Pamela woke suddenly with a start and glanced around the room, half expecting to find Devlin there, but so much for her expectations, he wasn't there. She pushed herself up and rose to a sitting position, rubbing her eyes.
Bright sunlight was shining in through the window blinds and with a pang, she realized that Devlin would be in the duel at the moment. What if he was killed? She had done all she could to stop him but the sly son of a gun had drugged her.
"What a prick." She muttered, annoyed.
She wasn't going to waste a tear on him anymore. She had cried enough and if Devlin had cared one bit about her, he would've stayed with her. But she couldn't stop him from battling his demons. When she met him, he was violent and vengeful, did she expect him to change now they were married?
All she ever asked for was to be normal. To have a normal family, normal life, and a normal marriage.
Was it happening all over again? What happened to her parent's marriage, was it happening to hers
Given that her dad had been a covert drug dealer, he would have been in danger so many times. How had her mom dealt with the dread of apprehension that she may never see him again? How had her dad lived with always watching his every move and step so as not to be caught by the authorities, or the fear of being wary of every friend and acquaintance so as not to be stabbed in the back? How had he lived with carrying arms and bodyguards everywhere he went so as not to be hit by a flying bullet?
That's right, that happened to her dad. And history could repeat itself, as history had a way of rearing its ugly head.
She stood briskly from the bed and went to where their traveling bags had been kept and she ransacked hers for a pair of jeans and a blouse. She tugged it on, her thoughts swirling in her mind. She wasn't going to start crying for the same bastard that had drugged her and dumped her, instead, she would put the energy she would waste on her lachrymal gland to good use by using it to save him.
She couldn't just sit and do nothing. She could make some calls, cry for help, or something. Call the cops, maybe. She had to do something. She looked sideways at the wall clock and her heart made a painful lurch when the shorthand of the clock was at 2 and the long hand was between 5 and 6. She sat slowly, momentarily weakened and discouraged. It was past 2 already; Devlin would surely have been killed by now. Maybe that was why there was a led block in her jejunum that was slowly making its way to her ileum. Maybe that was why her heart was beating so fast that it almost hurt. Maybe – maybe that was why she was having shortness of breath.
She tried to imagine living without him and she realized that her life would have no meaning without Devlin. Her life, without him, would be as useless as the fifth wheel was to a coach. She would be empty and hollow, she would be devoid of love and happiness. She buried her face in her palm, trying to swallow the painful knot that formed in her throat.
Her phone rang and she jerked up. She whipped her head to the side, trying to locate the phone through its ringing sounds. She stood and went to her travel bag and dipped her hand into the side zip, the phone was there, its screen showing off the caller ID – Peter.
Her stomach lurched painfully and goose bumps popped out on her arms, but she forced herself to stay calm. Peter calling her did not mean something bad had happened; it could be that he wanted to check up on her. It could also be that they had won Bull and were coming home with their trophy, preferably Bull's head. Peter's call had a million and one reason so there was no reason she should be bothered. Right?
She clicked the green icon and put the phone against her ear. "Hello?"
"Pamela, hey. Did you hear what happened?"
Her mouth went dry. "No, what happened?"
"Devlin, he –"
"Oh God," She moaned and her eyes filled. Her knees became wobbly so she sank to the floor.
"He's fine," Peter added quickly. "I swear."
She let her breath escape in a relieved sigh. She rubbed her face, hoping that her relief doesn't turn sour. "So what's the matter?"
"I don't know how to tell you this..."
If Devlin was fine, then what was Peter finding hard to say? She waited for him to finish, praying he doesn't drop a bombshell on her.
"He - he went to invade one of his strong rivals called Bull."
It wasn't exactly a news flash to her. "I know," she said calmly.
"And you let him?"
"I had no choice, the brute drugged me with zolpidem, and when I awoke -"
"He was gone," Peter concluded with a laugh. "He's coy."
"What do we do? I can't just watch him walk into danger and do nothing about it."
"Same here, I'm worried sick. The slick bastard lied that the invasion was going to be tomorrow. I had no idea he and his army would be gone today."
"He probably didn't want you to be put in harm's way," she said, trying to make him understand, and she was not quite sure she was good with the job because she was still trying to process why he left her out of everything.
"I don't see how taking an extra pair of hands would hurt."
"What will your extra hands do? Fetch coffee?" she said trying to lighten the atmosphere.
"I can fight and shoot and protect him from danger. I can watch his back and cover for him. Bull as far as I've known is very foxy and so Devlin needs all the help he can get. I could have done something."
Pamela felt sorry for Peter. He wanted to prove his loyalty to Devlin at all costs even if it meant endangering himself.
"What do you suggest we do?"
"Let's meet at a restaurant. Where are you?"
An hour later, Pamela was at Jimmy's Place, a restaurant she had always heard of but hadn't been to. He led her to a secluded booth and waited until she was seated before sliding into the booth opposite hers.
Peter wore dark sunshades and when he removed them, Pamela saw that he looked tired and worn out and bags were under his eyes. His normally hand-combed brown hair looked more hand-combed than ever, and his blue eyes lacked the gleam of humor and fun they usually had. He was wearing a black polo top over white and black joggers and they looked as wrinkled as a fresh-blown poppy.
"What would you like to have?"
It was late afternoon so traffic at the restaurant was slow, only filled with a few civilians seeking to grab a quick launch before heading back to work or earlier engagements.
She shook her head no. "I don't have an appetite."
He scratched his neck and tucked one hand of his sunshades into the round neck of his top. "Let me rephrase, have you eaten today?"
"Food isn't the problem, Pete."
He chuckled. "Be right back."
She watched him as he stepped away from her, retreating to the kitchen area and she turned her face to gaze out the window to study the parking lot that was filled with a few scattered cars due to the late hour. A young man with a tattoo that covered every inch of visible skin was trimming flowers that were struggling with overgrown weeds for nutrients, his clipping movements lackadaisical, his faded, oversized jeans barely covering his grey underwear.
A bubble of laughter from inside the restaurant caught her attention and she saw that it was Peter who was pouring the whole overflowing cup of charm on a sexy Hispanic brunette waiter with long lashes and perky boobs which was making her laugh. The waiter tossed him a paper bag and gave him a red-lipped flirtatious smile. They seemed to be having a tête-a-tête and Pamela couldn't help but feel glum.
She shut her eyes and sucked in the hot summer air. She missed having a tête-a-tête with her husband. Better still, she wanted to keep having tête-a-tête with him for a long time. She didn't want him to die.
"Here,"
Her eyes flew open to bring Peter's concerned face into focus. She accepted the bagel and soda he was offering her forlornly.
"I understand how you feel." he sat.
She laughed mirthlessly. "Of course you do. Why are we here?" She took a small bite of the glazed yeast-raised doughnut-shaped roll.
He leaned back in his seat. "I want us to discuss."
"Discuss Devlin's funeral?"
He gave her a wounded look. "Come on, Pamela. We can't give up."
She struggled to swallow the bite she had taken and continued to pick at the rest, lifting the tiniest bits of crumbs with her fingertips. "What do you suggest we do?"
He reached across the table and took her free hand in his and Pamela felt warm and comforted. Peter was the closest thing she had to Devlin and she loved that she was not alone, especially during a time like this.
"I know Devlin," he began, looking straight into her eyes. "He would never take a step as momentous as this without having some sort of reserved plan."
"You mean backup plan?"
"In a manner of speaking. And I think he gave me."
Pamela was confused. She placed her half-eaten snack on the table. "What?"
"I shouldn't be telling you this but, I think Devlin left clues of his backup plan and I need you to help me find it."
Pamela was in a quandary on whether to tell Peter about the letter or not. Devlin hadn't exactly said she should confide in anyone; all he'd said was that he trusted her more than he trusted Peter and Cody. She decided not to tell Peter. It was better to be safe than sorry, she told herself, but safe from who?
"Devlin has a study where he keeps maps and archaic books and shit like that, so I'm guessing there will be some clue or a puzzle of some sort that we have to piece together. Having an extra pair of hands will make the job quicker - " Peter paused. "Why are you giving me that look?"
Pamela held her breath. "What look?" Had she given herself away already?
"As if I'm bleeding like a stuck hog or something."
Pamela heard someone laugh and she was surprised that the hoarse sound was coming from her voice box.
Peter looked serious and his brows puckered. "Do you know something I don't?"
Her laughter died. "No, of course not. If I did I would tell you."
"Pamela."
"I swear."
"Cross your heart, hope to die."
"Don't joke about death." She snapped.
"You do know something."
"I do not."
He raked his hands into his hair. "Pamela, keeping quiet at this point could be fatal. The longer you keep whatever it is you're hiding, the lesser our chances of saving Devlin - if he needs any saving, you could say but I'd rather not take the chances. Devlin is the only family I've got, I don't know about you."
She held still, still debating on what to do. "I don't know -"
He hit the table violently and Pamela jumped. When they heard gasps behind them, they both smiled at the eaters that were around who had given them curious glances and had been the source of the gasps, in a bid to slack off their curiosities.
When they felt that they had smiled enough, they turned to look at each other. Pamela glared at him, he ignored it.
"You don't know?" he whispered, his voice cracking and Pamela knew it was due to despair, a feeling that has recently been quite a regular in her life. "If anything happens to him because we're too late, it's on you."
She lowered her eyes abashedly. In truth, the reason she didn't want to share the plan was that she feels important and proud to be included in Devlin's big invasion and if peradventure he needed the backup plan, she wanted to take all the glory. She wanted him to be grateful to her for reversing the roles and being the knight in shining armor and not a damsel in distress. She wanted him to love her so much, much, much more than he did right now.
Also, she was wary. Devlin hadn't exactly been crystal clear on what he meant by saying that she was the only one he trusted with the whole of his being so she didn't know if confiding in someone else would be a mistake.
She let out a burdened sigh. "Alright. He gave me a letter. A backup letter."
Peter's eyes lit up with hope at that. "What did it say?"
"I haven't opened it, not to talk of reading it."
Peter stared at her, his mouth agape. "Why not? Are you waiting for the blasted Wizard of Oz to permit you?"
"This is not the time for jokes, Pete."
"I'm not. Where is it?"
She reached for her strap purse and unclipped it. She slipped out the brown envelope from the purse and held it with her two hands. The letter might seem ordinary and weightless to eaters and passersby, but to her and Peter, it weighted lead. She placed it on the table between them and they both stared at it, either too scared or too wary of the contents.
Pamela realized that she never thought of it until now; she never thought of what the contents would be. What if it was an order to storm a zoo and steal lions that would bite Bull's balls off? What if it was a very dangerous thing, something she couldn't pull off? No, Devlin wouldn't give her something she couldn't pull off, would he? Not if he had a death wish, which was funny enough going to be his fate if they do not work up the courage to open the letter.
"Okay, suck it up, Peter. You can do this." Peter muttered to himself and blew a noisy breath from his mouth.
Pamela barked a peal of short laughter. "Fraidy cat."
"Aren't we all?" he replied sweetly, taking the letter in his hand and holding it up as if praying on it.
Pamela held her breath as Peter started to cut open the seal and started to bring out the white paper that was inside. She was surprised when she recognized the paper instantly - it was the one her dad used to use to write letters when she was little. She still remembers it because she used to stay with her dad in his study every day after her teacher had left, and her dad, being old-fashioned and not a fan of the then newly invented electronic mail would use the pen-on-paper style, so she would watch him scribble away on letters and create magic with his pen.
The paper was folded in two and Peter was ready to upturn it, but as if on second thought, he stretched his hand to give it to her.
"You should open it."
Pamela shook her head in negation and regarded the piece of paper through blurry eyes. "You've crossed the line of Rubicon." She whispered and shut her eyes against the nostalgia that threatened to cultivate tears from her lachrymal gland.
He gave her a small nod and Pamela could swear she could hear the sounds that makes the viewers on edge when a contestant is about to be evicted from Big Brother. She was here living it. It was a feeling writers tried in vain to pen, a feeling that directors could never accurately bring to the TV screens no matter how hard they tried. Yet here she was, living it. Her heart skipped and then began to pound in her ears like a malleable sheet of metal when he began to upturn the paper.
He finally did and his eyes widened then narrowed almost immediately as if his eyes didn't believe what it was seeing. He looked up at Pamela.
"What?" She asked, as nervous as a cat in a dog pound.
He handed the paper to her and with her thoughts swirling around her head like flies around a shit wagon, she slowly collected the paper and more slowly pried it open.
It was empty.
~
Author's note:
I am so sorry for the late upload, I know it's been over a week, but something unavoidable came up. Thank you for the 35k read guys! And thank you for reading this chapter. If you loved it, please leave a vote for me. Also, don't forget to add to your library and your reading lists, and please share too. Till next time! :)