Lover’s Cross Conclusion

My name is Sunny Alexander. And I’m Henry James and we’re writers for Dark Sides of the Truth magazine.

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Conclusion

There were times I was floating, barely conscious. When the fog in my brain lessened I sensed snatches of things, an almost dark sky above me, thrumming vibrations beneath my back, the smell of diesel.

I tried to draw in cleansing breaths, but my body hardly responded, only allowing me shallow gasps.

Another brief moment of awareness and I heard the song. A song I knew very well. Each time I gained consciousness I heard it playing, over and over.

So I’ll hope that you can find Another who can take what I could not He’ll have to be a super guy Or maybe a super god ’Cause I never was much of a martyr before And I ain’t ‘bout to start nothin’ new And baby, I can’t hang upon no lover’s cross for you

The song was telling me I was about to die just like Daryl Hoenig had and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

During a moment of lucidity I imagined what the pain would be like when the wooden stakes pierced my hands and feet. I wondered how long I could endure the pain before I went stark raving mad.

I tried to lift my head but couldn’t. The side of my face was pressed against metal. At least I thought it was metal. It was as if every sensory nerve in my body had been frozen. But I could see. I could smell and hear. The moment before I passed out again I could tell I was naked.

First she’d stripped me of my pride and now she was going to strip away my life.

I felt a shift in angle and sensed we were now traveling upward. Even though It was still difficult to move my brain was clearing.

I knew we were rolling up a large hill on our way to a clearing known as Lover’s point.

Finally we stopped. The song was still playing, a constant tortuous loop reminding me I only had a few more hours to live.

I heard sounds of boards hitting the ground, the sound of hammering, and then she was pulling me, dragging me across the clearing and positioning me; tying my arms in place.

“Penelope please…don’t…”

“See Daryl, that’s why I have to do this. You don’t even remember my name. My name is Pamela. Who the hell is Penelope? One of your girl friends you were fucking when you should have been married to me? I spent two years in an asylum Daryl. Two fucking years planning how I would make you pay for what you did to me. Two years of thinking how much, how so very much I wanted to put you up on a lover’s cross like you did me all those years.”

“Pamela, please. My name’s Henry. Henry James. I’m not Daryl. I would never hurt you.”

“Sorry Daryl. I’m not listening to your lies any more.”

Though sunlight had fallen behind the trees the full cloak of night had yet to shroud everything in blackness. I found myself wishing it had. So I couldn’t see what was about to happen to me.

I flinched as she poised the sharpened end of a stake against the center of my right palm and raised a sledge hammer above her head.

“You move another Goddamned muscle and I’ll blow your fucking head right off you bitch! Get the fuck away from him and drop that hammer!”

I heard a gun shot then heard Sunny scream again, “I said drop the fucking hammer Pamela or this next one is going between your eyes. And don’t think I won’t shoot your ass. Look around. The entire Rockburn police department is here. Everyone of them will testify I fired in self defense. Your choice bitch. Drop the hammer or I’ll drop you.”

I heard a thud against the ground and the scuffle of feet then Sunny was ripping at the binding around my arms and pulling me off. I started crying and closed my eyes. Sunny slapped me, then slapped me again, then again.

“Henry, stay with me. Henry don’t you fucking die on me you crotchety old bastard. Henry!”

I managed to reach up and grab her wrist just as she was swinging again.

“If you keep slapping me like that you’re going to kill me princess.”

Sunny grasped both sides of my face with her hands and leaned in close.

“Don’t you ever do this to me again you son of a bitch. You hear me?”

“Yeah, I guess you’ve seen me at my worse huh?”

“No grandpa, I’m afraid I’ve seen you much worse.”

“How so?”

“I’ve seen you naked.”

“Oh for the love of God.”

The three of us sat in Rick McDonnell’s office early Friday morning going over the story. This particular one didn’t really paint either of us in the best light. But then sometimes you have to just get it out there and let the reader decide on their own.

“So let me get this straight you two. Pamela Lambert A.K.A. Penelope Layne, spent two years in an asylum planning to kill Daryl because he left her at the alter?”

“Yeah, when she got out she tracked him down and cozied up to him. Then she killed him and set up shop in his house.”

“So why me? Why the hell did she pick me?”

“I can think of two reasons Henry. First, you and I came out of nowhere suddenly asking questions about Daryl. Second, you kind of look like Daryl. Dark brown hair, brown eyes. Tall. I think you triggered her.”

“So tell me this Sunny. How did she manage to get hired at the Rockburn police department?”

“She created a brand new identity Rick. School records, references, work history, social security, the works.”

“That shit didn’t happen overnight.”

“You’re right. She had two years to plan it.”

“Damn. Okay you two get out of my office. I’ve got work to do. I want your expense reports filed before either of you leave today. Got it?”

For several minutes we sat at our computers working in silence, neither of us wanting to talk, but both of us knowing we needed to.

“Sunny?”

“Yeah James.”

“How about after we get out of here I take you to dinner?”

“I’m not up to another greasy spoon cheeseburger Henry.”

“No I mean a real dinner. I hear there’s a new restaurant opened up downtown. Five star French cuisine. You want to try it out? I’m buying.”

“You’re buying? Who the hell are you and what have they done with the real Henry James?”

“It’s the least I can do Sunny. I mean if you hadn’t…”

“I know Henry. You would have done the same for me.”

“Yeah, so promise me something.”

“What’s that?”

“If I ever start to do something stupid like that again, you’ll beat some sense into me.”

“It’ll be my pleasure.”

“Not sure I’m liking that answer so much.”

Author’s note: This story was brought to life by a comment from a writer friend of mine Thomas Plummer. Thomas suggested Henry needed to find that one femme fatale who seductively manages to shred his heart. Well Thomas Plummer, Henry did stumble upon her and she dang near nailed him to a Lover’s cross.

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