FanStory.com - Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 14by Begin Again

The casino was usually alive with gamblers' frenetic energy and the constant hum of slot machines. However, in the early morning light, it had a subdued atmosphere. It was around nine, and most of the night owls had left, leaving an air of quiet exhaustion.

A few die-hard gamblers still lingered at the tables, their faces looking worn and weary. The slot machines blinked and chimed sporadically.

Only a few patrons nursed their drinks in the nearly deserted bar area and stared absently at the flickering TV screens broadcasting the morning news. At the corner stool sat a man hunched over the counter, his shoulders slumped in defeat. His once neatly combed hair fell in disarray over his forehead, partially obscuring his bloodshot eyes. A five o'clock shadow roughened his jaw, and the creases in his brow told the tale of a sleepless night. His hand trembled as he swirled the last drops of amber liquor around the glass.

The bartender approached. "Want another?"

Jonathan wasn't his usual charming self. He didn't lift his gaze as he mumbled, "I'm tapped, Jimmy."

At the end of the bar, a woman watched him with soft, compassionate eyes. She was older, but age had treated her kindly. She signaled to the bartender and nodded towards Jonathan. The bartender poured another drink and placed it on the bar. "Might have a live one, Jonathan. The lady at the end of the bar sent it over."

As he nursed the drink, he tilted his head and looked down the bar at the woman. He blinked, then blinked again. The woman resembled Eleanor, but drunk or not, he knew it couldn't be. An icy chill strummed his spine as she slid off her bar stool and walked toward him.

"Hello, Jonathan." Eleanor sat beside him, her eyes looking at a mere shell of the brother she remembered. "Why are you doing this to yourself? You were always the strong — the one who looked out for me when we were kids."

"Listen, lady, you look like my sister, but you can't be. She's dead. And I refuse to believe I am talking to a ghost." He slammed the drink and signaled for another one.
"You won't escape your problems with that stuff."

"Maybe not, but it won't matter in a few days." Jonathan swiveled on his stool to face Eleanor. His eyes were intense as he spoke. "Are you really my sister? Or am I hallucinating?"

"It's me, Jonathan. I'm here to help you," Eleanor smiled. "If you'll let me."

"You're a little late." He snarled. "If you'd just given me the million bucks, I wouldn't be in this dilemma," he snapped.

"What dilemma is that?"

"I either sell our mother's diamonds —"

Eleanor gasped. "How could you sell the necklace? Margaret has it. She would never have given it to you. Especially to pay off gambling debts."

"Not anymore," Jonathan confessed, staring at the amber liquid in his glass. "Her darling son stole it."

"Trevor stole Margaret's necklace? Then, how do you have it?"

"He was about to pawn it for a few bucks. I stopped him and gave him the money in exchange for the necklace. He had no idea what it was worth."

"But you do! Margaret cherishes our mother's necklace. She would be devastated. You have to give it back to her."

"Sorry, no can do," Jonathan replied firmly.

"Jonathan, you must." Eleanor's voice rose as she insisted.

"She'll get a replica — an almost perfect match. Then I'm going to pay off my gambling debts with it."

"You can't!" Eleanor pleaded,

"It's either that or somebody is going to find my body in pieces in some dark alley." Jonathan closed his tired eyes and mumbled, "You think I wanted to stoop to this — a disgusting drunk, thief, lowlife?"

"Then stop, Jonathan," Eleanor pleaded.

"I can't!"

"You can. It won't be easy, but I'll help you."

He rubbed his eyes. "How can I trust this isn't just a trick of my mind? Just the liquor pickling my brain?"

Eleanor moved closer, her voice calm and assured. "To prove I'm really here, I want you to play your last chips on red 12."

Jonathan looked at the stack of chips and then at Eleanor. He shrugged, "What have I got to lose?" He staggered to the roulette table and placed his remaining chips on red 12. The wheel spun, and to his astonishment, the ball landed on red 12. He stared at the table in disbelief as the croupier pushed a mountain of chips his way.

Excited, he turned to see Eleanor, but she wasn't there anymore. He looked at the chips. It amounted to a lot of money. Maybe his luck was changing.

He placed his bet on the black 24. He couldn't contain his excitement as the wheel spun around. As it slowed, the ball rolled and dropped into the red 23. He'd lost.

Suddenly, Eleanor appeared at his side. She whispered, "Play the black 24."

"But I just lost everything."

She put a stack of chips on the table. Jonathan's eyes bulged. She smiled. "If you win this pot, I will pay off your gambling debts, but you must promise to give Margaret the necklace back. The real one, not a replica. Promise?"

Jonathan stared at her. "If I win, is the money mine, and you pay off my gambling debt?" He grinned. "That's a win-win situation."

"I need you to promise."

"Yeah! Yeah! I promise."

"We aren't kids anymore, Jonathan. No fingers crossed. No excuses. The necklace goes back to Margaret."

"I promise." He held up his hands. "See, no fingers or toes crossed."

His heart pounded as he placed his bet again. The wheel spun, and once more, fortune smiled upon him. He watched as the chips piled up in front of him.

Breathless, he glanced around, half expecting Eleanor to be gone. But there she was, perched on a nearby stool, but her expression was serious.

"Something wrong?" Jonathan asked. "We won!"

"One final spin, Jonathan. If you win, you must stop gambling for good. In return, I will give you your million dollars, but first, you must take the $250,000 and start a halfway house for Gamblers Anonymous."

He hesitated. "How can I trust this isn't some cruel dream I will wake up from?"

She looked deep into his eyes, her gaze unwavering. "Pick the numbers yourself this time."

"I'll pick your birthday — number 9."

"I'm surprised you remember, but the choice is yours."

Jonathan placed his bet. The wheel spun, and time seemed to stretch endlessly. When the ball settled, it landed on the 9.

A small crowd had gathered, and they erupted in applause. Jonathan could see his sister for the woman she was for the first time in years. His eyes misted over as he whispered, "Thank you. I promise I'll make you proud."

"I know. Now, keep your promise. Take the necklace back to Margaret."

"What do I tell her?"

"The truth. Trevor needs to learn a few things, too." She smiled at him. "I've got to go now."

"Where? Why can't you stay?" He chuckled. "Not here, of course. This place has seen the last of me."

"I wish I could, but it's not to be. Besides, I need to pay off your gambling debt before someone finds you in pieces. Take care, Jonathan." She blew him a kiss and then faded away.

*****

Margaret disconnected the number she'd been dialing all morning. She called his office, and his clerk said he was out. She called the country club, and they said he hadn't been there. She even tried the golf caddie shack, thinking he might be scheduled for a round, but she was told he wasn't on the roster.

She tried his private cell one more time. It rang and rang before going to voice mail. She was tempted to leave a message but decided against it.

Her phone rang, and she instantly answered, "John."

A mechanically distorted voice chuckled and then spoke to her. "No, John here."

Angry, she disconnected the call. It rang again. This time, she answered, "Hello."

The voice on the other end was cold. "Listen carefully, Mrs. Ashley. I have your daughter."

Margaret screamed into her phone. "Who is this? What do you want?"

Ignoring her questions, the voice continued, "A million dollars in unmarked bills. No police, no tricks. If you want Megan back alive, you'll follow my instructions."

Margaret's entire body trembled as her knees crumbled, and she sank to the couch. Her voice cracked. "How — do I know — you aren't a scam? I need proof."

"Check your email in the next five minutes. You'll see a video of the moment she was taken. Remember, Mrs. Ashley, you have 24 hours to get the money and wait for my next call. Any delay or attempt to involve the authorities, and you'll regret it."

Margaret couldn't control her tears. "Please, let me talk to her. Let me hear her voice."

"No demands. You'll hear from me soon. Be ready with the money."

Margaret was desperate. She screamed into the phone, "Wait! I'll get the money. Please, don't hurt her."

The voice snarled. "Do as I say, and your daughter stays unharmed. Cross me, and you'll never see her again. Remember — twenty-four hours."

Nick disconnected the call, satisfied that Megan's mother would do as she was told. He settled his debt with the judge by handing Megan over to the kidnappers. It didn't matter to him how they disposed of her. He focused his eyes on the million-dollar payoff he had just arranged. He wasn't worried if the judge found out because he had a tape of their conversation and a video of the kidnapping. That should be enough collateral to keep him safe.

*****

Jenna carried the stack of letters into the living room and settled into Eleanor's favorite chair, curling her legs beneath her. The soft flow of the lamp cast a warm light over the delicate pages. She gently untied the ribbon and unfolded the first letter. Tears sprung into her eyes as she recognized Eleanor's handwriting. Helen told her this was Eleanor's wish, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that she was intruding on a deeply personal chapter of Eleanor's life.

"Oh, Eleanor, where are you when I need you? This would be much simpler if you were here." She buried her face into a pillow, wishing Eleanor would appear.

The first few letters were brief, a mere few words saying she was okay. Her words transported Jenna back to when Eleanor was a young nurse during the war.

As Jenna read, she could almost hear Eleanor's voice, filled with hope and heartache. Eleanor wrote vividly about her experiences, the horrors she witnessed, and the camaraderie among the nurses and soldiers. The letters painted a picture of a resilient and compassionate woman who found solace in her friendships and a sense of purpose in her work. She often mentioned how difficult it was to watch as other nurses received letters from their husbands. In one letter, she wrote that mail calls had become more like a reoccurring wound than the healing suave it was meant to be.

Hours passed unnoticed as Jenna immersed herself in the letters, each a testament to Eleanor's indomitable spirit and the enduring power of love.

And then there was Charles.

From that moment on, the letters were happier and upbeat even when things went wrong. After reading the letter once, Jenna read it out loud.

March 15, 1943

Dear Helen,

I hope you are holding up. By the sounds of the assembly job you've been given, your feet must be screaming for a rest. I pray you find the strength to continue and this war will end soon.

Life here is unlike anything I imagined. The days are long and hard, but there are moments of beauty that keep me going. Yesterday, I met a charming young man named Charles. He's an artist, and he offered to teach me how to paint in our free moments. His eyes light up when he talks about art, and it feels like a small escape from the horrors around us. I can't wait to learn from him.

With love, Eleanor

Jenna's heart fluttered as she read about Eleanor's first encounter with Charles. She pressed the letter to her heart and murmured, "Love at first sight."