The Link - Chapter 2 - First Draft

Rachel and Declon share a special Empathic link and find themselves caught in a crime ring

Morgan/THE LINK Suspense Fiction

Chapter Two

Waking up

Juggling two stuffed grocery bags, Camile squeezed herself into the penthouse elevator. She paused, then sighed with irritation, tapping her forehead as she realized she'd misplaced her entry card--yet again.

With an exasperated groan, Camile placed the full green bags on the floor. She wondered, "When did I start to feel old?" Pressing her palm against her aching lower back, she winced softly before stretching to ease the pain.

Suddenly, the elevator rocked, sending her groceries scattering across the floor. "Aye yi yi!" Camile cried out, sweat collecting on her brow as the confined space became stifling. Another abrupt jolt, paired with a loud clang, startled her, and she clutched her chest in alarm.

"Oh, dear God! I thought that was a gunshot. I wouldn't put anything past Emilio," she thought.

The elevator's stale, humid air made Camile wrinkle her nose in distaste. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored wall, her once-sleek bob now jutting out at odd angles. At least her makeup had survived, and her bold signature red lipstick was still flawless. Smoothing out her hair, Camile drew herself up, spine straight, shoulders back, bracing for whatever challenges the day might hold.

Camile hoped, "Maybe tonight I'll finally sleep well--now that I gave all of our available cash to Randolph for safe keeping."

Rummaging through her worn leather bag, softened by years of daily use, Camile searched with growing impatience. She ended up emptying most of its contents onto the floor before her fingers finally closed around the elusive entry card. Relieved, she managed a half smile, dabbed the sweat from her brow, and straightened her uniform--black pants paired with a white blouse that now clung uncomfortably to her back, dampened by the trickle of sweat running down her spine.

Camile thought, "Maybe there's hope for me yet."

Sliding the card into the slot, she felt the elevator stagger upward. Leaning against the back wall, she listened to the metallic whir, calming her nerves.

When the elevator halted and the doors parted, Camile quickly bent to gather her runaway groceries. She stepped into the apartment, glancing around. Everything appeared untouched--except for one detail that immediately caught her attention.

She stood still, unable to move, her heart thudding in her chest, while the only noises were the soft hum of the refrigerator and the steady ticking of the grandfather clock, marking each passing second. The dim, golden glow stretched shadows across the room, illuminating Randolph's anxious expression as he gently held Rachel, who remained motionless in his arms.

Camile hardly registered the groceries scattering across the polished floor. The air felt thick with tension, and the fear written across Randolph's face was unmistakable. Hurrying toward him, Camile's hands, marked with age, flew to cover her mouth, her lips trembling.

She gasped before she found her voice: "Oh my God, my girl!"

Randolph's expression softened as he saw Camile.

With a shaky voice, Randolph said, "Camile, thank God you're here."

Camile pressed her hands to her cheeks and eyes wide with fear.

"Dios m!" she cried, rushing over to Randolph. "What happened?"

Still cradling Rachel, Randolph nodded toward the bar.

"Get a cloth--quick!" he instructed.

Camile hurried to the modern bar, snatched a damp towel, and returned as fast as she could. Randolph gently placed it on Rachel's forehead, observing closely for any response.

Camile reached for Rachel's warm hand, her worry deepening the lines etched across her face. Blinking away tears, she knelt beside Rachel and gave Randolph's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"We're in this together. We'll do everything we can to help her wake up," she promised.

The tension in the room was nearly suffocating, and Rachel's complexion was as pale as porcelain.

"Thank you," Randolph said with genuine relief. "I can't imagine what we'd do without you." His gaze lingered on Camile, as if seeing her anew.

Noticing her red-rimmed eyes, concern flickered across Randolph's face. "Camile, your eyes--they're all red. Are you sure you're, okay?"

"It's just allergies, really," Camile replied, forcing a smile, hoping her voice wouldn't betray her true feelings.

Privately, her thoughts whirled: "I'm falling for this gentle, caring man. If only my

divorce would happen sooner..."

Turning her attention back to Rachel, Camile gently brushed aside her auburn hair and massaged her arms and legs, trying to stimulate her circulation. Gradually, Rachel's eyelids fluttered, then opened.

Randolph's face lit up. "Camile, she's waking up--thank God, thank you!"

With Rachel still groggy, Camile and Randolph eased her up onto the ivory chaise lounge, waiting patiently at her side.

As they watched over Rachel, Camile and Randolph exchanged shy, meaningful glances until finally, their eyes met and they both broke out in nervous laughter--Busted!

"She looks better already," Camile said, with a joyful grin.

"Indeed," Randolph replied thoughtfully, "It's because you're here."

"I'll always be here for you, Randolph," Camile assured him, surprised by her boldness.

Randolph looked at her considerately, lowered his voice and leaned in, closer. "You feel it, too? Don't you?"

Camile dropped her gaze, cheeks flushed. "I'm not Rachel, Randolph, you'll have to spell it out for me," she teased, her eyes gleaming. "What is it?"

A gentle smile lifted his face. "It has a name."

Tilting her head shyly, Camile smiled. "Share your wisdom--do tell."

Looking straight into her eyes, Randolph took her hands in his. "It's called love."

Camile met his gaze, her voice soft and hopeful. "Love? Yes! Love..."

As she said it, something inside her believed it could truly happen, with this man. "I could get used to hearing that." Slowly, but deliberately, she brought their entwined hands to her cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin.

"Good. Because you'll be hearing it a lot," Randolph said. He grinned as he kissed her gently on the cheek.

Camile giggled. "I can't believe this is happening."

Randolph regarded her with tenderness. He spoke softly. "It is happening, my love, and you'll always be safe with me."

Tears gathered in Camile's eyes, "I already feel safe with you, Randolph."

Camile squeezed his hand, while a single happy tear slipped down her cheek.

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Just then, Rachel's eyes flickered open, but the bright golden light made her squeeze them shut again. Randolph noticed her discomfort and quickly grabbed the remote to lower the blinds. Slowly, Rachel peeked out from beneath her lashes, blinking a few times until her vision cleared. The first thing she saw was Randolph and Camile close by. For the past eight years, ever since her mother passed away, they had always been there for her. Rachel flashed them a sleepy smile feeling content and safe in their presence.

Still feeling groggy, Rachel thought to herself, "I can't imagine what I'd have done without Randolph and Camile. Camile has been like a mother to me--she's always been there for the last twenty-five years, and I love her so much."

"Rachel," Randolph asked, his brow furrowed with confusion, "Who the hell is Gus? And why would he be on Benni's radar?"

"Augustus McCaffrey--he's our new band manager," Rachel replied, her voice still weak but her complexion slowly improving. "Remember all those interviews we had for a new manager? We wanted to choose the right one from the start. Guess we didn't do so well, huh?" She paused, searching for clarity, then closed her eyes as if reaching out with her senses. "I see Gus sitting at a card table, chips scattered everywhere, and a roulette wheel spinning behind him." Her breath caught. "Daddy, I think he's in deep trouble."

"If Gus is tangled up with Benni," Randolph said, his tone serious, "he's in deep. Gus has been gambling, and Benni's a loan shark--this can't end well. How did he allow himself to get caught up in such a predictable ploy."

Rachel shivered, remembering Benni's intimidating swagger. "He's a crime boss--he gets people to sign away everything they have. Gus made some terrible choices, and now he's suffering the consequences."

Anger flashed across Rachel's face. "I feel bad for him, but I'm also furious. He put all of us in danger." Rachel's fists clenched as if to punch something.

Taking a few deep breaths, she tried to calm herself, but her stomach rumbled

loudly.

Glancing longingly toward the kitchen, she put a hand on her belly. "Guys, I'm sorry, but can we postpone this discussion? I'm starving." She looked at the elevator, silently hoping Declon would arrive soon. From the elevator, she looked down spotting the groceries, she turned to Camile with a pleading smile. "Any chance you can create something delicious from what survived?"

Camile and Randolph exchanged a heartfelt look. "Absolutely!" Camile replied with

conviction, her eyes, bright. "I love a culinary challenge."

"Thanks, Camile, you're the best," Rachel said, hugging her with gratitude. The

embrace triggered a memory from childhood: "I was ten years old. I fell off my bike and scraped my knee. Camile had patched me up with gentle care and loving hugs. Camile always made things better."

Rachel glanced at the fallen goods, "What happened?"

Camile smiled softly. "You did! Your father was holding you while you were

unconscious. I dropped everything to help, and together we brought you back."

"Yes, we did," Randolph agreed. "Camile is an amazing partner in a crisis."

"Oh, Randolph, you give me too much credit," Camile said, modestly waving it off.

"Nonsense. You were unflappable, and I needed you." Randolph insisted, smiling as he brushed a piece of her hair back into place.

Looking up at him with large puppy-dog eyes, she leaned her head into his hand and mouthed "thank you."

Rachel watched the interaction, noticing a subtle shift in their dynamic.

She thought, "Oh my God! They love each other. When did this happen and how did I miss it before."

As Camile gathered the groceries, she said cheerfully, "I can whip up a tasty meal with these.

With Declon coming, I'll make his favorite pancakes--extra syrup, of course." Humming a happy tune, she carried the bags to the kitchen, lost in her world of creativity and food.

Randolph, turning back to Rachel, and said, "When you reach Augustus, I'd like to speak to him." Randolph said, keeping his tone neutral. "Is it so wrong to want to incapacitate Augustus for, say, uh, well--life, maybe? Humanely, of course--I am British, after all. Let Benni do his worst."

Rachel burst out laughing. "Daddy, I've never heard you talk like that. You've always been the calm, fair one." She grinned and pulled out her phone. "I like this new badass dad." She dialed Augustus but got voicemail. With a frown, she muttered, "That's not good. Maybe I'll call Dave--he knows everyone's secrets." Rachel's wide, midnight blue eyes looked to her father's face for comfort. When their eyes connected, he shook his head, "Or maybe I'll just wait for Declon."

In that moment, the name "Declon" awakened a memory. Rachel flashed back to Declon, surprising her on her birthday. He whisked her away for a romantic dinner. Having dated other men, Rachel always returned to Declon. Suddenly, Rachel paused, looked past the elevator and gazed off tuning into her senses. She opened her mind and felt his presence, "Declon's here!"

Camile met Randolph's striking blue eyes; they exchanged a knowing glance and shrugged in unison. Declon, of course, had arrived.

"I'd never doubt you, luv," Randolph said, reverently, still not believing that this uniquely talented woman had been entrusted to his care.

"Rachel closed her eyes and reached out to Declon's mind, whispering to him, "Welcome home, baby!" hoping he'd feel her warmth and longing.

A hush fell over the room, they traded glances that revealed their nervousness and uncertainty about what was to come. Even the elevator seemed impatient, rattling while it carried one edgy FBI special agent.

Rachel's heart raced as the elevator doors chimed softly and slid open. Declon emerged, in a low, tactical crouch. He had one knee down, arms extended, and weapon at the ready. His movements were instinctive and protective. Rachel felt a surge of affection mixed with pride. In that instant, Declon's world shrank to muscle memory: the steady grip on his sidearm, tension rippling across his shoulders, and the wide-eyed shock on the faces in the room.

As Declon realized there was no danger, just family, warmth, and the promise of Camile's pancakes. Rachel noticed his posture softened and felt his relief engulf the room. Rising to his full height, he exuded quiet strength, but Rachel recognized the vulnerability beneath the surface. When he slid his weapon back into its holster and let out a slow breath, Rachel relaxed, too. She knew, without words, that Declon felt like he belonged here, and Rachel's heart brimmed with gratitude.

The comforting scent of sizzling bacon drifted from the kitchen, mingling with laughter that lightened the mood. Rachel wrapped her arms around Declon, savoring the rare ease she felt in his presence. She caught Randolph's approving glance and knew he recognized the depth of her connection with Declon--something neither of them could hide anymore.

"You old fool, they're in love," Randolph mused to himself.

Rachel, hearing her father's intuitive comment, smiled, letting herself enjoy the camaraderie and connection.

Camile soon appeared, carrying a stack of plates radiating comfort and cheer. "Breakfast is ready!" she called out. Camile's eyes lit up when she saw Declon, her happiness unmistakable as she adjusted her apron to look her best. She said in a delightful tone, "Oh, Mr. Declon, please join us."

Declon returned her smile, replying warmly, "Thank you, Camile, but really--just call me Declon. Let me give you a hand," he took several plates from Camile, assisting her in setting the table with practiced ease.

As everyone moved toward the dining room, an abrupt noise startled Rachel--the security panel buzzed, signaling a visitor. She saw everyone look to her father, and her own curiosity spiked.

With a furrowed brow, Randolph muttered, "I'm not expecting anyone." He pressed the intercom and said, "Yes?"

A deep, resonant voice announced, "Dr. Ashari Ragi has arrived."

Randolph's expression shifted to one of respect. "Welcome, Ashari. I'll send the car for you," he responded, politely.

Turning back to the group, Randolph offered a brief apology. "Sorry for the interruption, folks. It looks like Dr. Ragi will be joining us for breakfast."

Rachel stepped over to Randolph, concern etched on her face. "Daddy, I had no idea he was coming... but, you know, it's possible he reached out to me this morning during my psychic storm." There was a note of apology in her tone.

Randolph looked to Declon, prompting him for more. Declon's eyes widened as he admitted, "I might have known he was on his way earlier--but I just got here myself. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it."

Randolph regarded them both, then softened. Rachel slipped her arm through his and asked, "You're not upset, are you?"

He shook his head, concealing a growing smile, "No, of course not. Ashari is always welcome here."

With the elevator chiming again, Rachel braced herself. As the doors opened, a distinguished gentleman in his early seventies appeared, impeccably dressed in a brown tweed sport coat. He leaned heavily on a sleek black cane with a brass tip and respectfully removed his hat, holding it to his chest. From the very first moment, it was evident--this was a man of notable presence and importance.

Randolph announced, "Let's give a warm welcome to, Dr. Ashari Ragi." He initiated a round of applause, and everyone quickly joined.

Unused to such attention, Dr. Ragi flushed and used his hat to partially shield his reddening face. "Thank you," he murmured, bowing his head.

Randolph stepped forward, extending his hand. "Welcome, my friend," he said warmly. The two old friends shared a hearty handshake, followed by the familiar one-armed hug.

From the kitchen, Camile emerged, drawn by the lively conversation. Spotting Dr. Ragi's arrival, she quietly ducked back in, gathering an extra place setting and placed it on the table. Her subtle actions reminded Rachel that Camile always knew how to make guests feel at home.

With a gentle smile, Camile approached Dr. Ragi and Randolph. "Dr. Ragi, it's wonderful to see you. We're just about to have breakfast. Please, join us--it would be our pleasure."

Dr. Ragi replied, adjusting his glasses, "Ah, Camile, what a delight to see you again. Randolph must be treating you well--you look radiant."

Camile blushed, meeting his gaze. "Yes, Randolph is a good man. And with Rachel coming and going for her music, it's usually just the two of us."

"That sounds cozy," Dr. Ragi remarked with a knowing glance at Randolph.

Camile excused herself, and returned to the kitchen to finish preparing breakfast.

Randolph moved close to Dr. Ragi and, with a playful tone, said, "Careful, my friend. I'd fight you for this one--she's special."

Dr. Ragi chuckled, placing a hand on Randolph's shoulder, "Enough said. Let's eat, I'm famished."

Randolph and Dr. Ragi led the way to the dining table, the rest of the group close behind.

Before taking his seat, Dr. Ragi leaned into Randolph and said, conspiratorially, "Sorry, but I need to take the kids aside after breakfast. There's much to discuss. We'll bring you in once we've figured out our next steps."

As platters of Camile's delicious breakfast made their rounds, everyone settled in. The meal unfolded in a comfortable silence, punctuated by quiet whispers, soft laughter, and warm glances. The weight of the morning seemed to lift, and for a while, everyone--including Randolph--began to relax and simply enjoy being together.

When breakfast concluded, the atmosphere shifted, again. Dr. Ragi's meeting with Rachel and Declon was about to begin. Their eyes met, exchanging a silent acknowledgment before both rose from the table.

Rachel asked, her color returning and her voice stronger, "Daddy, could we use the library for our meeting?"

Randolph set his napkin down and stood. "Of course, darling. It's all yours."

Declon glanced at Dr. Ragi, a hint of admiration in his tone. "I'm impressed. Since when does Rachel take initiative for us?"

Dr. Ragi responded quietly, "Since we entrusted her with it. This is personal to her."

After expressing their thanks to Camile, the three made their way to the library. Rachel and Declon walked hand in hand, curiosity mixed with apprehension--wondering what Dr. Ragi wanted and whether he knew more than he let on.

The library was bathed in golden sunlight. Rachel half-lowered the blinds and chose to sit on the emerald-green loveseat, adorned with embroidered purple flowers climbing along a winding vine.

Declon looked around, amazement on his face as if he were a child stepping into an enormous toy store for the first time.

Gold accents were everywhere--the curtains, picture frames, even the massive desk. Rachel could see him observing everything, eyes wide as he noticed the gold-leafed frames of period paintings. "I've never seen so many paintings in one place before. Maybe that's because they're all here," he said, grinning at Rachel.

But Dr. Ragi didn't smile, his demeanor had changed noticeably. His gaze sharpened as he stood beside a deep purple chair trimmed with rich green piping. Choosing not to sit, he rested both hands atop his cane, and silently watching the pair.

Rachel and Declon exchanged nervous glances, feeling much like students called to the principal's office at the Institute--yet again.

Dr. Ragi broke the quiet with a question, his tone sharp: "Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

Rachel, genuinely confused, tilted her head and replied, "Find out what, sir?"

"Really, Rachel, that's rich coming from you--the one that nothing ever sticks to," Dr. Ragi replied with a note of distaste. He shifted his focus to Declon: "And you, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Declon hesitated, searching for words. "Um, I'm afraid you caught me at a loss here," he admitted, pausing to collect his thoughts. "I suppose the real question is, what couldn't you find out? And respectfully, I'm not going there, sir."

Dr. Ragi sighed, disappointed, "As usual, no one wants to take responsibility for their actions."

Rachel's chin jutted out in defiance. "And what exactly are we supposed to have done that's so wrong? Tell me!"

Declon added, "yeah, what she said."

Dr. Ragi's tone softened with amusement at old memories. "Rachel, you always had an excuse for everything, didn't you?"

Rachel replied, refusing to back down, "Sir, my excuses are simply my version of the truth."

Declon brushed his wavy brown hair away from his soulful brown eyes, and said, "And my excuses, you never found satisfactory." He leaned forward. "Let's get to the heart of the matter--what is it that you really want to know?"

Dr. Ragi blew out a steamy breath. "That's always been your way, Declon. You take charge and twist things until they suit you." His tone softened, "I just want to know one thing. We're like family, right? So why didn't you tell me?"

Rachel and Declon exclaimed in exasperation, "Tell you what?"

"That you got married!" Dr. Ragi exclaimed.

Just then, Randolph entered the library, wheeling in a coffee cart. "Who got married?" he asked, confusion written on his face.

Dr. Ragi announced, "Rachel and Declon!"

Silence took over the room.

Rachel's attention span was stretched to the limit as distant voices tickled her brain. Vivid images flooded her mind hijacking her immediate presence as she gazed into the distance. Allowing herself to be submerged into the overwhelming emotions and images, her face conveyed her distaste. Nose wrinkled, lips turned downward, and tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill. The scene played out quickly. Abruptly, she sprang to her feet and rushed to the trash can, just barely making it in time before she was sick.

Pulling herself up and on her feet, Rachel announced, in a thin voice, "Augustus is dead,"

Once again, silence prevailed.

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