “Honey, don’t argue with me. Not now. But I want you to think about this. It’s all well and good to be strong, but when you never let your loved ones help, not only does it keep them at a distance, but it diminishes their own feelings of importance in your life. Give your daughter a chance to help you and you’ll help her as well.” He closed his eyes. “So sleepy....”

  Watching the monitor, I held my breath until I could see the numbers changing. He was okay, just sleeping. Needing reassurance, I watched his chest rise and fall. Only then did I sit back and think about what he’d said.

  Had I pushed Shanna further away by always trying to be independent?

  The door opened and Betty crept into the room, her thin face drawn and pale.

  “How is he?” Her eyes were wide, frightened.

  “Holding his own.”

  “Thank you for calling me,” she whispered.

  “The detective did that. I only gave him your name.”

  She nodded. “May I sit with him for a few moments? I won’t be long,” she said, her voice soft.

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you. You rightfully belong here more than I do.”

  I couldn’t believe she said that.

  “I’m sorry I said what I did to you,” she told me, easing down onto a chair. “I’m sorry for many things. I lied, you see. All those years ago, I knew he didn’t love me, but I wanted him.” She looked at his sleeping form and her eyes softened. “He was so handsome,” she went on, “all decked out in his uniform.”

  For a moment I could glimpse the young girl in love.

  “I knew he was a good man so I lied.”

  “Lied about what, Betty?” I had to know.

  “About being pregnant.” She took his hand. “That’s the only reason he married me. He was a good man,” she said again, “but he never loved me.”

  What a waste, I thought. All those empty years spent in lies and obligation when they each could have found someone to truly love them.

  I insisted on leaving the room. No matter how things stood between them now, she should have her chance to be alone with him. Perhaps he would awake again and she could tell him she was all right now.

  Standing by a window in the waiting room, I thought about empty lives. Until Terry had come along, mine had been just as empty as theirs had been, but now I had a choice as to how I lived the rest of my life. And I prayed that I could spend it with Terry.

  When Betty left, she paused for a moment. “Stay with him,” she told me. “You belong with him.”

  As I watched her walk down the corridor, I couldn’t help but admire her selflessness, and right now it didn’t matter if it came from guilt or genuine love. All that mattered was that I stay with Terry.

  I sat by his side the rest of the day and the next, keeping watch on the monitor, watching as his breathing grew more and more shallow.

  Please God, don’t take him. Not yet.

  ***

  Over the next couple of days his room filled with cards and flowers from friends as well as city and county employees. I had no idea Terry was so well-loved and respected. I only knew how much I loved him.

  It was three days before he regained consciousness again. He could barely speak, but his eyes held mine with all the love I could ever want. Wanting to be strong, I smiled confidently and squeezed his hand, determined to let some of my life force pass to him.

  Digging in my handbag, I took out a manila envelope of pictures I’d cut out from magazines and held up one for him to see, a picture of a modern motor home.

  “Thirty-three feet of luxury living,” I told him. “Why I could even drive it. You could sit back and watch the world go by.” When he smiled I felt elated. Oh God, please don’t let me cry.

  Next I held up a picture of a clam fry on a New England beach.

  “Lisa....” His voice was weak. “I want to tell you....” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

  “Terry! Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me....”

  “It’s all right, honey,” he whispered.

  I leaned down, my ear next to his mouth to hear every word.

  “I’d hoped for a lifetime with you,” he said, his voice barely audible, “and that’s what I got. My lifetime may have only been a couple of months, but it was glorious. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  He rested again and I kept silent, not wanting to miss anything he wished to say.

  “Perhaps this way is better,” he said finally. “I couldn’t stand living through the disease, knowing you had to witness what I would become.”

  I gripped his hand even tighter, desperate to be his life force.

  “I want you to think about your daughter now,” he said. “Go to her, if that’s what you want. To hell with furniture or worrying about the unimportant things. Just remember, honey. Happiness is loving other people and letting them love you.” He closed his eyes and his breathing became labored.

  No! Don’t leave me. I climbed onto the bed, lay down next to him and held him in my arms.

  “Find your heart’s desire and follow it,” he whispered. “Let your daughter and grandson know...what an adventurous spirit you have. Go out...and live.” He took one more breath, then his breathing stilled. The monitor screamed.

  Holding him tightly, I watched as his face relaxed. I felt a slight stirring of air, heard just the slightest whisper of love.

  “Good-bye, my darling,” I said, then kissed him for the last time.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  A month later, I closed and locked the door to Terry’s apartment for the last time. I’d already notified the managers that I’d be vacating the apartment and given them Shanna’s address for any final paperwork.

  After turning in the keys to the office, I exited and saw Stan and Maggie waiting outside.

  Maggie hesitantly approached me. “I’m so sorry, Lisa. If I could change things...”

  I made no move toward her. Observing both of them, I saw the pain in Maggie’s eyes and felt pity for her as I would toward anyone who was suffering. But it was as if I were looking at a stranger. I no longer held any animosity toward e
ither of them, but neither did I feel anything else.

  “You’ve certainly made some drastic decisions,” Stan said. “I wish you well, you know.”

  I heard a muffled sob from Maggie.

  “I used to love you, you know,” I said dispassionately to her.

  “Please, Lisa....”

  “I know you were in an awkward situation—”

  “Oh, Lisa,” she broke in, “if you knew how many times I wanted to tell you....“

  Listening to her, hearing all the unspoken words she wanted to say, I suddenly realized I no longer wanted to live in the past. But could I shut it out completely? Did I even want to? While the past may have been painful, it also held great joy—my time with Terry and discovering how to reconnect with my daughter. I still had a lot to learn, but at least I was on my way.

  “Perhaps one day we can talk,” I told Maggie. “Perhaps one day. But not now.”

  “You don’t hate me?”

  “I’m not sure what I feel, but I no longer hate you.”

  When she gave me a brief hug, I felt a momentary pang of regret, but I didn’t stop them when they walked to their car.

  Perhaps one day. ...

  Before leaving, I turned and gazed at the apartment building. It was just an ordinary building in the middle of a busy city, but for me it had been a fairy-tale place of fireworks and magic, a place of never-ending love that I had always wanted to find.

  Ten minutes later, heading west on I-10, I ran into a traffic jam and meandered over to State Highway 60, staying on it until I arrived in Santa Monica. I’d always loved the excitement of the pier, the Ferris wheel lights, the music, but today it was crowded with people and I didn’t want to bother. Then I thought of a small beach tucked away in San Pedro that I’d enjoyed a few years before. Perfect. Just right for today.

  Forty minutes later, after easily pulling into the ample parking area, I strolled the beach, carrying my shoes and feeling the moist sand between my toes. The sky was a hazy light blue and the water was a choppy slate-gray. Past a few sand dunes ahead, I could just make out the Long Beach city lights.