
Face that Fire (7)
Prompt: "Actually, I shoot with both hands." 7/06
Hatred flared within her breast.
The scalding heat of that feeling scorched all it touched, turning things brittle as it surged through her body giving her a hardened resolve. Why did this woman get to have chubby fingers reach for her in delight? Why did she get to have unadulterated love and happiness stream from her boys bubbling chatter? Why did the little nurse get to have it all while she got nothing?
It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.
She remembered that day in the hospital, when the brunette had tried to console her after she'd lost her cherished baby, she hadn't needed the other woman's pity or her empty apologies nor had she wanted her trite words of understanding.
How could that woman possibly know what she'd lost?
The brunette had two healthy children that beamed at her as if she was a goddess among mere mortals while her own husband had reduced his mob heiress to unwanted baggage unworthy of retribution for her loss.
Her nostrils flared as she hastily swiped at tears of fiery resentment. Slick palms held the object that would begin to level the score between her and those that had harmed her. With a pinch of madness peppering her actions, she whisked the trigger back, arming the bomb.
Morbidly, she took comfort in the minutes slowly ticking away, the decrease in numbers so reminiscent to the last moments she'd spent cradling her baby inside her womb. With tenderness, she slowly tucked the device under the front porch as a childhood melody softly whispered past her lips, "Hush little baby don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird…
Doubtfully, he looked at his wife as he replied, "It's not likely to happen Robin."
Her mouth quirked to the side, a familiar sign of her impending disagreement as she ribbed, "You're wrong this time doctor."
"Robin," he chided, "nothing in my medical expertise tells me that Jason is going to regain full use of his left arm, let alone, his leg."
Optimism sparkled in her dark eyes as his wife argued, "You don't know Jason the way I do, he'll make it through this."
"Maybe, you should wait until he's conscious again before you start making those claims," he retorted.
"Nope," she shook her head back and forth looking like a petulant fairy instead of a grown woman, "Jason will be back to normal soon."
"What makes you so sure," he sarcastically questioned. "Did Sonny tell you he needs a crippled enforcer or something?"
His wife shot him that patented look that told him, while she loved him dearly, he'd just crossed a line as she snapped back, "Jason can shoot with both hands Patrick but it's not Sonny that needs him."
His fists rested on his hips, the familiar feel of his scrubs and pager lending him confidence as he demanded, "So why are you so certain that Jason is going to make it then?"
Smugly, his wife smiled as she haughtily rejoined, "Because Elizabeth needs him."
Surreptitiously, he looked around the nearly deserted corridor glad that they weren't in hearing distance of anyone else. It had been a unanimous decision to keep Elizabeth's more passionate actions confined to those in the operating room instead of becoming fodder for the staff to gossip over.
"Robin," he drug her name out, wanting her to know that he didn't approve of whatever his wife was thinking, "we both know that Elizabeth cares about Jason, probably more than she should but-"
"Don't worry," she reassured him, "You have rounds and I'm not planning anything."
As his wife flounced off, her backside looked extremely fetching with an extra bounce in her step but he felt the cutting sting of an unspoken yet slap him in the face.
His eyes felt like leaded glass, heavy, full, and covered with antique glaze.
A hazy sheen filtered everything, muting the small pops of color and making them shift and twirl like a kaleidoscope in a young child's hands. He struggled with the thick pressure of his lids, the lethargy that pulled them down like an old-fashioned shade on a weighted pendant.
He wasn't sweltering in the abandoned church any longer, closer to expiring with each sun drenched moment but he was still pinned, held still by her soothing touch. The gentle motions a calming balm against the pain that radiated to the marrow of his bones and a welcome respite from the agony of his nightmares.
Through a small slit of heavenly clarity, he saw her angelic face. Her blue depths feathered with glorious faith and wondrous awe as his hand slowly inched toward hers. The movement draining him but he refused to give in to the crippling exhaustion until their hands were entwined.
Darkness clamored around him, whispered through his weary limbs as he raggedly plead, "Elizabeth, don't leave me."
She loved every moment of this unscrupulous power.
The control over life and death that fluctuated with her mercurial mood was more potent than any aphrodisiac as she callously taunted, "Aww, Jason, you've wanted to know the truth for so long . Don't you want to hear it now?"
Mirthlessly, she chuckled as she goaded, "You poisoned my husband against me with nothing more than your distrust since you could never prove that I had anything to do with your precious Michael's shooting. Don't you want to wake up for my confession?"
"No," she ruthlessly needled. "That's too bad because I'm in the mood to share confidences tonight. To tell you all of my misdeeds."
Dull light shadowed the room, shedding a menacing pall over the serene wall décor as she distastefully trailed a finger over the cast that immobilized her enemies leg. Even the pristine white of the plaster that held the remains of shattered bone and sinew seemed dingy and without a lustrous gleam tonight which suited her perfectly.
She glanced at the sterile clock hanging on the wall and malevolently added, "There have been so many sins in my life, so many naughty things that I was never punished for that I'm not sure where to start."
Negligently, she fingered the edge of the cotton bedding as she snidely offered, "Do you want to know that I seduced a married man when I was a teenager to turn my father against him?"
The hushed silence answered her as she mercilessly prodded, "Would you like to know that I slit my first loves throat for cheating on me?"
"Of course not, you don't want to hear those admissions," she mocked. "You don't care about the pain and anguish that I've suffered," she railed, "you only care about what happens to those you love."
Meticulously, she straightened the pillows under his head as she sneered, "Now that the little Nightingale has flown home to her coop, I'll tell you just like I told Michael but there won't be any apologies this time."
"I'm responsible for Ian shooting Michael," she boldly stated.
"I'm the reason he wasted a year of his misbegotten life as wilted as over steamed cauliflower," she derided.
Dark might swelled within her, the pouring out of truth a liberating and intoxicating experience after so many months of oppressive guilt and fear. Strength surged through her veins, pounding retribution through her small frame, freeing her insidious nature since she was no longer imprisoned in a stranglehold of worry.
Hysterical laughter accompanied her treacherous thoughts as she heard the increased tempo of his heart rate with each secret she divulged, the involuntary pulse of flesh against bone that became a symphony of vengeance.
With a haunting grace, she leaned down toward his still form and reveled in her deadly authority as she scornfully promised, "I left your son a gift and, any minute now, I'm the person who is going to turn your loved ones into nothing but unidentifiable cinders and ashes."
Breathe.
She had to keep breathing.
Paralyzing fear had rippled over her at Claudia's spiteful words about Michael. The other women was obviously consumed with the burning need for revenge as it incinerated the decent sparks of humanity within her and left only the charred, bitter remains of madness.
Swallowing back her alarm, she began searching the small bathroom she'd stepped into to regain her composure after Jason had burrowed through her negligible defenses with a single plea. She'd broken down under the onslaught of relief and anguish his clasped hand generated but she couldn't be weak now.
Quietly, she slipped the heavy towel bar out of its bracket, the metal felt cool but sturdy in her palm just as she heard Claudia make her most heinous threat. Without delay, she pulled the emergency cord in the bathroom, certain that a burly orderly would be rushing their way soon as she charged forward, ready to devour the demented woman who threatened her family.
He'd been surprised when he'd gotten the call from his brother.
He hadn't realized that the cousins were spending the night together since Elizabeth hadn't mentioned it earlier in the day. It was odd but not unusual given her tired and distracted state but she deserved a little break after working a double shift.
The blue front door made him smile, Elizabeth certainly loved that color and her house but he was hoping, that soon, they'd all be sharing his home again.
Cutting the engine, he stepped out of his vehicle intent on quickly getting Jake's favorite blanket over to Spoon Island before they heard the toddler's wails across the harbor.
Just as he slammed the door, a fireball of heat pushed him back, smashing him against the frame of his vehicle.
Dazed, he staggered forward, a sheer wall of flames licked the entire first floor as he blisteringly screamed, "Elizabethhhh!"


