Virtuous Deception 2

Book 0: Loyalty Series

by Leiann B. Wrytes

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

When Michelle tunneled into her family’s history, she triggered a truth bomb that exploded into an inferno scorching everyone in its wake.
When the smoke cleared, Michelle had lost her father to the grave and her mother to a truth so painful recovery seemed improbable. Teetering along the edge of hopelessness, her grasp on reality is rapidly thinning as her world collapses. When infidelity strikes her last safe place, the effects of the betrayal are brutal, pitting Michelle against everyone and everything she loves.
Sophie Lewis is trying to build a relationship with her estranged daughter, Brianna, when an old love returns, bringing a consortium of hurts along with him. Peter Baxter is intent on rekindling their flame, but Sophie has good reason to be hesitant. His presence breathes life into parts of her she’d rather leave buried, further complicating her fragile situation. Will Sophie survive the revival of her past, or will she be forced to disappear again?
After narrowly escaping death at the hands of her ex-lover, Javan, Brianna views life in a completely different light. Struggling to recapture the peace she once enjoyed, Brianna seeks comfort in all the wrong places. Desperation permits the unthinkable as she finds herself on the wrong end of a love story. Will this love offer her salvation, or will it bring death back to her door?
They each soon learn that even a lie is stitched with a pocket of truth, as their lives continue to unravel in ways they never imagined; cementing in their minds, above all else, that life isn’t a game you venture to play...unless you’re playing for keeps.

Release date: July 30, 2019

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

Michelle stood with eyes blazing like embers, narrowing into slits, as her lungs scraped the atmosphere for the oxygen she was suddenly without. The hurried cadence of her heartbeat bellowed in her ears, effectively muting all other sounds. The sight of Charlie, her father’s very pregnant mistress, shaking her mother’s hand left her speechless.

Their first meeting flashed across her mind, blinding her to the present happenings. There were no visible signs of pregnancy then, at least none that she could recall. Following a lead, Michelle had found herself sitting across from Charlie to gather information regarding a case, when the sound of her father’s boisterous voice rattled the hotel room.

Lewis, ignorant of Michelle’s presence inside the suite, unwittingly confirmed his association with Charlie. Both she and Charlie had been disturbed by her father’s menacing ramblings from the other side of the door. She remembered Charlie rubbing her stomach, and this belly was certainly absent. Michelle would not have believed there was any type of relationship between them had she not heard it for herself. Much to her dismay, she soon learned he had many partners, as it were; one of whom was Lisa, Michelle’s twin sister’s adopted mother. His untimely death left him unable to obviate, forcing Michelle to inescapably accept most of what she heard as gospel.

Now this woman made herself available for the reading of his last will and testament. She stood a few feet from Michelle, speaking with her mother, Sophie, like they were old friends. Michelle seethed. Here this woman was, staking a claim in the inheritance that her father left for his children, politely holding her round belly, professing that his DNA mingled with hers to form that bastard child.

Her very presence in Sophie’s home was nothing short of contemptuous. Not only had she shown complete and utter disrespect for Sophie by bedding her husband, but she sauntered into her home, adding insult to injury. Michelle left her fiancé, Armand, seated on the couch, allowing her mounting displeasure to force her legs into action, quickly moving her toward the source of her rising anger.

Her torso tightened as a recollection of the accusation pitted itself in her lower abdomen. Her father’s last words to Charlie replayed in her mind, insinuating the truth of Charlie’s claims. No one disappears with anything that belongs to me. As far as Michelle was concerned, the truth was irrelevant. Charlie had no right to be there.

“Get your ass out!” Michelle’s words cracked the air like the tip of a whip. Her mother may have been willing to play nice, but she was not. She could see Brianna, her twin sister, watching from the corner of her eye, appearing a bit amused by it all.

Sophie damn near broke her neck turning to see Michelle at her side. “Michelle Kaye!”

Though Michelle had not spoken to her mother much over the last month, she was not about to let this trick disrespect her mother in her presence. She ignored her mother’s beleaguered stare, keeping her eyes trained on Charlie, who had yet to move. Michelle’s body grew rigid, her fists hanging like hammers at her sides.

“Didn’t you hear what I said? Leave my mother’s home. Now!”

“I have a right to be here! This is your brother, and he—”

POP!

Before Charlie could complete her sentence, Michelle rammed her fist into her open mouth. Charlie’s thin lips swelled as blood filled her mouth. She stumbled back in shock, careful not to fall.

Sophie watched the scene unfold in horror, stepping in front of Michelle out of reflex. She draped her arm around Michelle’s body in a crescent moon. Entrapped by the moment, Sophie wedged herself between Michelle and Charlie, trying to clasp her hands together behind her back. She kept Michelle behind her as she continued to hurl profanities at Charlie.

“Bitch, why would you disrespect my mother like this? Get out!”

Michelle’s eyes were like lasers, sending the sensation of legions of spiders scurrying up her arms. Charlie’s fear-fraught eyes revealed that she realized the mistake she had made with her decision to come. Michelle watched as she frantically scanned the room for a friend, finding none. She had no intention of fighting Charlie, especially in her condition, but she would not allow her to stay.

Charlie regained her balance and walked toward Sophie. Permitting her open hand to connect with Charlie’s face again, Michelle, who stood a few inches over her mother, stretched her arm over her shoulder fairly easily.

SLAP!

“Damn whore! Let me go!” Michelle tried to wiggle free of her mother’s grasp. Her body, long since surrendering itself to the maddening rage, jerked impulsively. “Let me go!”

Sophie held onto Michelle as best she could. She didn’t want her daughter getting into any trouble over this slut. A winded Sophie stared wildly at the whore.

“Why won’t you leave? Are you trying to cause trouble?”

Hearing the distress in her mother’s voice, Brianna sprang to her feet to assist Sophie in corralling Michelle. She closed the distance between them in seconds, stepping in front of Sophie but facing Michelle. She attempted to deescalate the situation by communicating with her twin. Brianna lifted her hands like goal posts into the air, motioning for Michelle to relax. She maintained eye contact as Michelle momentarily stopped trying to get free.

“Chel, it will be okay. Calm down. We—”

At that precise moment, a sharp pang in Brianna’s back propelled her forward onto Sophie, causing the three to stumble away from Charlie. The impact was from the one and only punch Charlie would have the opportunity to throw. Brianna winced at the slight pang in her lower back, then turned and immediately swung in retaliation.

This time, it was Brianna’s fist that connected with Charlie’s nose, causing a fresh river of red to flow, but Brianna did not stop. She kept swinging until Armand grabbed her and dragged her, kicking and screaming, into the kitchen.

Fortunately for Charlie, Michelle had begun pulling her toward the door, away from Brianna’s jabs and out of harm’s way. The sharp prick from Michelle’s nails digging into her shoulders was mild compared to the bruises she would have had if one more of Brianna’s punches had gotten her.

Charlie did not have time to offer a word of thanks, though; Michelle opened the front door and dragged her sore, swollen body outside.

“Don’t ever bring your ass back to my mother’s home.”

Charlie gasped audibly as she looked up at Michelle and saw that same evil in her brown eyes that she had once seen in her father’s. Michelle went back into the house and slammed the door, locking it behind her.

Sophie was still standing in the same spot Michelle had left her when she came back into the living room. The lawyer who had read the will seemed to be frozen in place by the hoopla, too. Armand and Brianna were missing in action. Michelle started to go and find them when Sophie called out to her.

“Michelle . . . can we talk a minute?”

Michelle still did not want to talk to Sophie. She was her mother, and she loved her, but she had not figured out how to forgive her, though a day rarely passed without Sophie asking for it. Charlie needed to be checked. Although Michelle was upset with her mom, she was not about to let anyone disrespect her like that.

“Please, Number One.”

Michelle decided to oblige her and took a seat on the couch. Sophie sat down beside her and motioned for the lawyer to give them a minute. The gesture freed him from his trance, and he quietly left the room, signaling that he had to make a phone call.

“Michelle Kaye, what was that about?”

Michelle looked at her mom, incredulous over the question. Surely she was not referring to her kicking out her husband’s mistress after she had boldly waddled her ass into her home like she had an invite.

“Mom, you know what that was about.”

“Michelle, you assaulted a pregnant woman.”

“I hit a bitch. The fact that she was pregnant was not lost on me.”

“Michelle!” Sophie lowered her voice and spoke sternly, like the change would usher in some understanding Michelle had yet to realize, in an effort to drive home some important point. “That is not the issue. Do you realize what you’ve done?”

Michelle shot Sophie a questioning glance.

Sophie shook her head in frustration. “She has grounds to press charges against you. Do you get that?” She paused to allow her words to register. “She could have you locked up over this.”

Michelle stared blankly. It was not that she didn’t understand; she simply didn’t care. Let her try. I have a few tricks of my own.

“Brianna, you need to calm down. What were you thinking, hitting that woman?” Armand sat on a stool at the kitchen island, watching Brianna pace back and forth across the black-and-white tiled floor.

Brianna rolled her eyes and blew out an exasperated breath. “What are you talking about? Your fiancée started it, not me!”

Armand shook his head. Brianna’s head was as hard as limestone. “I know that, but you attacked that woman.”

“After she hit me! It was self-defense.”

“Brianna—”

Brianna stopped pacing and looked at Armand. “Why are you even in here talking to me? Shouldn’t you be having this conversation with your future wife?”

Armand’s body stiffened a bit. He rubbed his hands over his face to calm himself. “Look, I am just trying to look out for you.”

“Well, don’t. I don’t need you.” Brianna spoke the words, but she knew she was lying. She wanted Armand to care. Needed him to care. Since the kidnapping, being with him was the only thing that gave her peace. But each time he left her . . . she was reminded that he did not belong to her. He never would.

“You are living too reckless, Brianna. Taking unnecessary risks.”

Brianna knew he was referring to Javan, the monster who had kidnapped her a month before. Armand had rescued her from that nightmare—some real cowboy, guns-blazing type stuff. He had stormed in to where she was being kept, grabbed her, and scooped her off to safety, but when he returned to the house to finish the job, Javan was nowhere to be found.

He had made her his personal responsibility. He even moved her into the new house that he and Michelle had recently purchased. He spent time with her every single night, if only for a few minutes. He tended to her even more than Michelle did.

Brianna could not lie; she was terrified. Everything scared her. She had to fight to function. This was not her fault. The numbness she resided in was the result of her being afraid of absolutely everything. She found it was the most effective means by which she could attain some semblance of a life. Brianna knew it was not the healthiest way to live, but it was the only way she could for now.

“Javan is not coming back, Armand. You kicked his ass, remember?”

Armand’s thick eyebrows furrowed, and she knew her sarcastic indifference had not gone unnoticed. Sarcasm fared better than the truth.

“Brianna, I never found him. He’s still a problem until I do. It is better to have a definite no than a probable yes, especially in this situation.”

“Yes, yes . . . I know. But I’m not worried. As long as you are around to protect me, I have nothing to worry about, right?”

Armand stared at Brianna sincerely. He ran his hands through his curly hair and took a deep breath. “That’s right. I’ll be around to take care of you.”

There was a real love smoldering for her within him, and it was plainly visible to her. As long as she needed him, he would be there, pure and simple. Michelle was his world, his life partner, but Brianna knew her stock increased a little each day.

Shit. The look on Michelle’s face foreshadowed the storm headed in his direction.

Ignoring Brianna, Michelle walked past her, stopping just inches away from him. “Where were you, Armand?”

Squinting his eyes and biting his bottom lip, Armand cut his eyes at Michelle. He glanced at her for a mere moment before picking a spot beyond the island, the breakfast nook, and through the French doors, to a spot in the backyard to focus on.

“Clearly, I was in here, Michelle.”

“That is obvious . . . isn’t it?” Michelle cocked her head to the side and lowered her face to his, intentionally interrupting his line of sight. “Why are you in here?”

Armand threw a subtle look in Brianna’s direction, catching the smile plastered across her face. There was nothing amusing about this situation to him. Using the island’s counter to force himself upright, Armand staggered back until he felt the hard edge of the large steel country-style sink cutting into the small of his back. Folding his arms across his chest, Armand tried to rest against it comfortably.

“Michelle, can we not do this right now?”

Michelle did not move an inch. She stood so still he wasn’t sure she had even taken a breath. She didn’t bother to look in her sister’s direction, but it was painfully obvious who she referred to with her next request.

“Give us a minute, please.”

Good luck, Brianna mouthed to Armand before vacating the kitchen.

Satisfied that they had the space to themselves, Michelle picked up their conversation.

“Why are you in here, Armand?”

Armand sighed deeply, already seeing where this banter was going. He didn’t want to answer, but his silence would only prolong his torment.

“I grabbed Brianna and brought her in here, Michelle, but you knew that.”

“So, you chose to help her again?”

“Michelle . . .”

“You chose her over me . . . again?”

“Don’t do this shit right now. I am begging you. She was fighting a pregnant woman, Michelle. Do you know how much trouble she could get into if that woman presses charges?”

“Yes! Probably about as much as I could get into since I hit the bitch first. Or were your eyes too fixated on my sister to notice?”

Armand dropped his arms to his sides and walked toward Michelle, his eyes wide with disbelief. His voice ballooned into a loud whisper as he struggled to keep his voice at a respectable volume in her mother’s home.

“You are bugging the fuck out! What is wrong with you?”

“You didn’t come to my rescue. Didn’t rush in to protect me.”

“Stop with the theatrics. This is fucking stupid.”

“Stupid?”

“Stop talking like I left you in a dark alley or something. I left you, temporarily, with your mom. Brianna didn’t have anyone. She doesn’t have anyone! I am just trying to look out for her.”

“She’s a grown damn woman. You are supposed to have my back, Armand! Mine!”

Armand felt his patience thinning. Michelle was being completely unreasonable. “You should be glad that your man cares about your family, your sister.”

“Don’t do that, Armand. That isn’t what this is about. Of course I’m glad you care, but not at my expense! You proposed to me, Armand, but you act like you’ve got the wrong twin.”

Armand threw his hands into the air in frustration. “I cannot believe you went there. That is straight bullshit, and you know it, Michelle. You are the only woman I have ever loved, besides my mom. You’re jealous over nothing.”

As she folded her arms across her chest, Michelle’s face conveyed her disbelief. “I know what I see, Armand.”

“What you think you see, you mean? I know the woman I fell in love with over two years ago, and she is not this jealous little girl standing in front of me now.”

“She is not the only one that needs you, Armand.”

“So, I’m not here for you? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, you are not, evidenced by your behavior today.”

“You are making me fucking crazy. Seriously.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Shaking his head in bewilderment, Armand decided to end this battle. “Whatever, Michelle. I’m going to check on your mother, if that’s okay with you?”

Accepting her silence as consent, Armand left the kitchen to find Sophie. Michelle was losing her mind, but her words still cut him. He didn’t want her thinking of him that way. He loved her, no matter what. He loved her, and that should not be something she was still questioning.

The sea of blood surrounding his wife sent Frank crashing to his knees, crying out to no one in particular. Lisa’s body lay still, covered in her life’s liquid after collapsing on the floor just below the bar. There was so much crimson that Frank could not tell where the self-inflicted injury had occurred. He crawled to his wife’s side, visually checking for any signs of life. Though his eyes failed to locate any, his heart refused to concede to her departure. Reaching for the cordless phone on the bar’s surface, the catalyst for this tragic event, with shaky hands, he called for help.

“Please state ya emergency.”

“Please, someone help me.” His words, echoing his distress, were barely audible as tears continued to fall from his eyes. “My wife. She needs help. And I can’t . . . I can’t help her.”

“Sir, what’s ya name?”

“Frank.”

“Thank ya, Frank. Help is on the way. I need ya to answer a few questions.”

“My wife. Please.”

“We are sending help to ya wife. What is ya wife’s name, sir?”

“Lisa.” Frank continued sobbing, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Are ya calling from Le Petit Hotel, sir?”

Frank nodded, thinking he’d answered the question.

“Sir? Is that correct?”

The repetition of the question jolted him out of his haze. “Yes.”

“Thank ya, Frank. Can ya tell me what happened to Lisa?”

Frank began heaving heavily. His body shook with grief.

“Frank, Frank . . . stay wit’ me, sir. I need ya to stay calm. Help is coming. I need ya to tell me what happened.”

“That bitch! She did it!” A yell stretching from the deep recesses of his soul suddenly came roaring out as he realized Charlie was to blame. His deep, baritone voice raggedly poured through the walls of Lisa’s suite and down the hallway of the chic hotel.

The operator strained to hear his words through his incessant cries. “Sir, I am sorry. Could ya repeat that?”

“She killed my wife!” Frank continued to cry into the phone.

“Who, sir? Who killed ya wife?”

Frank, teetering on the edge of sanity, could scarcely speak. “Charlie.”

“Charlie killed ya wife, sir? Am I hearing that correctly? Is this Charlie in the room, sir?”

The emergency operator dispatched the ambulance and the police.

“Can you describe Charlie, sir? Did ya see her harm ya wife?”

“No, but . . . but she did it. It’s her fault.”

While the operator transcribed the details of the circumstances as he relayed them to her, she alerted the authorities about a probable suspect in the area, possibly armed and dangerous.

“Frank, help should be dere any minute.”

The operator contacted the front desk to confirm that they were aware of the developing situation and passed along Lisa’s room information to the officers en route.

“Frank, are ya still there?”

Frank was lying beside Lisa with his head resting atop her stomach. Her hazel eyes were hidden from his view. He closed his and reviewed their last conversation, just thirty minutes old.

They had laughed and played like old times. He’d had real hope for their future together. The prospect of them repairing their marriage looked promising. He had traveled from the States all the way to Saint-Martin to get her back, only to lose her like this. One phone call had destroyed his entire world. Why had she done this to herself, to him? Didn’t she know how much he loved her?

Lisa, please don’t leave. I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. Don’t leave me.

“Frank, are ya there, sir? Please respond.”

“I’m here.”

“Good. Can ya open the door, please? The paramedics are dere.”

Frank reluctantly left Lisa’s side to open the door. The paramedics rushed in, and one of them, upon noticing the blood he was covered in, attempted to assist him.

“It’s not mine.”

He looked at his beautiful wife and fell apart all over again. His eyes were so puffy he could barely see. The paramedics put her on a gurney and prepared to take her to LCF.

“Sir, are you Frank? My name is Fabrice. Frank, can you walk?”

Frank didn’t respond. He simply put his arm around the medic and looked at him with bloodshot eyes, still oozing with pain. Nothing else was said. He and the medic headed out the door just ahead of the gurney.

A detective flashed his badge, stopping them in the hallway. Frank tried to figure out why he was there, but it soon became evident once the proper introductions were made.

“Excuse me. I’m Detective Baptiste. That there is my partner, Detective Saenz.” He pointed to an older gentleman standing just down the hall, speaking with the paramedics moving Lisa. “Are you Frank?”

Frank nodded but did not speak.

“I need for you to answer some questions for me now. Tell me what happened here?” Topping out at five feet eight inches, the young detective was roughly five or six inches shorter than Frank, but he made up for his height with a few extra pounds of muscle that his dirty gray suit failed to hide.

“She killed her.”

The detective looked at the medic holding Frank up. The medic shook his head. Lisa had not been pronounced dead as far as he knew. He could not confirm one way or the other. He had spent his time with Frank.

“Say that again? Who you say did this?” Baptiste flipped through the pages of his pocket pad, scribbling a note for reference later. “Are you talkin’ about a Charlie, no?”

The young detective looked at Frank’s eyes to gauge his response to the name the dispatcher had given him. He processed the gleam in his eyes and the slight quivering of his lips as confirmation that Frank was familiar with the proposed assailant.

“Where is this Charlie person?” Baptiste pressed Frank for Charlie’s whereabouts. Time was a precious commodity, but he was doubtful that Frank’s claims were true. “Tell me da truth now. Describe dis Charlie person. Come on now.”

Detective Saenz had concluded his part, allowing the others to proceed with the transport. The paramedic did not want to interfere, but with his own sordid history with the police on his mind, felt he had no choice. “Detective Baptiste, we really need to be going now. His wife’s condition is critical. The others cannot go without me, and him.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what’cha doin’. You are interfering in my investigation!”

Shaking his head, the paramedic explained further. “I think any husband would want to be with his wife at a time like dis one.”

Baptiste eyed the paramedic but conceded to his request. Locking eyes with Frank, he made himself perfectly clear. “Fine, take him, but don’t ya try to leave the island, sir. I have eyes at Princess Juliana Airport.”

This story did not make sense to Detective Baptiste. There were too many details missing. The proposed assailant was conveniently missing, and with no physical description, this “Charlie” was practically invisible. Perhaps this person had hurt Ms. Mason, but Detective Baptiste had no choice but to start with what he had: Mr. Mason.

He called to the station. “Officer Claude, run a background check on a Mr. Frank Mason, registered at Le Petit Hotel. Use his passport information and anything else you can find on him. I need to know everything on dis guy as soon as possible.”

The tarred four-lane road felt like a narrow back alley as Frank’s world continued closing in on him. He sat near Lisa’s head, holding on to her hand, wishing, hoping, praying for her to be okay. Conditions in the ambulance resembled a sauna, and he couldn’t seem to fill his lungs with enough air, regardless of how many breaths he took. Sweat leaked from every pore in his body. The possibility of losing her overwhelmed him. If he didn’t relax, he would end up in a bed right beside hers.

Finding it difficult to sit comfortably on the small, tattered, plastic-covered cushion in the back of the ambulance, Frank struggled to will his body still. He forced his eyes away from his wife, concentrating on the small, square window pane carved in the back door of the ambulance. He used that focal point as a temporary means of escape for as long as he felt he could.

Rolling hills of plush green grass stretched as far as the eye could see, interrupted only by stints of the sea flanking the French side of the island. Flashes of Lisa, lying on the floor, covered in blood, assaulted his mind as the ambulance shuffled him about, roaring westward, to the nearest hospital, Hôpital Louis-Constant Fleming.

The chatter of the emergency workers did not register. No sirens rang in his ears, only the soft crush of the water upon the beach and his name on her lips tickled his hearing.

Nature’s impressionist stroke animated their life’s canvas in his mind. Reminiscent of an early Hitchcock film, their years together replayed in silence, bringing him closer to the edge of a world he could not imagine without her. Mustering his mental strength, Frank focused on the tauntingly blue Caribbean waters, a therapeutic technique aimed to combat his anxiety. But even as he submitted his thoughts to the fading waters, a little voice within him echoed a bitter sentiment. Nothing short of a miraculous healing could succor his heart at this moment.

As the medical vehicle hugged the curves of the winding road, loosening his perspective of the sea, Frank turned his gaze again to Lisa. He desperately needed her to smile, to laugh, to come back to him.

This could not happen. Frank could not let her die in paradise. It didn’t seem fair that the place where she felt most alive should be the place that would take her life. Surely karma would not be so cruel. He believed that, much like the winding road shifted the shape and size of the massive sea, this moment only appeared to weaken Lisa, but it had no more power over her than the road had over the waters. She would come out of this stronger and more beautiful than before.

Without warning, a mordant pain sprouted from his temple, wrapping itself around the crown of his head. Instinctively cupping each side of his head, Frank scrunched his body inward, blinking rapidly as the intensity of the throbbing continued to increase. Frank’s vision deteriorated, the pain acutely impairing his ability to see. His body felt aflame as he closed his eyes, praying the hell would pass. His square jaw line grimaced in agony, yet no sound escaped him, not even a small grunt.

Frank sat mute, writhing in pain for what seemed an eternity. He lost twenty seconds but opened his eyes to the white sands of the beach, the grand shadow of Le Petit Hotel looming over him. He could feel Lisa standing behind him, her finger playfully poking the palm of his open hand as it hung at his side. Lisa.

“Excuse me, sir.”

Something was pulling him away from his thoughts. He shook his head, trying to hold onto the fading image. He spun around, and with her hand clasped in his, traced her profile with his free hand. I love you. His pain was a distant memory, like it had never happened it all. Lisa was smiling, joking, very much alive. Nothing else mattered. He could hear children laughing in the distance, feel the sun on his face. He felt a peace come over him, his heart finding a calm place to hide as fantasy became reality.

“Move, sir. Move quickly now,” a voice instructed from somewhere outside of his vision, pilfering the scene, confusing his thoughts as he blinked, toggling pictures of reality and dreamlike slides on a projector. He stared at a pixelated Lisa as Frank felt his body swaying. He looked down to find an unfamiliar hand gripping his arm, shaking it with enough force to pop it out of place. Searching Lisa’s eyes for an answer, his heart began to splinter as she faded. No, no no. Where are you going? Don’t leave!

“Move now, sir. Move!”

His eyes grew wide as Lisa, the beauty of the day, and the beach disappeared completely, replaced with the interior of what he thought was a small room. Frank gaped wildly at his surroundings, trying to reclaim the last few minutes, fighting the disorientation as best he could. Nothing looked familiar to him. There was only a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. He couldn’t make anything out. A chill swept over him as he scrambled his thoughts to make sense of things.

“What is going on?” he mused out loud.

He looked down again at his arm. The man was still shaking it. Frank did not see the medical equipment scattered about, packed into the back of the ambulance. He did not notice the uniform the emergency technician wore to identify himself.

“Let go, sir! Ya have to let her hand go now!” the man requested more urgently than before.

Lisa’s hand remained tucked firmly within Frank’s grip. The two large glass doors of the hospital’s emergency entrance were open and awaiting them. The tech had been trying to open Frank’s hand so that they could take Lisa inside, but Frank had not budged. Despite the technician’s pleas, he remained unresponsive.

“Sir, ya have to let her go! Please!”

Let her go. Frank repeated the order in his head, its true meaning skewed into something frightening, life-threatening. Falling victim to the panic slowly taking control of his mind, he loosed a booming declaration. “No! I ca . . . n’t!” His words were fragmented like the images in front of him.

The technician dropped his arm with the outburs