was so much repressed desire, regret, and longing in the way she said his name. Even through the soft leather gloves he could feel the touch of her fingers like an electric shock. He pulled his hand away. No! There could be nothing between them. She was another man’s woman now. “What do you want?” he asked.
Susan sighed resignedly and leaned back into the shadows of the limo’s interior. “I need a favor, Harry,” her disembodied voice pleaded from the dark interior of the car. “Please,” she begged when Harry did not reply.
Harry thought about the last five years, of all the loneliness, pain, and deaths he’d endured. He shook his head sadly. “I think I’ve just about used up all my favors,” he said.
Susan leaned out of the darkness. “Please, Harry,” she pleaded. “One last time.” She reached up with a gloved hand and lifted the black veil from her face. Then she removed the mirroredsunglasses.
Harry gasped in shocked surprise. “Oh no! Who did this to you?”
She looked worse than Roger. Both her eyes were black and blue with a deep gash under her right eye, as if a large ring on the fist that did all this had caught and torn the flesh. It brought to mind the image of Roger’s large fire opal signet ring with the engraved rising phoenix. He discarded the thought immediately. It was just too unbelievable.
Now that the veil and sunglasses were gone and Harry knew what he was looking for, he noticed that Susan’s face was heavily made up to cover other cuts and bruises. “Oh no, Susan!” He shook his head in pity and sorrow. At the same time, he felt a slow burn of rage, starting deep down in the pit of his stomach.
Susan’s eyes filled with tears and she looked away, back up at the glittering façade of the Eternal Life building towering in the distance. As she lifted her chin, Harry saw the angry bruises on her neck, as if someone had tried to strangle her. A blind, killing rage boiled up inside him. “Who did this?” he asked, his voice thick with clotted emotion.
Susan shook her head and refused to look at him. Tears ran down her face. Harry grabbed hold of her and turned her towards him gently. “Sue, tell me what happened,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm and controlled and not doing a very good job of it. Susan bit her lip, scrunched up her eyes, and shook her head in shame and denial. She just kept sitting there shaking her head with the tears running down her face.
It was too much for Harry. He forgot all his resolutions of keeping emotional and physical distance and instead did the only thing he could do and took her gently in his arms and tried to comfort her. He could smell the familiar scent of her perfume, the soft touch of her hair against his cheek, the feel of her body leaning against his. He knew he was skating on thin ice. He could feel the old scars breaking open, the love and its betrayalthat he had tried to bury through so many deaths…and he felt something else, something indefinable, something not right.
He brushed it away and said, “Susan, you’ve got to tell me who did this? Was it Roger?” he suggested doubtfully. But then he felt the tension suddenly go out of Susan’s body, and she sagged against his chest, crying hopelessly and nodding her head.
“Roger did this?” he asked dumfounded. He’d always thought he knew Roger. The man may have been a ruthless son of a bitch in business, but Harry could never imagine him beating up Susan. It was obvious how much he loved her. Even Harry could see that. This just didn’t make sense. “Are you sure?” he asked again. “Roger? But why? How?”
She tried to talk but her voice was a whispered sniffle. She fumbled blindly behind her in the back seat of the limo and at last found a package of tissues. She blew her nose and dried her eyes, and all the time she kept her head downcast, refusing to look at him, as if ashamed of herself for letting him see her like this.
She started to talk in a
Susan sighed resignedly and leaned back into the shadows of the limo’s interior. “I need a favor, Harry,” her disembodied voice pleaded from the dark interior of the car. “Please,” she begged when Harry did not reply.
Harry thought about the last five years, of all the loneliness, pain, and deaths he’d endured. He shook his head sadly. “I think I’ve just about used up all my favors,” he said.
Susan leaned out of the darkness. “Please, Harry,” she pleaded. “One last time.” She reached up with a gloved hand and lifted the black veil from her face. Then she removed the mirroredsunglasses.
Harry gasped in shocked surprise. “Oh no! Who did this to you?”
She looked worse than Roger. Both her eyes were black and blue with a deep gash under her right eye, as if a large ring on the fist that did all this had caught and torn the flesh. It brought to mind the image of Roger’s large fire opal signet ring with the engraved rising phoenix. He discarded the thought immediately. It was just too unbelievable.
Now that the veil and sunglasses were gone and Harry knew what he was looking for, he noticed that Susan’s face was heavily made up to cover other cuts and bruises. “Oh no, Susan!” He shook his head in pity and sorrow. At the same time, he felt a slow burn of rage, starting deep down in the pit of his stomach.
Susan’s eyes filled with tears and she looked away, back up at the glittering façade of the Eternal Life building towering in the distance. As she lifted her chin, Harry saw the angry bruises on her neck, as if someone had tried to strangle her. A blind, killing rage boiled up inside him. “Who did this?” he asked, his voice thick with clotted emotion.
Susan shook her head and refused to look at him. Tears ran down her face. Harry grabbed hold of her and turned her towards him gently. “Sue, tell me what happened,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm and controlled and not doing a very good job of it. Susan bit her lip, scrunched up her eyes, and shook her head in shame and denial. She just kept sitting there shaking her head with the tears running down her face.
It was too much for Harry. He forgot all his resolutions of keeping emotional and physical distance and instead did the only thing he could do and took her gently in his arms and tried to comfort her. He could smell the familiar scent of her perfume, the soft touch of her hair against his cheek, the feel of her body leaning against his. He knew he was skating on thin ice. He could feel the old scars breaking open, the love and its betrayalthat he had tried to bury through so many deaths…and he felt something else, something indefinable, something not right.
He brushed it away and said, “Susan, you’ve got to tell me who did this? Was it Roger?” he suggested doubtfully. But then he felt the tension suddenly go out of Susan’s body, and she sagged against his chest, crying hopelessly and nodding her head.
“Roger did this?” he asked dumfounded. He’d always thought he knew Roger. The man may have been a ruthless son of a bitch in business, but Harry could never imagine him beating up Susan. It was obvious how much he loved her. Even Harry could see that. This just didn’t make sense. “Are you sure?” he asked again. “Roger? But why? How?”
She tried to talk but her voice was a whispered sniffle. She fumbled blindly behind her in the back seat of the limo and at last found a package of tissues. She blew her nose and dried her eyes, and all the time she kept her head downcast, refusing to look at him, as if ashamed of herself for letting him see her like this.
She started to talk in a
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