I was afraid for my life, but it was more than that, too. People like Beatrice and Solomon, they might think they understand themselves—their world, as they put it—but there was so much more than that. Yes, maybe I couldn't comprehend being rich, but maybe I didn't want to, either. Maybe I liked the way I was, and maybe if I gained money as a part of that I'd be fine with it. But it wasn't necessary for my happiness, and I think Asher understood a bit of that, too.
He would, he had to. Asher didn't do things for money, but he had money because he did things. He loved and wanted and admired and adored. He controlled his business, yes, and he was overbearing at times, but it wasn't because he wanted money, it was because he loved what he did. It all made sense to me now. He said he tried to love Beatrice, and I'm sure he did, but he couldn't comprehend how to do it because Beatrice didn't want to accept him.
I accepted him, but it was more than that, too. I allowed Asher to love me the way he needed to love me. A little dominating, sometimes infuriating, but that was Asher and if I wanted a part of him, then I needed all of him. He never pushed me too hard, but just enough. He never...
I loved Asher so very much and I felt my heart racing at the thought of it. My fear tangled with my love, fighting for space in my chest, and I could barely breathe at the mass of emotion. Asher was dying. Solomon shot him. I needed to get away from here, not only because Asher had asked me to, but because he couldn't die. I'd call the police, get an ambulance. They'd save him. I would ride with him to the hospital and make sure he was safe and...
"Go!" Beatrice screamed. "Go after her!"
"Why did you do that?" Solomon asked.
What were they talking about? I had no idea.
"Go!"
Solomon pursued me. I escaped from between the bookcases and into more open territory, except with unwanted tears blurring my vision I didn't know where I was. Where did I go, what did I do? I bolted for a bright light, unsure exactly where it was but thinking I should go towards it. To the store, to the front. I could close the door behind me and lock Solomon in while I ran to Robert and we called for help.
I ran, faster, tripping over the scattered remnants of bookcases and shelves and metal rods. My feet felt heavy and thick like I'd worn tight shoes all day and had just taken them off. My blouse caught on a shattered piece of a bookcase, ripping when I pulled at it in my frantic escape.
I heard Solomon behind me, dodging past wooden debris, chasing me. He ran fast, faster, and when I glanced over my shoulder at him I saw him toting his gun around, the metal gleaming in the dull light from above.
I dashed forward towards the bright light, expecting to escape and settle this, except the large loading dock door blocked my way. I stared, dumbfounded.
I hadn't run towards the door connecting the storage area to the shop; I'd run to the unused loading dock in the complete opposite direction.
Solomon gained on me and, seeing me stricken and still, slowed his pursuit. He jogged the rest of the way, moving towards me at a leisurely pace. I stared at him, beyond him, but I couldn't do it for long, couldn't stand to see him approach. Looking down, afraid and ashamed, feeling distress at having tried so hard and failed, I noticed something odd.
It didn't quite stick in my mind as to how, or why, but the loading dock door was open. Not by much, just about half a foot off the ground, but enough that...
I fell to the ground, scrambling forward, trying to crawl beneath the door. It was a tight fit—too tight—but this was a matter of life or death. If I could escape, if I could...
"Do you really think it's that easy?" Solomon asked.
He pointed the gun straight at me with his finger poised next to the trigger.
"Please," I said. "Please don't do this."
Solomon's finger pulled back, slow and steady. With the gun aimed at my head and with me an easy target, prone on the ground, there was no way he could miss me. I closed my eyes, felt the helplessness of my feet dangling in the air. My futile escape amounted to nothing, because now I was dead.
A heavy crack rippled through the air. That's it, I thought. He's fired, and in half a second I'm dead. Half a second passed by, but I still felt alive. And another, then a few seconds more, and...
"Are you going to stay down there or what?" Jeremy asked.
I blinked, once, twice, and opened my eyes. Solomon lay crumpled on the ground, his body lying in an unnatural pose, limbs akimbo, head twisted and looking up at the ceiling with his eyes glossy and disoriented. Behind him, standing, was Jeremy with a half-broken piece of plank in his hands; apparently the remnants of a bookcase shelf.
"Where's Asher?" he asked.
"Jeremy, help, please. I need to... I'm stuck. Jeremy!" I clawed at the floor, trying to free myself from being stuck under the loading dock door.
Exasperated, nearly crying—why was Jeremy crying?—he ran over and pulled me loose. He helped me stand and hugged me tight.
"Jessika, where's Asher? He sent me a text that said 'help.' I went around back and saw this door and figured... well, I figured I'd pull a you and sneak in to see if I could help, but then I heard you screaming and saw Solomon chase you. I hid and waited and thank God I did because... I just can't even believe this. This is too crazy."
"Asher," I whispered. "Jeremy, he shot him. Solomon shot Asher. I was trying to get help and I heard it and..."
"Let's go," he said.
I nodded and ran, trying to explain to Jeremy where to go. I didn't even know where, barely knew how to navigate the bookstore storage warehouse, but Jeremy seemed to get the hang of it. He knew something, maybe a sixth sense? I don't know, not exactly, but we rushed back to where they were and I saw Beatrice kneeling at Asher's side.
He was dead, there was blood, and...
"I don't hate you," Beatrice said, pushing back his hair. "I never really hated you, Asher. I wish we had talked more. Maybe... I just don't hate you. I don't know why Solomon did that. I don't want you to die."
"Step back," Jeremy said, fording his way through and reaching Asher's side. "What did you do? Is he dead?"
"He's not dead, you idiot!" She glared fiercely at Jeremy, but upon seeing us both, seeing me, she softened. "He's not dead. I... I pushed Solomon aside before he shot. Asher fell, though. He scraped his hand. It's only a minor cut, it's not deep. It all happened so fast and Solomon left so I don't think he really understood what happened. You're alright, though, right?" She looked down at Asher, touching her fingers to his cheek.
Asher croaked, his voice coming out in dry, harsh sounds. "Is Jessika alright?" he asked.
Beatrice frowned, just for a second. "She's fine. Jessika is fine. She came back for you. Jeremy is here, too. Everyone is fine, Asher."
"I'm going to call the police," Jeremy said. "Don't think you're off the hook, Beatrice." He looked at me and added, "Jessika, watch her."
"I won't go anywhere," Beatrice said. She shuffled to the side, leaving me a space next to Asher. "Go ahead."
Jeremy left, running through the backroom to the store to Robert. I wandered over to Asher, still scared, but so very happy. He wasn't dead, he wasn't...
I knelt next to him and sat on the backs of my heels and thighs, smiling.
"Jessika," Asher said. "Oh God, I'm so sorry. I didn't think something like this would ever happy. I just... I don't even know. I shouldn't have put you in danger like this. We should have called the police. We should never have come here."
"No," I said. "It's fine. I understand. You wanted to settle things without resorting to that. You had hope."
Asher nodded slightly from the ground, his cheek shifting across the tile floor. Then he closed his eyes and remained silent.
"Did he hit his head?" I asked.
"Maybe. I think so," Beatrice said. "He must have. I'm not sure. I didn't see it happen exactly. Everything happened so fast."
"He tried to love you," I said. "He really did."
"Yes, well, I never tried to love him," she said. "Maybe I should have, but I didn't. You'll think that's mean, but I'm just telling you the truth. I was too angry to love him."
I tousled Asher's hair. If he had a concussion, he needed to wake up, and soon. As reluctant as I was to do it, I knew I should shake him awake and keep him aware until medical help arrived.
"I think he loves you very much," Beatrice said. She looked sad and alone and I felt a little bad for her, but she'd brought this upon herself. She knew full well what the consequences to her actions were before she started this. "He kept asking about you. I didn't know what to tell him."
And then, as I shook Asher's shoulder to make sure he was awake, Beatrice whispered, "I'm glad Jeremy came. I'm glad you're alright. I never wanted Solomon to kill anyone." She held Asher's cell phone in her hand, squeezing it so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
...
When we arrived back at the Landseer estate after the police showed up, I immediately went and sat on the couch in Asher's guest home, slumping onto it. I was so tired, physically and mentally exhausted, and I wanted to go to sleep. But, no, I couldn't. I had things to do, and I needed to do them soon before I changed my mind.
Asher was alright. He'd declined going to the hospital. After the paramedics checked him out, they said he should be fine to leave, but to take it easy and be careful. If anything happened, anything at all, they wanted him to rush to the emergency room. Jeremy practically had to force him to agree while I stood and watched on, too shy to say anything.
The truth of the matter was, I didn't belong here. I knew that before, but I knew it even more now. With all that happened, this wasn't the right thing to do. Not just for me, but for Asher, too. I'd caused him so many problems, caused him so much grief. He'd say that it wasn't my fault, and I understood that it wasn't entirely my fault, but to some degree it was. I could have gone to the police myself, could have prevented a lot of this. I could have...
I don't know exactly what I should have done, but there were a lot of things I could have done, and almost every single one of them seemed better than what I had done. I wasn't the sort of person Asher needed in his life, whether he thought he loved me or not. And, it didn't matter if I loved him, because that was beside the point. If I truly loved him, then I'd do whatever I could to make him happy, including leaving so he could move on with his life and become a better person without me.
I waited, laying against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. I saw the slight gap where the projector came out and pointed to the screen that descended above the fireplace. We'd watched two movies on it—his favorite movie, and mine—but no more. I teared up a little thinking about that. I'd see plenty of movies in the future, but none of them with Asher. I couldn't. It was impossible.
I stumbled off the couch and staggered towards the stairs. Shuffling up to the second floor, I went into the master bedroom. Neither of us had bothered to make the bed after we left it this morning, so it was still a mess. The silken shirt Asher had used to tie me to the headboard lay in two ragged pieces on the floor, and he'd tossed the blankets into a pile by the foot of the bed, too.