EPILOGUE
The news had reported that Jimmy Woodruff, Dougie Carlucci, and his wife, Tawny Carlucci, suspects in a couple of explosions and black-market weapons smuggling, had been arrested.
They were also implicated as accomplices in murder. Since their arrest, they had been arraigned and held without bond, and were awaiting trial.
The summer evening was balmy and clear, with stars twinkling in the sky. Crickets sang their mating songs in the bushes nearby, and the sweet aroma of night-blooming jasmine permeated the air. Vivian and Hope sat on chaise lounges on the outdoor brick patio in the back of Vivian’s small rental. They gazed at the stars. A light breeze wafted between them. Vivian slowly raised her right knee and massaged it gently.
“You okay, Vivian?” Hope asked.
“My knee still hurts, but not as bad as it was a few days ago. How’s your ankle?”
“Much better, thank you. It wasn’t as bad as I thought, thank goodness. I want to thank you for telling me everything.”
“I was glad to tell you. It’s about time you got to know me a little better.”
Hope nodded in agreement.
“I’m sorry about Rose and Christine,” Hope said.
“Well, believe it or not,” Vivian said, “I’m sorry, too. We needn’t worry about them anymore. I don’t mean to sound so callous.”
“I understand.”
“It’s too bad Rose died from her injuries. Otherwise, if she were still alive, she’d have been arrested and incarcerated for life. Now, she’s buried at Forest Lawn where she should have been the first time when she really wasn’t dead.”
“Will you visit her grave?” Hope asked.
“I doubt it,” Vivian said with a shake of her head. “I would visit my grandmother, my father, and my husband’s graves, and maybe give a quick look over at where Rose is buried. I was just thinking about the cab driver and his family earlier. I feel sorry for his loved ones. A shame he got killed. It’s unfortunate that he happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. As for Christine, she deserves to either be in prison for a long time or at an institution for the criminally insane once she recuperates from her injuries. It will take a long time to recover from all those broken bones, fractures, concussions, and lacerations.” Vivian paused briefly in thought. “All for naught. How sad.”
“Yes,” Hope said. “Such a shame. The jewels, the money, the gold bars, and all those secrets. The whole world’s talking about it. It’s on every talk show, news and radio station, and on the cover of every gossip rag out there.”
“The truth had to come out sooner or later. One can only hide it for so long. As for Christine, I’m going to have to try my hardest to forgive her for killing our brother, Blaine. That’s something I’m still having a hard time getting over.”
“What about your mother? Forgiving her, I mean.”
“Don’t forget, she was your mother, too. As for forgiving her, I don’t know.” Vivian fell silent for a few moments. “I guess time will tell.”
“Will you see Christine? Visit her some time, whether at the hospital or at prison?”
“Maybe. We’ll see. I’m not trying to be evasive or uncaring, and I’m not trying to avoid the subject. It’s just that I have a lot on my mind right now, and it’s going to take some time to mull over and digest everything.”
“I know it isn’t easy for you to talk about. Yet, I appreciate you sharing all this with me.”
“That’s what sisters are for,” Vivian said. She reached out and gently squeezed Hope’s hand. She entwined her arm around Hope’s and embraced it.
“I was just thinking,” Hope said, “I can see that it was a good thing that I was adopted. Maybe it wasn’t in the cards for me to live with someone like . . . Rose.”
“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”
“So . . . what happens now? Where do we go from here?”
Vivian looked at the stars above. She took a long, slow, deep breath, inhaled the jasmine, and exhaled a sigh.
“We close the chapter and go on to the next,” Vivian said. “We just go on living as we were. Writing new chapters and creating new memories.”
Christine lay in the hospital bed. Visions of Vivian’s yellow Honda Civic plowing head-on into the rented metallic-red convertible replayed in Christine’s mind.
She saw herself in the convertible as well as the nose of Vivian’s car as it barreled toward her. She remembered screaming in horror . . . then heard the loud crunch of metal against metal. She remembered being violently thrown about as if she were a rag doll. She tensed as the car teetered on the edge of the drop-off for a few moments . . . then sensed as if she were light as air when the convertible plunged down the—
Christine woke up with a start. Her heart palpitated.
Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, eyebrows, and upper lip. She wondered how long she had been out this time.
She noticed the wallpaper around her. She squinted as she adjusted her eyes and earnestly focused on one wall in front of her. She blinked several times in rapid succession. She could make out the little images of the wallpaper on the wall.
Awww, cute little piggies, she thought sarcastically. Cute, indeed. But why pigs? Funny, I could’ve sworn I saw pink peonies earlier.
She lifted a hand to scratch an itch on her cheek but the handcuff tied to the bed rail wouldn’t let her raise it much. Being cuffed to the bed rail rankled her and made her resentful. She used her free hand instead.
The zigzag lines showed her heart’s pace quicken as she exerted movement and the monotonous beep of the machine increased in speed. She tugged at the IV drip line attached to her arm. Both arms were weighted down with gauze bandages wrapped around them. She could feel bandages snugly wrapped around her head, torso and legs.
The smell of antiseptic penetrated her sinuses. Typical hospital sounds such as the soft pitter-patter of nurses’ and doctors’ footsteps, a squeaky gurney as it passed by, and subdued voices from patients and visitors in other rooms were heard.
Oh, so I crashed, she thought sardonically. Glad to know that I survived. But boy, do I hurt bad. Well, what to do now except lie here for who knows how long? I ain’t sticking around here forever, that’s for damn sure. I may have been arrested and put under house arrest while I’m recuperating, but I ain’t giving up, even if I may be sent to prison. I can always get out in half the time for good behavior. Whoop-dee-doo!
Christine wondered if Rose was still alive.
Well, Christine thought, she had better have the decency not to come visit me or I will really create a scene, even in my current condition. I sure hope she’s dead. Dead and buried. Too bad I didn’t get the chance to kill her personally with my own hands. I would’ve loved to have had the pleasure and the satisfaction. Just so long as she is dead.
Christine would have loved to stand at the gates of Hell while she held open the flaming gate. When it would be Rose’s turn to walk through into eternal damnation, Christine would have oh-so-gladly greeted her with a contemptible curtsy worthy of bestowing upon a plebeian.
“Welcome to Hell, ma’am!” Christine would say. “Have a nice vay-kay and a permanent one at that! All expenses paid for by the poor choices you made in your pathetically ephemeral life while on planet Earth! The following have been paid and/or furnished prizes to you by Satan for doing his will. Losers doomed to Hell like you have been furnished with complete rules and have met eligibility requirements. The only tax you have to pay is your lame-ass soul!”
As for Vivian, Christine decided she wouldn’t give the frigid spinster credit for being a strong-willed, strong-minded, supposedly wise woman.
Christine silently laughed as her abdominal muscles convulsed in pain. She winced and moaned, and her eyes squinted in rhythm with each pulse of the pain.
She could imagine Vivian and Hope out on the brick patio in the back of that little two-bit charmer as they sipped iced tea or iced water with a lemon wedge, talking about Rose, talking about what had happened twenty-two years ago, talking about what had happened recently, talking about Rose’s secrets and the bad deeds she had done all those years ago, talking about Christine, talking about Vivian and Hope getting to know one another after all this time now that Christine would no longer be in the picture, talking about Vivian and Hope’s current plans and their future. Talking talking talking talking, chat chat chat chat, yak yak yak yak, gab gab gab gab, blah blah blah blah blaaaaaaaaahhh . . .
Well, ain’t that nice? Christine thought rancorously. As for you, sister, I’ll just have to figure out another way to get you. Some time, eventually, somewhere down the road, all in good time . . .
She dozed off for a while.
A twitch in her leg caused Christine to wake up.
My friends! she thought with a pang of guilt, even while groggy. Her head and her entire body had a weighty heaviness to it. Are they okay? Have Jimmy, Dougie, and Tawny managed to escape from the clutches of the police or have they been caught? I’ll find out sooner or later. As for Janice, she can keep the money and the other stuff I gave her. She earned her keep.
Christine experienced a wave of nausea for a moment as she thought about her book.
My manuscript! What’s to become of it? When will I get to work on it? What if I end up in jail? What if nothing comes of the manuscript? What if? What if? What if? More importantly, what if an editor from the publishing company tries to contact me even though I don’t have my cell phone with me? It’s most likely busted along with—Oh, no! The car! Oh, man. Christine groaned. I’m gonna have to pay for the loss of the car, damn it. I fully place the blame on the shoulders of that cursed bitch who got me into this frickin’ mess! It’s her fault! Her fault, her fault, her fault! Damn her to Hell!
Christine lifted her head and moaned in pain and discomfort. She felt the brace around her stiff neck when she moved her head. She drifted between being awake and sleeping, her mind muddled and dense. She closed her eyes and thought of roses.
Oh, yes, what memories they bring, Christine thought. Giving Vivian a rose on those few occasions to cover up my guilt and to distract her from whatever suspicions she may have had about me. Then there was that clever, little colorful stunt I pulled with her stoopid dumb-ass, two-rose, needlepoint thing. Made for a nice pair of bloody blossoms, didn’t it? Colorful, indeed!
A wicked smile formed at the corner of her lips. She wanted to chuckle, giggle, and laugh, but she dared not for she knew that her sore muscles and aching body would be in more pain and discomfort.
She opened her eyes and looked at the wallpaper. She thought her eyes were playing tricks again. She now saw the pink peonies again. What happened to the cute, little, pink pigs? she thought.
Christine gasped and flinched with a start. She thought she saw movement.
“Oh, man,” she said above a whisper, her eyes wide. “This is weirding me out.” She blinked several times. “W-what’s happening? W-w-what’s going on?” She slowly craned her neck to the right, then to the left. She couldn’t turn around enough to see behind her.
Several peonies in sporadic places on all four walls in the room oozed drops of blood from their petals.
“Stop! S-s-stop it!” Christine said to herself and shut her eyes tight. “Oh, please . . . p-p-please, make it stop.” Terror gripped her. “I’m not s-s-seeing this. It’s all in my head, all in my head . . . Just my tired mind playing t-t-tricks . . .”
She opened her eyes and saw numerous peonies ooze blood as thin columns of dark-red fluid trickled down the walls.
She screamed.
Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, won’t you please take a moment to write a review at your favorite retailer?
Thanks!
Daryl Hajek