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She slightly furrowed her brow. “Excuse me, sir,” she said directly to her target. “Haven’t we met before somewhere? I can’t recall where exactly. Was it at Covent Garden perhaps? Or maybe the Wigmore Hall.” “Goodness, madam,” said a clearly flustered Benedict Cosgrove. “I really don’t remember. I doubt that it was the Wigmore. I’ve not been there for several years.” “I do recognise you,” Susan persevered. “Maybe it was at a party somewhere. Mr Cosgrave, isn’t it?” “Cosgrove,” the mark corrected. “Benedict Cosgrove. But you can call me Ben. I don’t recall your name?” “Susan Worstenholme,” said Susan using one of several assumed surnames. “So, Mr Cosgrove, how well do you know my cousin Kenneth?” “I didn’t know you were related, Mrs Worstenholme,” said Benedict Cosgrove. “By grace of marriage only,” said Susan. “But I must correct you, Mr Cosgrove. I’m not yet a married woman. Worstenholme is the surname I’ve had from birth. I guess I still haven’t found the man whose surname I wish. In total despair, I began to fall again, deeper, faster and more violently. The realization that I was completely alone was as unbearable as the pain. Two weeks later, to the day, I walked out of the hospital. They said it was a miracle I had survived the large caliber bullet passing so closely to my heart. They were in disbelief that it did so without causing a fatal injury. They had kept me in a medically induced coma until yesterday morning. Without warning, and despite all odds, I sat up with eyes wide open. Indeed, it was a fresh day and it felt good to be alive. 'If only Lexi were here with me, it would make me whole again.' I lamented. As I stood outside the hospital door, the Sheriff drove up and told me to hop in. We talked briefly as he drove me through town. "You know buddy, you are a bit of a hero around here now." he started. "What? What do you mean? I haven't done anything special around here." I said with a puzzled tone. "Just wait, you will see. I'm taking you by.
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