"Help!" The door crashed open, and I rushed out of the room into the main hall of the terminal, gesticulating wildly. "Help! A terrorist! He killed a guard! He ran that way! Help! He has a bomb!"
For a moment, everything stood still, everyone stared at me—then, hell broke loose. A cacophony of screams rose up, people jostled and push each other to get away from the door, to the exits, out of this place and away. Security guards started shouting orders into those little wireless-thingies and one of them raised his arms, shouting: "Don't panic! There's no reason to panic! Please proceed to the exit in an orderly manner and-mpf!"
The purse of a mother rushing past with two toddlers in her arms slammed into his face and made him stumble back, cursing.
"Eleven Sixty!" Another one was shouting into his wireless-thingy. "Eleven sixty! Suspected terrorist attack at JFK Terminal One! Repeat, suspected terrorist attack at JFK Terminal One!"
Still, everyone was rushing away from me and the door. Even the security guards seemed determined to keep a healthy distance. Among all the people at the airport, only one man was straining towards me, desperately trying to push through the crowd.
"Cassidy! Cassidy!"
"Elliot!" The moment I caught sight of him, blissful warmth spread through my chest. There was the man I'd just killed for. There was the man I'd do anything to get back to. Anything! Including braving a deranged mob of New Yorkers.
"Out of my way!"
Shoving aside a fat guy in flowered shorts, I dashed towards him, wiggling and worming myself through the crowd that still separated us. Fortunately, people were very keen on getting out of my way.
"Cassidy!" Elliot slammed into me, and his strong arms went around me, holding me tight. I buried my face in his chest and breathed in his clean, manly scent. "Cassidy, what happened?"
"I... I don't know! There was that man... and then there were all these other men... and fighting... and screaming... and blood! Oh God, Elliot! So much blood!"
"Oh, Cassidy!"
He pulled me even closer against him, and I smiled into his chest, rather proudly. I had just managed to describe five of my murders without mentioning the fact that I was the killer. That was something to be proud of!
"Don't worry, Cassidy! You're safe now! I'll take care of you."
Sighing contentedly, I rubbed my nose against his chest. "I know you will."
Somewhere in the distance, sirens started wailing.
I have a rather blurry memory of the following few hours. Police rushed into the airport shouting things like "Hands up!" and "Freeze!" although there wasn't a single freezer anywhere in sight. A whole army of cops dashed into the room I had just come from, guns drawn. Several policemen identified me as the one who had shouted "terrorist" first, and tried to peel me off Elliot, but I just clung harder to him, and, pseudo-sobbing with vigor, buried my face in his chest. Let me tell you, male chests are damn convenient when you want to hide your face from the police.
"You'll need to come with us, Miss. We have to—"
"P-please," I whimpered, grinning against Elliot's tie like a cheshire cat. This was fun! "P-please... I c-can't! All that blood and... oh, Elliot!"
"Miss, we have to bring you to our sketch artist so he can identify the terrorist and—"
"Let her be!" Elliot snapped. "My girlfriend has been through quite enough already! Get the bastard's face off CCTV!"
"That's just the thing, Sir. The room in which the crime occurred is a private backroom—no CCTV. And there is no footage of him entering or leaving the room, either, for some strange reason."
"Then get better surveillance instead of harassing Cassidy! Leave! Now!"
"Wait just a minute, Sir! Who do you think you are, speaking like that to an officer of the law?"
"I," Elliot said, annunciating each and every syllable, "am E.W. Winslow."
After that, the police suddenly lost their desire to drag me off to their sketch artist. Elliot started to lead me away, and I dutifully continued to sob into his suit jacket.
"Oh my God! Cassy, my dear, what happened to you?"
Huh? That didn't sound like the police. Who...?
Risking a glance, I saw Mrs. Winslow rushing towards us. A moment later I was engulfed in a fluffy pink hug.
"H-how—"
"I called them," Elliot explained, nodding to his grandfather who was just getting out of what looked like an armored truck, accompanied by a small army of private security. "I thought we could use the company."
My heart warmed as Mrs. Winslow squeezed me tight. "Oh, Elliot! That's so thoughtful of you."
"Come, my dear." Gently prying me loose from Elliot, Mrs. Winslow began to steer me towards the truck. "Let's get you home."
Mr. Winslow nodded to me, which in his vocabulary was equivalent to three cheers and a hug. "Nice to see you're not blown up, girl."
I managed a little smile. "Nice to see you, too, Mr. Winslow. Where did you get that tank of a car? Your collection?"
"Of course, girl! You don't think I wouldn't be prepared for every emergency, do you? Now stop babbling and get in!"
"Yes." Mrs. Winslow helped me into the back seat and climbed in behind me, holding my hand. "Let's get you home."
It turned out that by "home" she didn't mean my own humble abode, but the Winslow estate. Against my repeated protest, I was given (or rather shoved into) a beautiful bedroom overlooking the rose garden, stuck into bed and stuffed with tea and homemade muffins. Whenever my mouth wasn't filled with some beverage Mrs. Winslow considered beneficial to my health, she stuck a thermometer into it, as if fake terrorist attacks could cause high temperature.
"Mmm nt sck!" I tried to explain to her. "Rlly! Mnit!"
"Sorry, dear, what was that?"
I spat out the thermometer. "I said I'm not sick! Really, I mean it."
"Don't you worry about that, dear," Mrs. Winslow said, patting my head. "We'll have you back on your feet in no time."
For a moment, I considered fleeing the room. But then I saw Elliot watching from the door, smiling at the two of us—and suddenly I remembered that her only child had died in a car crash decades ago, and Elliot was the only one she had ever really gotten to coddle and spoil. So I let her do her worst. It was actually kind of nice. I just had to remember to not stop eating muffins, so the thermometer would stay out of my mouth. Plus, the muffins were so good!
Late that night, when Mrs. Winslow had retired to her own bedroom—"I'm just next door, dear, just next door, so if you need anything, don't hesitate to wake me, do you hear? Anything!"—and I was lying in bed, smiling up at the shadowy ceiling, the door creaked open and a tall, dark form stepped into the room.
"Cassidy?"
"Elliot?"
Coming over, he sat on the edge of my bed and gazed down at me. "I'm sorry. I did all I could to plan this holiday, to make it wonderful for you. I'm afraid I didn't anticipate such an ending."
My lips twitched. "Neither did I."
"Well... I'm sorry. I wished our vacation could have ended differently."
One of my eyebrows rose. "Who says our vacation is over?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, we don't have to go back to work until tomorrow, do we? The night is young, the stars are shining..."
My voice trailed off when I saw his teeth glint in the darkness. "Indeed they are."
He leaned closer.
"Your grandmother is sleeping next door," I warned him, teasingly.
"My grandmother is a very sound sleeper. Always has been."
"Well, then we—"
My voice was cut off abruptly, subsiding into a moan. A little later, the bed began to squeak.
Next morning, when I returned to my own dear home, I carried with me a heavy handbag. Inside the apartment, I marched straight to the first free shelf and placed the statue of Ganesha in the center.
"You rock, dude!" I informed the ancient deity.
❤☠❤☠❤☠❤☠❤
"Where are we going, Elliot?"
"It's a surprise."
"I hate surprises!"
"I thought you loved surprises?"
"I hate them only until I know what they are. Then I love them in retrospect."
"Interesting concept."
"Oh, come on, Elliot! Tell me! Where are you taking me?"
But he only smiled and pulled me along. At least I suspected he smiled. I couldn't actually see, because the conniving bastard had blindfolded me!
In front of me, I heard a ding.
"What's that?"
"A big secret."
"A doorbell? An underdeveloped alarm clock?"
I swear, I could hear the corners of his mouth twitch. "Have patience."
We took a few steps forward, and there was another ding. Moments later, I felt my stomach sag down.
"An elevator! This is an elevator, isn't it?"
"Well..."
"Yes? Am I right?"
"Maybe."
"Argh! You're impossible!"
A chuckle came out of the darkness, and I felt a hand seductively slide up my arm. "Thank you for the compliment."
A third ding, and he led me forward. A cool breeze, nice and refreshing in the hot summer night, brushed over my skin.
"Are we outside? We're outside, aren't we?"
"Perhaps."
"It's just... I'm a bit nervous. We went up, and I don't know how far we went up and where, and with my eyes blindfolded I can't see anything so I don't know whether I might fall off anything and—"
"All right, all right." Laughing, he squeezed my shoulder. "You may take the blindfold off."
"Yes!"
Reaching up, I ripped off the black cloth and to my great surprise found myself not on a balcony, as I had been expecting, but on a vast, flat roof, covered in gleaming black tiles. For a moment I didn't know what to make of it—but then the sounds of honking cars from far, far below tipped me off.
"A skyscraper? We're on a skyscraper?"
"Yes."
"Which one? What's its name?"
"It doesn't have a name—yet."
I glanced up at Elliot, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"My team only finished it last week. The opening ceremony is set for three days from now."
"Well, if it's not open to the public how did we get up he—" I cut off abruptly, as his words really registered for the first time. "Wait just a minute! Did you say 'my team'?"
"Yes, I did."
"You don't mean to tell me this place belongs to you, do you?"
"Oh yes. Every last speck of concrete." Leading me to the balustrade, he swept his hand out over the city. I looked—and my breath caught.
"Good God! I'm looking down on the freaking Empire State building! Down! And down there is the Bank of America Tower! How high is this place?"
"The highest building in New York, to my knowledge," he told me, taking my hand and leading it to his lips. "Welcome on top of the world, Cassidy. Welcome to where you belong."
I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that now, everyone has to look up to see you." His eyes burned into mine with fiery passion. "Just as it should be for a queen among women. Manuel!"
He snapped his fingers, and at the sound, a man in a waiter's uniform stepped out of the darkness surrounding us. Only now I noticed a small table standing off to the side. It, too, had been hidden by the shadows, but Manuel the waiter lit the candles in its center, and a moment later the table was flooded by warm light.
Once more, Elliot bent over my hand, gazing up at me through thick, dark lashes.
"Will you do me the pleasure of dining with me?"
"Why, yes, of course." I did my best approximation of a curtsy, and followed him over to the table, where he pulled back a chair for me before Manuel had a chance to.
His queen! I thought, all the while, unable to keep my hungry eyes away from him. He called me his queen!
"Wine, Madam?" a voice from beside me asked. I supposed it was the waiter. I didn't look. My eyes were still otherwise engaged.
"Yes. Red, please."
"Certainly, Madam."
The drinks arrived, then did the food. I hardly noticed what it was, although I would have bet all the inhabitants of my worm bin on it being delicious delicacies. After all, this was E. W. Winslow we were talking about. Everything he did was deliciously perfect and perfectly delicious. No matter how delectable, however, with him opposite me, I hardly even noticed that food touched my tongue.
When we were finally done, the plates had been cleared, and we just sat there, looking at each other, the stars twinkling above us, Elliot leaned forward and gently covered my hand with his.
"Are you happy, Cassidy?"
"Yes," I breathed, turning my hand to interlace my fingers with his. "Why shouldn't I be? After all, you're here."
I waited. Waited for him to tell me that he was happy too because I was here, because he loved me—but he just kept looking at me.
Then you do it, you silly little girl! Who says the man always gets to go first? Go for it!
Gathering all my courage, I took a deep breath.
Do it! Say it now!
"Elliot?"
"Yes?"
"Do you know why I am happy? Why being with you makes me happy?"
His brow tensed. "Cassidy, I—"
"I've said it once or twice before," the words flooded out of my mouth before I was able to stop them. "But I was never sure whether you heard me, or fully understood what I was saying. Well; I'm saying it again, and I mean it this time, really mean it! I'm not just blurting it out. Elliot, I—"
"Cassidy!"
"—love you."
His hand clenched around mine like a vice. Breathing heavily, he looked away from me. For a moment I was afraid there might be disgust in his eyes—but no, it wasn't disgust. It was self-loathing.
"You shouldn't!" he bit out. "I'm no good for you!"
"You're the best thing that ever happened to me!" I threw back at him—but he shook his head.
"No, trust me. I'm the worst."
"Ha!" A short laugh escaped me—but it wasn't a very amused laugh. Always we got to this point! Always! "Do you realize what you've just said? You've told me to trust you and in the same breath said you're not trustworthy!"
"Well, I'm not." He stared into my eyes. In his dark orbs there was so much rock-solid obsidian sincerity that I couldn't doubt he believed what he said. "I have secrets, Cassidy, horrible secrets. Don't fall in love with me." The pressure of his hand around mine had risen to an almost painful level. "Don't!"
I leaned forward. Gently, I placed my free hand over his contorted one on the table, stroking it until it relaxed. I gave him a sad little smile. "Too late."
The color drained from his face.
"Tell me," I urged. "Tell me, what is it you're hiding?"
He shook his head, silently.
"What can be so horrible? Please, Elliot, tell me!"
"I can't!"
"Why not?"
"Because if I do, you'll run from me and I'll never see you again. I can't let that happen, Cassidy. I need you too much."
Raising his hand from the table, I placed it against my cheek, letting him feel the heat that burned inside me—burned only for him.
"I need you too," I whispered. "Nothing could drive me away. Please tell me."
He met my eyes once more, long and hard.
"No."
And I knew this would be his final word. So I let his hand slide away from my face, and pressed a single, soft kiss in the center of his palm.
"I love you," I whispered.
When I looked up again, his face had softened, and there was a painful yearning in his eyes. "Don't." he whispered back. "I'll only hurt you. I'm bad for you."
I smiled. Of course, I didn't believe a word of it.
At least not then.
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My dear homicidal maniacs,
Cassy could have started a great career as an actress, couldn't she? ;) Do you think she'll get clean away with everything?
Cheers
Sir Rob