Chapter 12
Even in her condition, she continued to jog every day after getting the okay from Malik. He usually joined her when his schedule allowed, but today he had meetings at the capitol. She was glad because she wanted to be alone to bask in her joy. Yesterday had been like something out of a fairy tale. The prince had given her a ring and she was so happy, so incredibly happy.
The hour was early, so the suffocating heat wouldn’t descend for at least an hour. She loved this time of day, before the fiery weather drove everyone inside. She glanced up at the cloudless, cornflower blue sky. A hint of a breeze rustled the rows of palms lining the avenue leading up to the palace. For the moment, she felt good. Energized. Sweat beaded on her skin, and her muscles ached from the exertion of the run. Her morning sickness no longer plagued her, thank God. As she approached the palace, she marveled at the opulent pink stone building with its golden onion dome. Her pace picked up as she spied an entourage of about ten men leaving the palace. Wearing their white robes, traditional checkered headdresses, and aviator sunglasses, they made their way down the steps to a waiting limousine.
Malik.
Head over heels in love with him, every breath she took reminded her of how lucky she was to have him. They were going to be married. He would be her king forever, and soon their baby would make them a family. Deep within the recesses of her heart, she knew Malik yearned to be part of a family again, belonging to people who cherished him, people whom he cherished. He was so protective of her and the baby, and she just remembered she hadn’t yet thanked him for their celebratory dinner and the dancing afterward. She increased her speed, really pushing it, running as fast as her legs could carry her. She swiped at the beads of sweat stinging her eyes as she made her way toward the group of men.
When a pain pinched into her side, she blew a huge puff of heated breath up through her damp bangs and slowed down until her breathing regained its normal cadence—it wouldn’t do the baby any good if she passed out from exertion. Slowing to a fast walk, she waited for the pain to subside before picking up her speed again. She wanted to see him before he disappeared for his day of meetings.
The entourage was getting closer to the limousine, so she picked up her pace yet again. She’d just left him about forty minutes ago as he was getting into his robes, but the need to be enclosed in those oh-so-strong arms engulfed her.
Just a minute, only a minute.
A smile tipped up her lips when she remembered how he hadn’t let her have any champagne to toast their engagement after the dinner last night. He had ordered a special bottle of sparkling grape juice just for her. Her heart was ready to explode with happiness. She swiped an arm across her forehead to clear the sweat dripping down her face. Then she waved her arms in the air, hoping to catch his attention. A pain hitched her side, but she ignored it this time, determined to be with him. Gauging the distance and her speed, she realized she was too far away—she’d never catch him. As the men dipped their heads into the car, she cupped her hands around her mouth and called out his name, desperate for him to hear her.
Frantically waving, she continued to run. And then—
Kaboom!
Right before her eyes, the limousine was tossed into the air, bowed in half as a giant ball of flame engulfed it. The roar of the blast was deafening. The glass windows in the palace shattered, too, sending shards flying. Metal pieces of the ruined car flew by her, clanging as they hit the pavement.
Then everything happened in slow motion.
Blown off her feet, she flew through the air, her arms and legs flapping at her sides. She hit the ground hard, her neck snapping her head against the pavement. Excruciating pain ricocheted down her spine. Her fingers touched the back of her head. Blood, a lot of sticky blood, coated her fingers and palm. Wooziness overtook her, and as blackness beckoned, she blinked rapidly, trying without success to clear her vison. It was impossible. The blackness encroached more and more. She battled to stay conscious, pulling at her inner strength.
Malik! Malik!
She screamed his name until her throat protested. Her mind, unable to process the fact that seconds ago she’d watched his procession enter the car and now . . . and now . . . it was a flaming hunk of metal sitting in front of the palace. Black, suffocating smoke from the burning tires obscured her view, the smell making her gag.
Dead. Malik was dead. The realization struck like a second explosion as her body gave up the fight to stay conscious.
She was floating, rising out of her body as the bounds of earth loosened. Before she could get her bearings, she landed on her feet. The children around her were laughing and raising their hands, frantic for her to call on them. Suddenly, she knew where she was. She was in her fourth-grade classroom at Saint Bernadette Parochial School in Santa Barbara. Everything around her was unusually vivid. The old, marked-up student’s desks were arranged in perfect order, their lines straight up and down the center of the classroom. A huge world map dominated the back wall, and a three-foot high statue of the Blessed Virgin carried a crown of roses. It was May. The children, dressed in their blue and green plaid jumper uniforms, were playing a trivia game about the fifty states. She knew the game well, had personally designed it to make geography a fun way to inspire competition among her students. She was happy with the results.
This particular day, it was the boys against the girls. The girls were ahead by twenty points. Smiling, she drew another card from the pile and read the question. Twenty-five eager hands flew into the air, begging her to call on them. She pointed a finger at a highly-motivated student, and the boy stood and delivered the correct answer. All the boys high-fived each other while the girls moaned out loud. A tied game! She pulled another question from the box. This one would determine the winning group, which would have a lighter homework assignment. She read the question and hands instantly shot into the air. They’d studied hard. They always did. They were a wonderful group of students.
“Miss. Miss!” They anxiously bopped up and down in their desks, their hands waving back and forth in expectation, eager for their chance to show her how smart they were.
‘But,’ a small voice whispered in the back of her brain, ‘what is your name?’
On some inexplicable impulse, she turned, and there it was in the middle of the blackboard. Written in perfect cursive: Miss Allison McKay. Her heart stopped, and her breath suspended in her throat. Of course she was Allison McKay, how could she not be? The pieces were starting to fit back together. Thank God.
Miss Allison McKay was back.
“Jane, Jane—” someone was shaking her, “—can you hear me?”
She didn’t want to leave her students. She felt secure and in charge in the memory. But as hard as she fought to keep herself inside the vision, the person shaking her wouldn’t leave her be. The happy memory of her classroom and the children faded, and she began her slow ascent from a deep hole of blackness.
Opening her eyes, she tasted the metallic tang of blood, and when she sucked in a deep breath of air, she inhaled the noxious smell of burning rubber and flesh. She doubled over and threw up the entire contents of her stomach, using her sleeve to wipe across her mouth. Nazem handed her a white linen handkerchief and then braced an arm around her shoulders as he assisted her into a sitting position.
She mouthed Malik’s name, unable to find her voice. He glanced over his shoulder at the emergency equipment arriving on the scene. Fire hoses were spread from several fire trucks, their powerful stream of water flooding the car.
“We’re not sure.”
Her shoulders shook as tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “I think I saw him near the limo.”
“Shh, shh, you’re hurt. Let’s concentrate on you until we know something definite.”
Nazem pushed an open water bottle in her direction. From the corner of her eye, she watched the emergency personnel working the horrific scene. Tilting the bottle, she drank heartily, the cool liquid soothing the hot burning sensation in her throat.
Malik was dead.
Malik was dead.
The solemn litany kept repeating itself in her mind.
She would never be his wife. Her chance was gone; he was gone. In a flash of fire her whole world had collapsed. A deep pain stabbed her heart. Openly sobbing, she let the tears flow without even attempting to wipe them away.
Nazem’s voice was a tranquil breeze in her ear. “We need to get you to the hospital. Can you stand, or do I need to call the paramedics over?”
She sat there for a minute among the chaos, hurting deep inside, hungering for Malik to appear and wrap his strong arms around her, then kiss her forehead in that tender way he did. But it wasn’t going to happen. It was never going to happen again. Malik was dead. No, no, no! Her mind refused to accept that fact! But still, she had seen him get into that car with the other men. She was certain of it. He couldn’t have gotten out without her noticing, could he? She pulled her knees up and dropped her head against them, deep heart-wrenching sobs still racking her body. She knew she was going into shock, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered now that Malik was gone.
Nazem’s voice forced her to look up. “Let’s get you to the hospital. You need to be tended to because of your condition.” So Nazem knew she was pregnant. That really didn’t surprise her. Malik and Nazem were as close as brothers. Nazem’s walkie-talkie blared at his waist. Picking it up, he called for an ambulance. She tried to stand, but stumbled back. Nazem steadied her.
“Let’s wait for the paramedics before we move you.”
Nodding her head, she agreed. Her hand was full of blood, the wound on her head dripping onto the concrete next to her feet. Nazem removed his suit jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders and then unbuttoned his shirt, balled it up and held it to the back of her head.
People were screaming now. All the servants had streamed out of the palace after the blast and were sobbing, some were calling on Allah to protect and comfort them. Some had fallen on the ground and were openly weeping.
The blast of the siren came closer. She glanced at the scene of carnage in front of the palace, forcing herself to keep from vomiting again. She folded her hands across her lips as if in prayer. In addition to having hit her head, Nazem informed her that she’d cut her lip and gotten a scrape across her left eyebrow. She assumed none of her injuries were life threatening. She was pretty sure the baby was okay, but Nazem was right. She had taken a nasty fall, and she needed to see a doctor.
She gathered her wits. “Nazem, my name is Allison McKay.”
Startled by her news, he stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. “How do you know?”
“When I hit my head, my memory came back. I’m a fourth-grade teacher from Santa Barbara, California.” Too bad Malik would never know her name. Too bad she would never hear him say her name, or whisper it into her ear as they were making love. She started sobbing again. Nazem smoothed her head into his shoulder as the paramedics arrived.
“Shh, shh, we will sort it all out later.”
~ ~ ~
Doctor Fareed had been waiting for her in the E.R. and immediately assumed her care. Who could have imagined that their appointment would be changed so drastically? The doctor gave her something to make her sleep and she did, for hours. When she finally forced her eyes open, she thought she was dreaming. She could see Malik, dressed in blue surgical scrubs, standing out in the corridor, talking with a woman. She squinted and tried to make out the person’s identity. Ah, it was Doctor Fareed, who was also wearing scrubs. Her heart began to free-fall. Malik’s gaze jerked to her when the machines monitoring her condition increased their beeping. Pushing the door to her room open, he stepped inside. It couldn’t be . . .
Taking her hand and raising it to his lips, he kissed her knuckles. “You gave me quite a scare, you know that?”
“Me?”
“Yes, I thought I had lost both you and the baby. The anguish was unbearable.”
“But, but . . .” she stammered. “I saw you get into that limo. I saw it blow up! I assumed you were with those other men. How?”
“Shh, shh,” he soothed, “you need to remain calm for the baby.”
Continuing to hold her hand, he leaned forward and kissed her, the tenderness in his kiss reminding her of why she loved this man.
“Doctor Fareed has given you and the baby a clean bill of health, but she wants you to stay and rest.”
Allison’s hand slid down across her stomach. “I’m so thankful nothing has happened to the baby.”
His hand covered hers. “Or you,” he added. “I was so foolish. I acted like a crazy man after I got word you’d been hurt.”
Her eyes held his. “But I was sure you were in that car!”
“No, I had an early meeting with the elder who will perform our wedding. I was still talking to him when I got word of the massacre at the palace. I should have informed someone of my whereabouts, but I was in such a hurry to organize our wedding that I just took off and drove myself. I’m sorry to have put you through pain. I should have mentioned my plans to you this morning.”
“Oh, Malik, I was so scared I’d lost you!”
He enclosed her in his arms, ignoring the persistent beeping of the heart machines as he gathered her closer to him. “You are never going to lose me. I’m going to take care of you and our child for the rest of our long lives.”
Her pulse slammed into overdrive. Oh, how she loved this man. She loved him to the ends of the earth. Beyond.
He stroked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“Take me home,” she breathed.
His lips slid down to hers, the contact so carnal she gripped his shoulders, holding onto him as her body dissolved into pleasure.
“I would like nothing better, but Doctor Fareed says that I can’t yet. Nazem tells me the blow to your head revived your memory.”
She squirmed in the hospital bed. “Yes, I remember my name.”
“Miss Allison McKay,” he acknowledged, and the sound of her name on his lips, the foreign twist of the syllables, propelled a fresh wave of blistering heat through her. “And I’m informed you’re a teacher. No wonder you’ve enjoyed your work at the orphanage so immensely. You were born to it. I hope I can count on you to help teach the children living there.” He paused, his face turning red. “That is if you want to continue working after the baby is born.”
“Of course I want to! It’s my profession.”
They hugged each other again, so relieved that their world was finally coming together.
Their laughter mingled for a delicious moment.
“So you remember everything?”
She frowned. “No, there’s something about my family that’s still being blocked from me.” She didn’t want to ruin the happiness of the moment by telling him that she thought it was connected to the strange visions she’d had . . . of the gun and the hooded figure. The phantom refused to relinquish his hold.
“It will come in time. For now, I am happy to finally call you by your right name. Allison—” his lips tested the sound again, “—the name suits you.” All through the night Malik stayed at her side. They talked about their future, their home, their family, and her working as a teacher. When the sun rose, she blinked, tired and so happy to be with the love of her life. Malik crawled in the hospital bed with her, his big frame squeezing them together and she fell asleep listening to the slow thump of her heart.
~ ~ ~
The next evening, with the moon at its zenith, and in the comfort of Malik’s bedroom, she woke up with the words, Malik must die whispering from her lips.
The dark shadow had visited her again in her dreams, demanding her unguarded attention. Only this time, her vision had brought one more piece of the puzzle. Malik’s sister’s amulet swung before her eyes. Her recollections became crystal clear. Her eyes drooped as she became drowsy watching the swinging amulet. Back and forth it swung before her eyes as the master kept repeating the same words over and over. Oh, God! Now she heard those words as plainly as if he were in the room with her right now.
Malik must die. Malik must die.
Her hands flew to her mouth as a terrible fear roared to life in her gut. Worried she would wake Malik, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and padded barefoot across to the balcony.
The dark shadow’s influence was gaining strength. She felt herself morphing into the dangerous assassin he’d forged with his beatings, torture, and threats. She gripped the cold stone of the balustrade, her legs buckling under the weight of her newfound persona—the persona of a killer.
In the blink of an eye, the rest of her forgotten memories came tumbling back into place with clarity. She and her parents were celebrating her victory at the shooting competition in Touffian when they were all kidnapped. OMG! Her parents. That monster still held her parents! She fell to her knees as the horrendous memories overwhelmed her. Now, from the tongue of the devil whispering into her ear, she remembered her mission. She ignored the cold bite of the stone cutting into her flesh—an injury was the least of her problems. Closing her eyes, trying to expunge the inescapable, she bowed her head, pleading with God to deliver her from this fate. God please help me, I cannot do this! She closed her eyes, begging all the fates for help . . . for mercy. Her heart shuddered in her chest. She was caught in a trap so unimaginable, she wondered at her sanity. In order to free her parents, she had to kill the king of Baharah.
She had to kill the love of her life.
She had to kill Malik.