The Unknown Wrestler by H. A. (Hiram Alfred) Cody
The Unknown Wrestler by H. A. (Hiram Alfred) Cody
There was no room for him on the sidewalk, so he took up his position beyond the curbstone. The light from the large arc-lamp overhead, exposed the old man's thin white hair, withered face and threadbare clothes. His sightless eyes were turned toward the passing throng, and his head was slightly bent in an expectant attitude. But the hand that drew the wheezy bow across the strings of the violin often faltered, and the broken music, instead of attracting, repelled the crowds. The player was tired and longed for rest.
But the fire of an overmastering purpose burned in his soul and kept him steadfast to his post.
The girl standing by his side was both weary and embarrassed. Her hand trembled as she held out her father's soft felt hat to receive the coins which were so very few. It was quite evident that she was new to this business, for her cheeks were flushed crimson owing to the remarks she occasionally heard.
"Listen to that old man sawing wood," one gaily-dressed young fop laughingly jested to his companion.
"Filing his saw, I should say," was the sarcastic reply. "It's a wonder to me that such a noise is allowed on a street like this."
"But see the girl," the other insisted, "isn't she a beauty! Look at her cheeks. My! they are some colour. She seems new to her job. Suppose we give her a jolt. I'd like to hear what she'd say. Perhaps she isn't as innocent as she seems."
They had stopped several rods away and were watching the girl as they talked. Presently they retraced their steps, and when they came near where she was standing, one of them surged suddenly against her, causing her to drop the hat in alarm and start back, while the few coins rolled out upon the hard stones. Her cry of dismay caused the old man to stop playing and turn quickly toward her.
"What is the matter, Nan?" he anxiously enquired.
"Oh, let us go away," the girl pleaded. "We are not safe here, and I am so frightened. Two men pushed against me and knocked the hat out of my hand. I know they did it on purpose, for they went away laughing. Oh, what is that?" and she leaned eagerly forward as a commotion took place among the crowd a short distance away.
While the young men were performing their cowardly prank, a man was intently watching all that was taking place. He had been observing the blind violinist and the timid girl for several minutes. In his eyes was an expression of sympathy, which changed at once to intense anger at the act of the two heartless fops. He stepped quickly forward and confronted them.
"What right had you to interfere with that girl?" he demanded.
"It's none of your business," replied the one who had done the deed. "You get out of our way, and do it quick at that, or it won't be well with you."
At once a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder, and the gripping fingers of that hand caused him to wince and try to tear himself away. A sudden fear smote his heart as he looked up into the blazing eyes of the man before him. He was beginning to respect that towering form with the great broad shoulders and the hand that seemed to weigh a ton and the gripping fingers that were closing like a vise. He suspected that this was a plain-clothes man in the Police service, and the thought filled him with a nameless dread. He glanced around for his companion, but he was nowhere to be seen.
"What do ye want me to do?" he at length gasped.
"Go pick up those coins, and then apologise to the girl for your rudeness," was the reply.
"Good heavens! I can't do that, ye know. What will me chums say?"
"Never mind what they will say. They'll say a great more if I have to drag you there by the coat collar. So get a move on at once."
The victim looked helplessly around upon the crowd which had gathered, as if expecting some assistance. But not a friendly face could he behold. All seemed to be greatly amused at his plight.
"Hurry up."
The voice was calm but the clutching fingers were becoming almost unbearable. There was nothing else for the young man to do, so with a face as pale as death he turned and walked slowly back to where the old violinist and the girl were standing.
"Now, pick up the coins," was the imperious command.
The culprit at once obeyed, and groped around as well as he could but nothing could he find. Several street urchins, who had been ahead of him, now stood near and jeered at his fruitless efforts. At length, straightening himself up, he turned to his captor. The perspiration was streaming down his face, and he looked the picture of misery.
"I can't find anything," he gasped.
"Well, then, apologise to the girl. Tell her you are sorry for what you did and that you will never do such a thing again."
With trembling lips the young man stammered forth a few broken words as he stood facing the surprised and abashed girl. It was hard to understand what he said, but that did not really matter. His punishment had been severe, and his captor felt somewhat satisfied.
"Now, clear out," he ordered, "and be thankful all the rest of your days that you have escaped so easily."
Scarcely had he finished speaking ere a large police officer forced his way through the crowd. He grasped the situation in an instant, and when he saw the man standing near the culprit, a light of recognition came into his eyes.
"Shall I take him, sir?" he asked, at the same time giving the salute.
"No, Sergeant, I think we had better let him go this time," was the reply. "He has been taught a lesson already which he is not likely to forget."
When the crowd saw that there was to be no more excitement, it quickly dispersed, and the stream of humanity surged along the street as before. The policeman, too, moved away, leaving the girl and her protector standing near each other.
"You have had a hard time to-night," the man remarked. "I am so sorry those rascals gave you such trouble."
"Oh, it was so kind of you to come to our assistance," the girl replied. "My father is very tired, and the little money we made is all gone."
"May I have your violin for a while, sir?" the stranger asked turning to the violinist, at the same time taking the instrument gently from the trembling hands. "You must be very tired."
During the whole of the scene the old man had been trying to comprehend the meaning of the commotion. His daughter was too greatly excited to explain anything. But when he heard the stranger speak to him he at once complied with his request and allowed him to take his beloved instrument. The girl slipped her hand in his and squeezed it hard, and then stood watching her kind protector.
The latter lifted the violin quickly to his shoulder, faced the crowded street, and drew the bow across the strings. There was a great difference now in the playing, and many people paused to listen. There was something which appealed to them in the music which was pouring forth. It stirred their nobler feelings and aroused in them the spirit of sympathy for the poor and unfortunate. They comprehended the purpose of the musician when they saw the feeble old man and the girl standing nearby. The hearts of many were strangely stirred, and they vied with one another in dropping money into the dusty hat which the girl was again holding forth. Silver mingled with bills, and the girl's face grew bright and her heart happy the heavier the hat became. It seemed to her like a wonderful dream, and that the player was a fairy who had come to her assistance. She wanted to watch him and listen to the music he was making, but she had little time for that, as she had to pay attention to the money she was collecting.
Suddenly the music stopped and when the girl turned her head she saw the stranger handing the violin to her father. She wanted to speak to him, to thank him for his kindness, but before she could act he had disappeared among the crowd.
As the music ceased, so did the giving, and the unheeding crowd once more surged on its way. But the girl did not care, as she had all the money she could manage.
"Let us go now, father," she said. "We have done well to-night, and I am so anxious to know how much we have."
"Yes, Nan, let us be off at once," the old man wearily replied. "I am greatly confused and do not fully understand all that has taken place. You must thank the stranger for his kindness, though. His music was wonderful."
"But he has gone, father. He vanished among the crowd, and I am afraid that I shall never see him again. Oh, he was splendid! How I wish you could have seen him."
"But I heard him speak, Nan, and listened to his playing, so that was something."
They were standing close to each other, talking as simply as if they were completely alone. In her great innocence, Nan did not realise that greedy eyes were watching the bulging hat she was still holding before her, and that itching hands were but waiting an opportunity to snatch away the treasure.
They had turned to leave the place, when a policeman suddenly appeared before them.
"I have been instructed to accompany you home," he briefly informed them.
Into the girl's eyes came a look of fear which the policeman was not slow to notice.
"Don't be afraid, Miss," he remarked. "It is for your welfare that I am here. It is not safe for you to go alone through the streets with all that money. There are people watching you already to snatch it away from you."
"Are there?" and the girl looked fearfully around. "I don't see them."
"No, I know you don't. But they are watching you, nevertheless, so let us go at once."
"Who sent you here to help us?" the girl enquired, as they moved along by the side of the policeman. "Was it that kind man who played so nicely?"
"I received orders to come," was the reply. "That is all I can tell you. But I think you had better let me carry that money," he added, "perhaps it will be safer with me."
The girl was only too glad to comply with his request, for she was beginning to get quite nervous as they moved along through the crowds. She imagined now that many people were following them in order to steal their treasure.
It was quite a distance they had to travel, and very glad was the old man when at length they stopped before the door of a house on a narrow street.
"You live here?" the policeman asked, as he handed the hat with the money to the girl.
"Oh, no," was the reply. "We are only staying here for the night. We live in the country. This is a boarding place, and we have been here before. We are very grateful to you for your kindness, sir, and we shall never forget you."
"It's all in the night's work," the policeman replied. "But be careful of that money. Keep a good watch over it."
"Indeed I shall," and the girl hugged it close to her breast. "It means so much to us."
The policeman moved away, and then stopped and watched the house for a few minutes after the old man and the girl had entered the building.
"Good Lord! what innocents," he muttered to himself. "They wouldn't have got half a block with that money if I hadn't been along. I wonder how they'll make out getting away. Live in the country, the girl said. They should stay there, then. The city's certainly no place for such as them."
Eliana reunited with her family, now ruined by fate: Dad jailed, Mom deathly ill, six crushed brothers, and a fake daughter who'd fled for richer prey. Everyone sneered. But at her command, Eliana summoned the Onyx Syndicate. Bars opened, sickness vanished, and her brothers rose-one walking again, others soaring in business, tech, and art. When society mocked the "country girl," she unmasked herself: miracle doctor, famed painter, genius hacker, shadow queen. A powerful tycoon held her close. "Country girl? She's my fiancée!" Eliana glared at him. "Dream on." Resolutely, he vowed never to let go.
The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.
Kathryn was the true daughter, but Jolene stole her life and set her up for ruin. After a brutal kidnapping scheme, Kathryn's loyalty to her brothers and fiancé was met with cruel betrayal. Narrowly escaping, she chose to cut all ties and never forgive them. Then she shocked the world: the miracle doctor for the elite, a top-tier hacker, a financial mastermind, and now the untouchable star her family could only watch from afar. Her brothers begged, her parents pleaded, her ex wanted her back-Kathryn exposed them all. The world gasped as the richest man confessed his love for her.
I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.
Brenna lived with her adoptive parents for twenty years, enduring their exploitation. When their real daughter appeared, they sent Brenna back to her true parents, thinking they were broke. In reality, her birth parents belonged to a top circle that her adoptive family could never reach. Hoping Brenna would fail, they gasped at her status: a global finance expert, a gifted engineer, the fastest racer... Was there any end to the identities she kept hidden? After her fiancé ended their engagement, Brenna met his twin brother. Unexpectedly, her ex-fiancé showed up, confessing his love...
Marrying her best friend was a dream come true for Kelly, but everything truly has a limitation. Pierce is Kelly’s first love, but as his best friend, she knew well there was always another woman deep in his heart. Lexi Gilbert. The woman Pierce could never forget even if he had already been arranged to marry Kelly. *** Kelly finally realized their happy marriage of the last three years was just a beautiful dream when Pierce asked for a divorce just because Lexi returned. She could only be his best friend even if she was carrying his baby. *** Since their friendship had become a cage, Kelly chose to set him free, as well as the miserable herself. But why then, it was Pierce who became the one who refused to move on? To make matters worse, her devil stepbrother also domineeringly stepped in at the same time, asking her to be his. *** Her Prince Charming vs. Her Devil Stepbrother? How could Kelly save her heart in this battle of love and hate?
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