The Santini Vendetta

by Christopher Fox

  “I will head back to the Station now," the inspector said. "I have left instructions to be called when your wife and son are able to answer questions. Are you sure you will be OK? The nurse here will help you if you need anything. Au revoir for now.”

  “What about Bobby? Can I see Bobby?”

  “As I said, he has been moved to the Children's Hospital.” With that the inspector turned to leave.

  Kyle sat there not knowing what to do, or what to think, and felt utterly helpless. He got up from the couch and paced for several minutes. Not being a religious man—agnostic is how he described himself, a testament to his engineering background, no doubt—he envied those that had the faith to justify tragedy by believing it is God’s will. How nice it would be to ease the hurt and pain he was now experiencing by believing it to be part of some divine plan–a spiritual contrivance under which we all play a part. No, he couldn’t bring himself to believe that. He subscribed to random behaviour–the wrong time, wrong place argument. Casey and Bobby were the victims of unfortunate random behaviour–a string of circumstances, any one of which would have changed the outcome if they had been different, in some cases by a fraction of a second.

  He shot a glance to the Nurse’s Station. A youngish man in pale green scrubs was talking to the nurse at the counter, and she pointed over to Kyle. The man then approached him.

  “Mr. MacDonald? I am Dr. Chandra. Please take a seat over here.” He motioned to the same couch. The doctor had to be barely thirty year's old and sported a salt-and-pepper close-cropped beard that covered much of his olive-skinned face. His tousled hair was similarly black with premature greying at the temples. “First of all, let me say how sorry I am to see this happen to your family,” he said with genuine remorse. “We have removed the bullet from your wife’s spine. She is not out of danger yet and will remain in Intensive Care until her condition improves. The bullet passed through her intestines and her spleen. The danger in these types of injuries is the release of bile into the internal cavities. Unfortunately, this bile acts as a toxin when released internally.”

  Kyle listened intently, feeling somewhat nauseous.

  “When can I see her?”

  “You can see her briefly now, but she may not regain consciousness for some time. She has been severely traumatized and is suffering from shock. The nurse will take you to her.”

  “What about Bobby?”

  “Your son suffered a mild concussion from a blow to his head. He’s going to be fine. We sent him over to the Children’s Hospital for treatment.”

  Dr. Chandra got up and beckoned a nurse from the Station. “I will be checking on her often within the next few hours,” he said to Kyle as he offered his hand, which Kyle accepted. “Believe me, we are doing everything possible.”

  “Thank you doctor. She’s very special to me, you know,” Kyle’s emotion showing through his glazed eyes and quivering voice. The doctor merely nodded as if to say, I understand, and disappeared down the hall.

  “This way Mr. MacDonald.” A female voice from behind caused him to turn and face the young nurse whose facial expression was as sombre as his. He followed her down the hall and through a double swing door into a large room where several curtained-off beds lined each side. She stopped at the second one and pulled aside the curtain to reveal the patient lying in the bed. On a shelf above the bed, several oscilloscopes recording various data from the patient, giving an ominous beep with each pulse. To one side, a machine whirred away and a small bellows oscillated in tune with the patient’s breathing. A multitude of tubes and wires connected the patient to the life support and monitoring systems. It wasn’t until he walked to the side of the bed that he recognized Casey. She looked so pale and lifeless laying there with her face partially obscured by the oxygen mask, her long ashen hair draped on her shoulders and the pillow. He reached for her slender hand that felt cold when cupped in his, and gently gave it a squeeze, then leaned over and brushed her cheek with his lips.

  “Hi honey.” he whispered, choking back the tears. “It’s me.”

  Casey showed no signs of acknowledgement as she lay there, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. The only communication being the ‘beep’ ‘beep’ of the monitor as each pulse left a spike on the ‘scope, signalling that vital signs were within acceptable tolerances. Kyle hated the audible representation of the heartbeat because he always feared that it might stop. Then, as if his worst fears were to be realized, the signal became erratic. He looked at the monitor and the spikes now appeared uneven.

  “Nurse!” he shouted. “Nurse!”

  The nurse came rushing in and immediately depressed the red button on the wall.

  “Sir?” she turned to Kyle as two more medics rushed into the room. “You will have to leave, now.”

  Kyle stepped back and allowed the emergency crew to attend to Casey, involuntarily finding himself whispering, “Please God, Please don’t take her now.” Dr. Chandra rushed into the room and glanced at the monitors. The monotone sound of the heart monitor droned inside Kyle’s head, and he could see the display showing a flat line just before the nurse closed the curtains, leaving him with the eerie tone signifying that Casey’s heart had stopped beating. He staggered to one of the nearby chairs, feeling nauseous and weak, listening to instructions being given behind the curtain–so many milligrammes of this and so many milligrammes of that. Then the monotone ceased. A dejected Dr. Chandra emerged from behind the curtain and looked sombrely at Kyle. “I’m sorry,” was all he said.

  “N-o-o-o!” Kyle screamed, then buried his head in his hands. He felt a hand on his shoulder–it belonged to the nurse.

  “Come,” she said in a soft voice. “You need something to calm you down,” and reached for his arm. He allowed his weak legs to support him as the nurse led him out of the Intensive Care room and into an accompanying room, where she guided him to a bed. Another nurse appeared with a small paper cup and a glass of water.

  “Take these,” she said. “They will help you feel better.” He took the tablets in a bewildered fashion and chased them down with the water. Within minutes, he fell asleep.

  Four

  The funeral took place in a small church outside Kars with close family members only in attendance. On a rainy August afternoon, Casey was lowered into her final resting-place amongst tears and bitterness from the sombre gathering. The entourage of umbrellas slowly ebbed until only two solitary figures remained, standing with their heads lowered and hands clasped in front of them. With each sob, Bobby’s head bobbed up and down, causing his drenched hair to shed rain streaking down his face to mix with tears emanating from tightly closed eyes. Kyle choked back the tears and put an arm around Bobby’s shoulder. After several minutes, Kyle walked to the headstone, knelt in front of it and lightly placed a kiss on it.

  “I love you sweetheart, and I wish I had told you so more often,” he whispered through halted breaths, stepping back and looking at her grave. “I’m really gonna miss you.”

  Bobby turned his tear-stained and rain-soaked face up to Kyle and said, “Why did God have to take Mom away?”

  “I don’t know Bobby—I really don’t know.”

  Kyle swept back his sopping-wet hair with his hands, turned from the funereal scene and, with an arm still around Bobby, sluggishly walked back to the road and the waiting car.

  Over the next few months, Kyle moped around the house and tried to immerse himself in his work. Memories of Casey haunted him each night and frequently, he did not sleep at all. He tried taking sleeping pills prescribed to him, but these seemed to create more problems and so he stopped taking them. His lack of sleep would gradually take its toll and he fell asleep at work and once dozed in the car. Although he realized that he must move on with his life, he couldn’t accept that Casey was gone. He would flip through photos of them on vacation and of Bobby’s growing years, only to relive the grief of her passing.

  Kyle tried to be strong for Bobb
y’s sake, but Bobby was also despondent and Kyle was concerned that his parenting skills sadly lacked—he could barely look after himself, let alone a 13-year-old boy. One time, when Casey’s parents were over visiting, they talked about the notion of them looking after Bobby. Kyle talked it over with Bobby and explained how his grandmother would do a lot better job at parenting than he could. He also explained that properly cooked meals would be better for him than the micro-waveable products they now ate. He would miss the company Bobby gave him, but that was a selfish consideration. Bobby didn’t like the idea at first, but then remembered all the nice cookies and cakes grandma made. Reluctantly, he agreed to go to his grandparents for a trial period to see how it would work out.

  Christmas day was the most difficult. He awoke and went into the living room as they always had on Christmas morning. It seemed so empty. He had even purchased gifts for Casey, hoping she would somehow be there to open them. Normally, Bobby would run around excitedly in his pyjamas, scrambling at the gifts below the tree. Kyle would start the Christmas music while Casey made coffee and Bobby did his best to contain himself. Kyle always played Santa and handed out the gifts, sitting back to absorb the happy faces from each of them when they finally removed the wrapping paper, revealing the presents. He always derived more pleasure from giving than receiving gifts and would always portray that expression of embarrassment when opening a gift—that ‘you shouldn’t have’ attitude that always seemed to annoy Casey. This Christmas morning was so different. Bobby had stayed with him after they returned from their friend’s home on Christmas Eve. He played the Christmas music, made the coffee, then they both sat there staring at the tree.

  Bobby started to cry as he turned to Kyle and said, “I wish Mom was here. I really miss her.”

  Kyle put his arm around the young boy’s shoulders to console him, barely able to hold back tears of his own, and said, “We both do son—we both do.”

  The phone rang and snapped them out of their reminiscence. It was Casey’s mother calling, reminding them not to be late for Christmas dinner.

  After the holiday season, he arranged with his partner to take a leave of absence for an indefinite time. After first arranging with an architect friend to subdivide the property into valuable river lots he placed the sale of the property and lots with a Realtor. His collection of cars was left with his brother Daniel who would set them up at an upcoming auction. He packed a couple of suitcases and placed them in the trunk of his BMW, and realized he had eventually come to grips with the reality, finally leaving his old life behind and starting a new one. His only regret was leaving Bobby, but he held comfort because he was much better off with his grandparents, and he could not take him with him. He headed out of the driveway and drove south, not looking back.

  * * * *

  Kyle entered Costa Rica six months after he left Ottawa, after spending two months in Mexico visiting many of the resort and cultural areas. He enjoyed the casual lifestyle and the Spanish culture, coupled with a diverse geography and Eco-climates. Their political system is considered the most stable of the Latin-American countries, with elections every four years, mandatory voting and no incumbent can serve consecutive terms in office. They have an excellent health system with modern hospitals and medical facilities, available to all. Some say Costa Rica is the only country a man may not be able to afford a new pair of pants, yet can afford a heart transplant.

  The realtor advised that all the five two-acre lots and the house sold. After paying off the mortgage and development costs, he arranged with a financial planner to invest the money in a balanced portfolio with sufficient money placed in a bank account to finance his travelling. He negotiated a buy-out with his partner to be paid out over four years, realising he would not be returning to his business. Net proceeds after taxes were added to his portfolio.

  During his travels in Costa Rica, he stayed in a small, 15-room hotel on a quiet beach called Playa Hermosa (beautiful beach), and fell in love with the idyllic setting and tranquil environment. A Canadian couple owned and operated the hotel and to his delight, it was for sale, along with a 12-metre sailboat. It needed repair, and he eventually bought it for a reasonable price. He inherited the staff, including the hotel manager, and elected himself as a handyman to fix the multitude of items that had fallen into disrepair. Within 6 months, the hotel took on a new lease on life and he relished in the vast improvements he had made. Kyle replaced the noisy through-wall air-conditioners with a central fan-coil system controlled from the front desk. A new telephone system, high-speed Internet access, and a satellite TV system were installed, along with new card-key door hardware for increased security. Within a year he had added 20 more rooms and secured arrangements with several agencies that promoted the resort.

  Although he had started to date a year after the tragedy, most of the women he met left him with an empty feeling. Some physical characteristic–nice boobs or a pretty face or shapely legs—would initially attract him, but several hours with them would reveal little character depth and the interest would fade. He found it difficult most times to carry on a meaningful conversation with some, especially the local women, even though his Spanish improved over time. On some occasions he had sex with a few, but it merely satisfied a lustful urge and he invariably ended up leaving right afterwards feigning some urgent appointment, which usually pissed them off and he never saw them again. He found it odd that when married, the fantasy of an extra-marital affair was always there, and he often became infatuated with various women he would meet, thinking ‘I wonder what it would be like….’ But throughout the many opportunities that arose, especially when he travelled away from home, he never compromised himself, always taking the moral high road and honouring his commitment to Casey.

  Five

  Chicago. January, 2005.

  Kyle awoke from his deep sleep to the warbling of the hotel phone. He reached for it and placed it to his ear.

  “Yes,” he slurred.

  “Good morning Kyle,” a youthful female voice said. “I am Carlita, Lorenzo’s Executive Assistant. You are to meet with him this morning at 10:00 a.m. at his office. A car will pick you up at 9:30.”

  “Thank you,” he said and replaced the receiver to its cradle. He looked at the nightstand clock. It read 8:15. He noted that he still had on the clothes he wore yesterday, so he swung his legs off the bed, grabbed his suitcase and groped for his travel kit. The bathroom was as opulent as the rest of the suite with gilded-framed mirrors and gold-coloured faucets. Plush towels abounded as did the array of toiletries. He turned on the shower, undressed, and stepped into the steam-filled stall. He dried off and finished his ablutions, then dressed in the only suit and tie he owned. Feeling hungry now, he phoned the concierge and ordered breakfast, which arrived several minutes later. It was 9:15 when he descended to the lobby and waited for his ride. The same limo and driver showed up at exactly 9:30 and the hotel doorman opened the door for Kyle. The driver sped off to the Santini offices, which, not surprisingly, were located in the Santini Plaza. The limo descended several levels after entering the underground parking garage, and stopped outside an elevator lobby, where the driver got out and, once again, opened the door for Kyle.

  “Thanks,” Kyle said.

  They walked to the elevator lobby, and the driver summoned the elevator. When the car arrived, the driver stepped in, used his key-card to access the penthouse floor, and then stepped out of the elevator. The high-speed car accelerated upwards and the floor lights illuminated in quick succession until the cab slowed and the ‘PH’ light flicked on. When the doors slid open, Kyle exited into a large reception area and walked up to the middle-aged woman sitting behind a bar-height desk and announced himself.

  “Welcome Mr. MacDonald. Please take a seat. Someone will be with you shortly. Coffee?”

  “No, thank you. Just had breakfast.”

  She smiled and continued staring at her screen and tapping keys. Kyle checked his watch—it was 9:55. He
picked up a magazine from the table but did not have a chance to glance through it because he heard his name called and looked up. A petite, pretty young woman stood there and said, “I am Carlita, please follow me.” He recognized her voice as the one who had called him earlier this morning advising him of the meeting.

  Kyle put down the magazine and trundled after her. They navigated through several corridors and came to a large set of double doors. She opened one panel and said, “You may go in now.”

  “Thank you,” Kyle said stepping into a large corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides. Rich mahogany panelling adorned the other two sides, except for two doors set into them, through one he had just entered. An over-sized rosewood desk sat in front of one window, behind which sat a white-haired man who Kyle suspected was in his early seventies. Because of the back-lit effect caused by the large window behind Lorenzo, Kyle could not make out details of his face, except that it was clean-shaven. Lorenzo wore what Kyle presumed to be a designer shirt with a cravat bundled around his neck. A large gold chain hung from his neck and age-spotted hands sported several gold rings on various fingers. A large man stood beside Lorenzo with his arms folded and legs slightly parted. Not the office boy, Kyle suspected. Lorenzo looked up as Kyle approached the desk and reclined himself in the black leather chair.

  “Welcome Mr. MacDonald,” he said. “Please sit.” He gestured to one of the wing-back chairs facing his desk. As Kyle moved towards the chair, the man moved towards him and gestured for Kyle to raise his arms to the side. He patted him down and, when satisfied Kyle was devoid of an arsenal of weapons, he resumed his stance next to Lorenzo's desk. Kyle took the offered chair, sat down, crossed his legs and placed his hands in his lap—and said nothing.