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PROLOGUE
Kerri studied the notes she’d added to
the diary, comparing them to the ones before. The writing was close, but a
handwriting expert would see the subtle differences. She would eventually have
to recopy the entire book just in case it was ever found. His legacy had to
live on without blemish.
“But
what about your legacy?”
She ignored the voice in her head,
much as she’d ignored Keira most of their life. She would have her legacy in
time, but not until Simone’s work was finished, and not until the world was
ready to recognize her talent as an artist.
She closed the book, picked up her
glass of wine, rose and went to study the painting of Jake Savior she’d hung on
the den wall. Simone would have been proud of her. It was some of her best
work. She’d captured not only his handsome face, but also the quintessence of
his soul. She’d painted him while he watched his wife feeding ducks in the
park. The deep blue eyes had revealed so much to her. His compassion, and his
deep love for this woman. But there were also shadows in his eyes. Shadows of
pain and loss not quite forgotten. She knew where those shadows came from. It
must have been horrible for an eight year old child to watch his mother beaten
day after day until finally in a moment of sheer desperation she attacked her
attacker and gave her son a chance to escape and run for help. Help that came,
but much too late.
A deep rattling cough came from behind
the bedroom door. Kerri’s shoulders slumped, and the hand holding the glass
shook as anguish ripped through her like a thousand tiny paper cuts that
throbbed and ached. It was their fault Simone had been hurt. He’d been upset
because the job wasn’t finished. Like an artist when the painting was
incomplete or an author when the book was only half written. No true artist
could live with that. It ate away at your soul until you slowly starved to
death.
She opened the door slowly, watching
the sheet covering the withered, scarred body for any signs of movement that
would signal he was still breathing. It rose slightly as another rattling cough
shook the bed. She blew him a kiss and closed the door, leaning against it for
just a moment to steady herself. He no longer bore any resemblance to the man
she’d fallen in love with, but his essence was still in there somewhere
struggling to survive. His zest for life was one of the things she’d loved
about him.
She poured another glass of wine and
went back to the painting. This was the beginning of her legacy. Any normal
child would have been driven insane by what Jake Savior had endured with both
his mother’s death, and then his father’s subsequent suicide. Instead he’d
followed in his father’s footsteps and joined the police force as a champion
for justice. People like him couldn’t see the true artistic beauty of Simone’s
bombings. Like her, Simone was a true artist. He studied his subjects. Their
death was imminent, but Simone made sure they went out in an explosion of
beauty.
Her gaze fell on the remaining four
paintings sitting near the baseboard. Harry Redmond, Clifford Beaumont, Jenna
James, and Marcus Dade. They were all guilty of murdering the heart and soul of
the only human being she had ever loved. She would be their judge and jury, and
she would mete out justice fitting their crimes.
She picked up her paint brush, and
stared into the deep blue eyes of Jake Savior as she sipped her wine. It wasn’t
enough just to kill him. She painted a scar running from his right eye to just
below his chin. She wanted him to suffer, as she had suffered. To die a little
each day as he realized there was nothing left to live for. A soft smile played
around her lips as she thought about the plans she’d made. Before she was
finished they would all go insane.
A loud moan came from behind the
closed door followed by another rattle. She glanced at the syringe and bottle
sitting on the coffee table. The doctor had told her the time would come when
his suffering would become unbearable. She tossed the paint brush into the
fireplace and picked up the syringe and bottle before walking slowly to the
bedroom door. It was time for his suffering to end and theirs to begin.
