Mrs Mariano: Part 1

by L Neil

  “You know, I couldn’t understand why you didn’t have feelings for our scrumptious boy toy over here, but I get it now,” he says. “You and I are so alike. I never liked the sweet ones, the vanilla ones, either.” He scoffs, “Your ex was a drug addict – the ones before that were drifters, players – people who were easy enough to disconnect from. And my father…well, do I really need to elaborate?”

  He walks into the room, near the end of the bed and picks up a Barbie doll from her mansion. Studying it, he says, “I liked the ones who looked perfect but tasted sour. The contradiction was always so fascinating.” He twists the head of the doll, popping it off the neck. Then, he looks back over at Eddie and tosses the doll gently onto the wooden floorboards. “He might be a nice change – for both of us.”

  Unease settles in the pit of my stomach as he stares at him, probably imagining up some twisted fantasy.

  This isn’t right.

  His head snaps to me as if he heard my thought. I manage a small smile - I’m fine; this is fine; everything’s fine.

  “I have some things to take care of real quick,” he says. “But don’t worry,” he pulls out his phone, “I’ve got eyes on you both.”

  Showing me his screen, I can see us in about six different angles of the room. I failed to notice the cameras but now when I look around, I can see them in the corners of the room and on the ceiling.

  He pulls the phone back and walks out the doorway. On his way out, he says, “See you later, alligator.”

  I crawl to the end of the bed and crane my neck to watch him disappear down the stairs. When I’m certain that he is gone, I rush to Eddie’s side on the floor and grab his shoulders. Shaking them, I whisper, “Eddie, wake up.” Shit. “Please.”

  Realising that I should be playing this much cooler for the cameras, I very calmly reach down, unzip his grey hoodie and pinch his skin though his white shirt.

  I lean over and urgently whisper in his ear, “Wake up!”

  Groaning, he pulls his stomach away from my pinching grip and slowly opens his eyes.

  He needs time to centre himself, to assess the situation but we don’t have much, so I whisper, “You have to trust me, go with everything I say. Please Eddie, it’s very important that you let me take the lead-

  “Helena?” He asks, groaning again and rubbing his head.

  Oh God. What have I done? He shouldn’t be here.

  I help him sit up.

  “Sam...” he croaks, “...where is he?”

  I don’t answer right away. Instead, I give him a moment to take in the room, the shackles.

  “Fuck!” He exclaims, suddenly and then looks at me. “I’m so sorry.” Eyes wide, he repeats, “I’m so sorry...”

  Why is he apologising? God, I feel so awful and he is only making it worse.

  “No, please, don’t say that,” I tell him while I gently steady him. “Just... we have to talk very quietly. There are cameras.”

  “We need to get you out of here,” he whispers, again adding to my guilt.

  Keeping very quiet, I say, “We both need to get out of here. And I’m going to buy us as much time as possible. You just need to go along with it, no matter how...strange it might get.”

  His face comes in closer and he whispers harshly, “I can take him, trust me.”

  I have never seen him so confident before. His eyes are sharp and his expression so cold that it’s as if I’m looking at a different person. I would have never called this Eddie “kid”.

  “He’s not alone,” I tell him. “The Taxidermist is here. I think this is his house.”

  He freezes. In fact, I think he stops breathing. At first, I think he must be terrified. But then he says, “Hel, that can’t be. He’s dead.”

  “What? Since when?”

  “About a year ago. It’s...” he tries to find the words, “it’s not public knowledge. The FBI got unsupportable information about his identity... he ...” He tries to stand but can’t seem to do it.

  “Fuck,” he mutters, before he stands successfully, this time. I stand with him.

  “If they tried him,” he says, “he would have got off on a technicality. There wasn’t enough evidence. In fact, there was literally nothing that would stand up in court. And they couldn’t just let him go again. Apparently, his next victim was going to be the Mayor’s kid.”

  “You’re saying the cops killed him?”

  He nods, face stern.

  I shake my head. “Look, whoever the cops got... it was the wrong guy. Believe me, I’ve seen this guy’s...work.” Then, a thought occurs to me. “Wait. How do you know all of this anyway?”

  His black eyes narrow onto mine and it gives me the heebie jeebies. I don’t think I like this new, serious version of him.

  His jaw tenses as he moves in close. I never noticed before that he is as tall as Frank.

  “Hel, I need to tell you something.” He lifts his arms as if he is going to grab me but then he drops them. Clearly agonising over this, he swallows and blinks his wet eyes.

  Loud, angry footsteps climb the stairs and there isn’t time to even guess what’s happening when Sam storms into the room and tosses something large at Eddie.

  It’s his backpack.

  Nostrils flared, Sam seethes, “You want to tell her, or should I?” But then his head cocks sideways and he asks me, menacingly, “Or did you already know?”

  “Huh?” I tremble, suddenly cold and very afraid.

  After a moment, he must realise that I have no clue because his livid, green eyes return to Eddie and he says, “What exactly were you planning?”

  I quickly glance between them – Sam is cross but now also intrigued and Eddie is worried about what Sam discovered.

  Still, there’s a confidence in Eddie’s energy that makes me think he either doesn’t realise how much danger we are in or he actually believes he can get us out of here.

  He tilts his head up in defiance and reassures him, “She doesn’t know.”

  “Know what?” I ask. Each passing moment, I’m liking whatever this secret is less and less.

  Our captor grins at me sardonically and informs me. “He’s a cop. Undercover, it seems.”

  At first, all I can do is stare at him. I don’t dare to look at Eddie yet.

  If that even is his name.

  “What’s your game? Who were you investigating?” Sam asks him. “Was it me or my father?”

  I’m hoping he keeps asking the questions because I’m too stunned, too stupefied to think of them right now.

  A cop?

  “I’m sorry Hel,” Eddie’s voice wavers, “I was going to tell you. Soon. Today.” From the corner of my eye I can see him pacing away but then he reconsiders and comes closer. His bare feet are now so close to mine.

  I don’t recall painting my toenails pink...

  “Answer me!” Sam yells and we both watch as his face grows red and a large vein appears in his smooth forehead.

  Finally, I look at the man in front of me and say quietly. “Please answer him. I need to know too.”

  He draws in a breath as if he is about to say something but then exhales and bends his neck down to rest his forehead on mine.

  I urge him, “Eddie-

  “John,” he exhales. “My name is John.”

  With burning eyes, I take a deep breath and ask quietly, “John, does this mean you have back-up coming?” I look over to Sam and feign concern although my pulse speeds in excitement. “You should run, Sam, before the police come. I will find you…after. But you need to run...”

  Eddie – John – whoever he is, freezes for the second time. He gazes at me, unblinking, and there is something unspoken behind it.

  Sam watches too closely not to catch on. “There is no backup, is there, detective?” He smirks and walks a little further into the room, arms behind his back. “And I made you abandon your phone on the way over so no one can trace you here.”

  Looking to my supposed friend, I plead with my eyes: Please te
ll me this isn’t true.

  He closes his eyes and sighs, breath cascading over my face.

  No.

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” I say, about to cry.

  Sam grabs my hand to comfort me but remains just outside of Eddie’s/John’s reach. Honestly, I don’t know who to trust more right now – the serial killer or the undercover cop.

  Softly, Sam rubs my hand with his thumb. In a most unfriendly tone, he says, “Show her…John – or whoever it is you plan on becoming next.”

  Looking between us, John says, yearningly, “Please… call me Eddie.”

  Neither of us respond.

  Eventually, he falls to his knees before us and hangs his head. Time stands still as I wait for an explanation or for him to show me what’s in his bag.

  “Your gun is obviously not there anymore,” Sam says, giving him pause.

  Finally, he returns to slowly unzipping his bag and reaches inside to pull out a pair of booklets – passports.

  I gently pull my hand away from Sam and sit on the floor to pick them up. The first one is Eddie’s – his hair is black, and the name typed beside the photo is ‘James Thomas Moore’.

  Just before I open the other passport, he pulls more items from his backpack – gum, a big wad of cash, and a black Gucci purse.

  “This is yours,” he mumbles, handing the purse over.

  I place the unopened passport back on the floor so that I can take the purse from Eddie. He holds onto it for a second longer, obviously unsure about giving it to me.

  Sam quickly swoops in to take the unopened passport and returns to the doorway. Leaning against it, he flips it open and says with raised brows, “Mrs Carmen Rose Moore”. He eyeballs Eddie, unimpressed. “Brunette? Really? You may as well remove the glow from her face and name her Jane Doe.”

  “I don’t get it,” I say as I examine my new driver’s licence in the purse. Sure enough, its my own driver’s license photo but my hair is brown, and my name is Carmen.

  Sam tosses the passport onto the rug and flippantly says, “What’s not to get? You simply couldn’t pull off darker hair.”

  Then, he says to Eddie, “The plane tickets are to California – according to your ID, that’s where you two lovebirds call home,” he folds his arms and tilts his sharp, proud face high. “Tell us – would the FBI truly arrange new identities for the both of you – as a married couple? Because I have a mighty hard time believing that they would – and there is no need to lie now… you may as well tell us the truth.” He shrugs his shoulders.

  I watch Eddie as he contemplates the situation. Will he break protocol and tell us the details of his investigation? I mean, he seems to have already broken some rules.

  I glance at the passports, tickets, cash and whatever else he has pulled out of his bag of tricks.

  Why can’t there be some kind of rewind button on life? Then again, if there were one, I honestly wouldn’t know how far back to go. Jesus, my life is so incredibly fucking messy.

  “No,” he finally replies. “The FBI doesn’t know.” He looks to me now, beseeching. “I promise, everything I did… I was just trying to protect you.”

  Now that’s the Eddie I know – uncertain and needy.

  “Who were you investigating?” Sam asks, not in the mood to play anymore. He drops his arms and pulls the bottom of his turtleneck down again as he straightens his back.

  “Frank,” Eddie replies gravely, staring fixedly on me. The glimpse of the old Eddie is gone again, as quickly as he came.

  He was after my husband.

  “I suppose there is a whole team?” I ask him, trying to keep my voice level.

  “Yes,” he replies flatly. “There is.”

  I know the predicament I’m in is pressing and I should be one hundred per cent terrified about my own fate, but I find myself panicking more for Frank. Does he know that he is being watched?

  “What have they got? What… how…” I can’t think of the right words – I don’t know how to ask if Frank is going to be arrested.

  Luckily, Eddie answers my obvious concern. “We have nothing.” He exhales, obviously annoyed with the fact.

  His fingers grip at the fibres of the fluffy rug that we are kneeling on as he continues. “I’ve been in the taskforce since it was re-formed five years ago and… Frank just has too many connections. Any leads we have turn to dead ends. All his accomplices won’t talk – they don’t take any chances. I’ve been Tony’s apprentice for the past four years and he is as tight-lipped and untrusting as the rest of them.

  “I’ve never known one man to have an entire empire with not one single crack in it.”

  I think back to the time I overhead Frank speaking to his men about needing to find the Taxidermist before the FBI does. Is Stanley the only loose end that Frank has? The only person who could blow apart his organisation?

  Knowing better than to say it out loud, I keep this thought to myself and change the direction of the conversation. “So, you’re a complete stranger, then? Everything I know about you is a lie?”

  “Not everything,” he says softly. The chain clinks as he slides closer to me, concern shining in those dark eyes. “I swear that I told you as much truth as I possibly could about me.”

  Lifting his hand, he brushes the loose strands of hair from my face and gazes at me.

  Fuck.

  “I love you.”

  I shake my head, “No.”

  “Yes,” he declares. “How could I not?” He smiles warmly at me and a headache forms at the front and centre of my forehead.

  I glance at Sam – is he watching this? Yes, he is. And he’s…delighted.

  “This is incredibly entertaining.” He laughs. “Do go on.”

  Eddie is still focussed on me. “We were getting nowhere, and they were desperate. You were going to be our way in – they were going to arrest you, interrogate you, get you to break…” He runs a hand through his hair, agitated. “I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let you go down with him… I couldn’t.”

  “So what? You were going to take me away? Run away from the FBI?” I look at the documents again, sprawled across the rug. “What made you so sure that I would leave with you?”

  He sighs deeply and a look of pain flashes across his face. I’m not going to like what he says next.

  “I sent that photo to Frank.”

  The words seem to echo, and it takes some effort to allow them to sink in.

  The photo of the three of us at Medusa – it was taken by the FBI. Eddie thought it would make Frank jealous enough to make me reconsider being with him. But Frank was only concerned about one male in that photo – and he has us chained to a goddamn window.

  Eddie uses my stunned silence as a chance to continue, to explain himself. “I had no idea he would hurt you. When Sam called and told me that he almost broke your wrist, that he cut your hair – I…” he breathes in deeply to calm himself down. “I didn’t think Frank would do this to you. From what I gathered; you were literally the only person in the world who was safe from his...violent tendencies.” He says the words as if it’s a term that they use a lot in his special “Frank Mariano taskforce”.

  He sighs, “I wasn’t thinking. I just needed you to get away from him.”

  Just as I am about to explain that I hurt my own wrist and that Frank had the only good excuse for touching my hair, Sam chimes in, “See? This is why I kill people.”

  Frantic once more, Eddie grabs my hands. “I know you only stopped seeing me because of him, because he was controlling you. I know you feel the same way as I do... but that you felt trapped with him.” He squeezes my hands and I want to pull them away. I don’t want him to touch me.

  “Eddie...” I need to tell him that he is completely wrong, but he continues talking.

  “...I was in such a rush after Sam called me... I had my bag packed already and everything was in order, but I didn’t stop and think that you could be in more danger – that I needed to worry about s
omeone who I thought was our friend.” His eyes slide sideways. It’s obvious that he wants to make Sam feel bad.

  Yeah, good luck, buddy.

  Sam smiles like he didn’t hear the comment. It’s even possible that he heard something entirely different. How did the FBI not know that Sam needed to be watched, too?