FanStory.com - Miracles - Chap 6by Begin Again

Background
The powerful Judge Doyle vows revenge against those who brought him down. As his reach extends beyond the prison walls, a grieving Eleanor, armed with ghostly powers, is ready for battle.

"Just do it!"

Jenna scolded herself, afraid to look at the test.

She took a deep breath, her heart pounding louder with each beat. She wasn't ready to face the answer, and conflicting emotions caught her in a whirlwind that her body already understood.

What if it's positive?

Images flashed across her mind of a night she'd tried so hard to bury. She ran her hand across her stomach and stared into the mirror.

A baby — a living, breathing human might be growing inside her.

She shivered with her next thought.

Can I carry and nurture a reminder of that moment that fills me with unspeakable dread? Will I blame the child and pass on my fears?

Her body went cold.

How could she even be thinking about these things?

She forced herself to think of Eleanor, the decisions she'd had to face, and her adopted mother—who had taken her in, loved her as her own, and taught her to be strong.

Would she even know how to find that strength now to make a choice like this? The idea felt like a boat anchor — one she wasn't sure she could carry.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she clenched her fists, steadying herself as best she could. She knew she'd have to look at the test eventually, to face whatever it held, but her mind was spinning with questions she couldn't answer.

Would she be able to keep and raise a child? Could she even bear to consider it?

None of the options seemed viable.

With a trembling hand, Jenna squeezed her eyes shut and reached for the test. "Do it, Jenna?"

A shock wave of uncertainty washed over her as she opened her eyes. It was positive. She was pregnant. Dropping the test, her hands pressed against her stomach, and she stared into the mirror. A pair of eyes filled with despair stared back at her.

The words tumbled from her mouth in a heartbreaking cry, "Oh, dear God in Heaven, why?"

She stumbled to her desk, clutching the test, unable to process what this meant, mumbling, "I'm pregnant." The words opened a floodgate of tears. Sitting alone in her office, she rocked back and forth, sobbing and muttering, "Why?"

*****

After seeing how pale and distraught Jenna had been earlier, Garth decided to stop in and check on her. As he neared her office, the sound of hysterical sobbing reached his ears, and he hurried toward it.

As he entered her office, his heart broke at the sight of Jenna, legs tucked to her chest, rocking back and forth with tears streaming down her face.

"Jenna!" He raced around the desk, pulling her into his arms. "Jenna, what's wrong? Talk to me."

Her hands clutched his shirt as she buried her face in his chest, unable to speak. With one arm, he held her while the other stroked her hair, and his lips whispered, "It's going to be alright, Jenna. Whatever it is, we'll get through this together."

Unable to hold back, Jenna leaned into him, letting the sobs come freely. He held her, offering silent comfort as she trembled in his embrace.

*****

Meanwhile, Donatelli's conscience gnawed at him, replaying the coldness with which he'd treated Jenna earlier. He felt torn between his pride and his feelings for her. Finally, the power of love won.

Deciding he needed to apologize, he stopped at a florist, picked up a bouquet of roses, and headed to her office, rehearsing what he'd say, hoping to make amends. His gut told him that the night they'd spent together had been far more than a one-night stand. Jenna was special.

As he neared her door, he stopped. His stomach did a major flip-flop. Through the window, he saw Jenna with Garth, his long-time rival, wrapped in his arms, her face pressed into his chest. His body stiffened as he watched the scene unfold - Garth's hands stroking Jenna's back and his lips so close to her.

Bitterness and jealousy reared their ugly heads, twisting his insides into knots. Without a word, he turned on his heels, tossing the roses into the trash bin as he stormed from the building. His anger clouded his mind, and he pulled out his phone, calling Danni.

He barked into the phone. "I won't be back."

Shocked, she asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing that a few stiff drinks won't fix."

"Matthew, did you —"

"Danni, enough with the questions. I saw her in Garth's arms. I won't play that game again." Choking back his emotions, he muttered, "I need to be alone."

Without even a goodbye, he disconnected the call. With one last glance back at the building, he stripped off his tie and jacket, put on his Aviator glasses, and slid behind the wheel of his car, slamming his hands against the wheel before starting it.

White knuckled, he drove away, never realizing someone was shadowing his every move.

He needed to distance himself from the display of affection he'd just watched, but his mind wasn't about to accommodate him. The scene replayed over and over as he sped down the highway — destination unknown.

****

Several miles out of town, he pulled off the road, stopping outside "The Hideaway" — a rough-looking biker's bar that promised the anonymity he needed. He hadn't planned where he'd go — he'd just driven until he felt he was far enough from everyone and everything.

As he pushed through the heavy bar door, the smell of stale smoke and cheap whiskey hit him. A few locals glanced his way, sizing him up, but he kept his head down, sliding onto a barstool and nodding to the bartender.

Outside, the other car stopped across the street, the engine idling as the driver watched Donatelli disappear inside. He picked up his phone and made a call. "Yeah, he's here." the driver growled. A grin spread across his unshaven face. "The Gods are shining on us. I happen to know the bouncer and the bartender."

A voice at the other end asked, "Can you get this done?"

"If you need to ask, then I'm not your man. Get someone else."

"Don't get your jets fired up, Freddy. Doyle wants you."

The driver snarled, "If you know what's good for you, William, you won't call me that again. It's Frederick the Great. Understand?"

"Sure, I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just the messenger."

"Remember that when talking to me. I'm the muscle and the brains." He was tired of this mealy-mouthed errand boy on the other end of the line. He had business to take care of, but first, he wanted to be assured he'd get paid. "It'll cost, and I'm not talking about penny ante stuff. I'm expecting a big paycheck or one of those paintings he's been smuggling out of the country. Understood?"

"The Judge said to get it done, regardless of the cost. There's an extra 100Gs in it if you eliminate any witnesses."

"I know what I'm doing. There ain't going to be any witnesses." Frederick chuckled. "By the time I'm done with this guy, he'll wish he was dead, and for sure, he'll be behind bars." He chuckled. "Maybe even a cellmate buddy with the judge."

"Just get it done."

He clicked off, his grin on his face a dark promise of what would unfold.

*****

Frederick eased his car behind the abandoned shed, hiding it from the main road. He took a deep breath, glancing at the row of Harleys outside the Hideaway. The place was packed tonight, a roaring party for the town's wildest. Perfect for what he had in mind.

He slipped through the back door and was instantly greeted by Tony, who grinned and tossed a bar towel over his shoulder.

"Well, well, look who crawled in," Tony said with a chuckle. "What's the occasion, Frederick?"

Frederick leaned in, his tone low and casual. "Got a little job for you. See the guy at the end of the bar? He's a thorn in the Judge's backside if you know what I mean. I need you and the crew to make sure his night doesn't go quite as planned."

Tony's eyes lit up with recognition. "I thought I recognized him when he walked into this joint wearing those threads. Isn't he that hot-shot —"

Frederick's hand touched Tony's arm as he gave him a nod. "Less said, the better."

A gleam in Tony's eyes said he understood. "This could be interesting." He clapped a hand on Frederick's shoulder. "We're all ears. What's the play?"

"You better get Bruiser, too. We need this to go down like any other Friday night. Just a disagreement between two men that got out of hand."

Tony yelled across the room. "Hey, Bruiser, I need another case of the good stuff."

The bouncer nodded and headed toward Tony's office. Frederick was close behind. Inside the office, the bouncer slapped Frederick on the back. "You got some action going down?"

Frederick pulled a wad of money from his pocket and skimmed off five Ben Franklins. "You can count on a bonus if this goes down the way the Judge wants."

"The Judge? Man, this guy must have really messed up. What'd he do?"

"Does it matter?" Frederick snarled, "You in or not?"

"No problem, pal. It was a simple question, but if the Judge wants it done, let's make it happen."

"That's more like it! I knew I could count on you, Bruiser."

"Let me get this case of booze out to the bar, and you can fill us in."

After setting up another round of a shot and a beer for Crystal, Tony worked his way back to the end of the bar, where it was dimly lit. Frederick and Bruiser stood in the shadows.

"I want you to get him into a game of pool. We'll start slow, let him get comfortable, and then — well, let's just say we give him a little 'encouragement' to get rowdy."

Tony smirked. "Gotcha. A couple of beers in, and we'll get him thinking he's the best shot in the bar. Then we let him know otherwise."

Frederick turned to Crystal, who had sidled up to him with a smirk of her own. "And as for you, beautiful," he murmured, slipping an arm around her waist, "I've got something special."

She cocked her head, intrigued. He slipped her a small packet, keeping his voice low. "When he's distracted, drop this in his drink. Make sure he doesn't see you."

Crystal chuckled, tucking the packet into her back pocket. "Oh, I can handle that, Frederick. No problem."

"Good," Frederick said, giving her butt a friendly squeeze and slipping a Franklin between her cleavage. "Let's make it convincing. The more natural, the better."

Bruiser folded his arms, nodding with a grin. "Johnny's worn out his welcome around here, so I'll get him to challenge your guy to a game of pool. A few knocks to the head won't hurt him." They all laughed at his joke.

Tony leaned across the bar and lowered his voice as he added, "By the looks of this guy, he's going to show off. If the guy's got an ego — he'll take the bait."

"Trust me. He's got a chip on his shoulder." Frederick's grin widened. "Once he's riled up, we let things get a little heated. A few words, a nudge, maybe even a shove. Just enough to get him fired up and ready to take a swing."

Tony gave a nod. "You know us, Frederick. He'll be putty in our hands."

Frederick leaned back, satisfied. "That's why I like you guys. Let's make this a night he won't forget." His smile turned cold, knowing that none of them would realize the full stakes of this setup until it was too late.

*****

After hammering several rounds of shots and chasing them with a bottle of beer, Donatelli began to mellow, especially after Crystal's added gift. His gaze fell on a battered pool table surrounded by rough-looking bikers. A man with a toothpick clenched between his teeth watched him with a smirk as if sizing him up for more than just a friendly game.

"You look like you could use a bit of luck tonight," Johnny said, motioning to the table. "Fancy a game?"

Donatelli hesitated, but the ache in his chest made him reckless. He sized up his challenger and answered, "Sure. Name your wager."

The man's eyes flicked to Donatelli's wrist. "That watch of yours. Looks like it's worth something."

Donatelli considered the suggestion, then slid off his Rolex and set it on the side of the table. "Pretty high stakes. Can you match it?"

Bruiser tossed six thousand on the table. A couple of other bikers tossed money on the table, too.

Donatelli sneered. "The watch is worth more."

"Guess if you're good enough, you won't have to worry about losing it, will you?"

Donatelli swallowed another shot, chased it with the beer cocktail Crystal had mixed, and shrugged. "Fine. One game. It should be child's play."

They chalked their cues and started the game, with Donatelli holding his own at first, his movements smooth and calculated. But as the game wore on, his aim wavered from the drinks, his shots growing sloppy. The biker grinned wider with each missed shot.

However, a hush fell over the crowd when Donatelli made a lucky shot, sinking two balls at once. His opponent's face darkened.

"That was a fluke," the man muttered, his tone souring. "No way you made that shot without cheating."

Donatelli rolled his eyes. "It's just a game. Can't handle losing?"

The man's face twisted in anger. "Call me a sore loser, will you?"

Without warning, he lunged at Donatelli, and the two crashed into the pool table, sending balls scattering. Other bikers joined in, fists flying as the bar erupted into chaos. Someone grabbed Donatelli's arm and twisted it, causing him to lose his balance and hit the floor. The fight surged around him. The tables were flipped. Bar stools tossed. Bones broken. During the mayhem, Crystal found the watch and pocketed it.

Disoriented, Donatelli struggled to stand as blows rained down. Before he knew it, strong arms were tossing him outside on the gravel. He stumbled to his car, barely able to hold himself upright. He collapsed into the driver's seat, his head heavy and his vision blurring.

He didn't see the figure watching from a nearby car — the one grinning as Donatelli's head slumped forward.