Desperate Enemies 3 Adam Carpenter (books like beach read .TXT) 📖

“Father!” Troy said, immediately bending down before the wheelchair, tears lighting up his eyes.

Marc watched as Parker gazed on with envy, not able to find those words much less speak them. He'd never had a relationship with the man who had supposedly produced him, but Troy, hadn't he lived with the man years ago, before the violence of Number Two? Old George Saunders looked over at Troy, his eyes widening, as though a realization was coming over him.

“Troy,” he said, his voice croaking in the otherwise silence of the room.

All eyes were rapt on this reunion between father and son, watching as young Troy went to embrace his father. A weak arm touched Troy's shoulders, attempted to pat him, a gesture of love between two people separated by years, by tragedy.

Marc wondered what could possibly happen next, now that he entire group had been assembled. It was Danvers who made the next move, and it was curious to see a rare display of vulnerability settle across the bald man's usual hard look.

“George, can you hear me? Are you well enough. . . to talk?”

The old man looked over and his body began to shake. Tears slipped down his face and he began to beat a curled fist against the arm of his wheelchair; the bellow he let out surprised everyone, one of raw pain that pervaded the room, bounced off knowing walls. Just then the lights were turned off and the wind howled; the storm had knocked out power, Marc thought, and then he realized, when a lone light from a candle emerging from the darkness, that this was all a set-up. The lights going out were no coincidence. The performance had begun.

“George,” came the voice behind the flickering candlelight, “George, it's me, your loving wife. . .”

“No, no it can't be. . .” said the old man.

“What the devil is going on here,” Danvers said, his body turning toward the light, his shadow larger and more imposing against the bare wall.

The woman continued to step forward and as she got closer, Marc could see that in addition to the candle in her left hand, she held a gun in her right. And it was pointing forward, zeroing in on Danvers Converse. But this was not Elissa Saunders, not the real one, it was Rose St. John Emerson, is full actress mode, perhaps playing her finest role. What Marc hoped that the gun was a prop; the memory of his gallery opening came flooding back, and he wasn't alone in that.

“Put the gun away, no more violence,” Paolo shouted, his outburst causing Rose to look his way.

Troy stood up, moving between Rose and Paolo, “No, mother, please, don't do this. . .”

Clearly the boy was confused, he didn't know Rose. Did he really think this woman was Elissa Saunders, his mother, the woman who had gone missing after the events of ten years ago? Troy reached out to grab the gun, but just then Parker interceded, pulling Troy out of danger, out of the line of fire. Rose advanced, coming before Danvers and George.

“You betrayed me for the last time, George,” she said, “It was one thing to accept your affair with that bitch, Rose, bad enough that she produced for you a bastard son when I knew I couldn't give you one. . . until the miracle occurred and our Troy was conceived. But that wasn't enough for you, was it? You had to indulge your perversions. . . you told me about having sex with Gerald, but that it was over, you had pushed those feelings for other men aside, you loved only me. . .”

The old man cried out with obvious pain, his emotions raw and bubbling to the surface; confusion ripped across his wrinkled face. Did he even know what was the truth and what was fiction? What was happening now, what happened then?

“You and your sick friend Danvers, conspiring behind me,” she continued, now aiming the gun squarely at Danvers. “You thought you could have everything. . . now, you'll have nothing. . .” She thrust the gun forward and the old man lunged from his wheelchair to stop her, only to crumple to the ground in a cry of agony. It was Danvers who reacted next, grabbing at Rose, all while screaming for someone to help George, “Dammit, help him, he's hurt. . . my God, how is this happening. . . not again. . .”

Rose released the gun as Danvers pushed her back, Parker easily catching her. But to do so, he had to release the struggling Troy, and it was the impulsive young man who leaped into the air, intent on stopping Danvers from pulling the trigger.

“You bastard, leave my mother alone,” Troy said, his voice losing its deep masculinity, as though he were regressing, a boy again in the throes of adolescence. The sound made Marc realize that this whole night was a re-enactment of what had happened back then. Troy had been then, a boy of no more than fourteen and he had witnessed the final confrontation between his mother, his father, and his father's male lover. Only the real Elissa Saunders was missing, but Troy didn't know that, did he?

“No. . .” Paolo cried out from the assembled group as Troy made his move. Jack and Edgar grabbed him to keep him from entering the fray, no doubt the memory of Aaron fueling him, not wanting to see any more harm to come to them.

Troy's body crashed against Danvers and the two men went down, a struggle ensuing. George looked on in horror as his son and his one-time lover battled for the gun. “Get off me you damn brat,” Danvers cried out, a sudden surge of power coursing through him. He threw Troy over, quickly lifted himself to the ground. Then he pointed the gun straight at Rose and said, “Die, you bitch, I did it once, I'll do it again,” he said and