Mrs Mariano: Part 1

by L Neil

  It's mid-week in the middle of January. Not only are most people spent and broke from Christmas, but the cold is so harsh that they say there is a chance that it may even snow. No matter how many layers you wear, there’s not much to do to prevent the wind from stinging your face.

  But I will stand here and wait all night if that is what it takes to get my girl back home tonight. The thought of her warms me up quite enough.

  I lean against the front panel of my new black Bugatti Chiron and light my cigar. I had to ditch the Aston Martin – not only had Dominic’s blood completely ruined the interior but I have done everything possible to remove anything from our lives that could serve as a reminder to that awful day that changed Helena’s life forever. Besides, it was time for an upgrade anyway.

  I place her Zippo into the deep pocket of my black trench coat as I inhale the smoke and coat my mouth with its soothing flavour.

  Shooting that treacherous fucking cop has really done a number on her.

  When we returned home that night, she fell apart, screaming and wailing until she lost her voice.

  During her lamentation, all I could do was hold her.

  I knew better than to tell her that everything would be okay and no matter how obvious it is that she did the right thing in that situation, I certainly didn’t tell her that, either.

  As excruciating as it was to watch her be so affected by the guilt and pain, I was just thankful to have found her in time, to have her back in my arms.

  Weeks later, she continues to punish herself and now only a shell of the woman I love remains. It seems that when she pulled that trigger, it tore the soul from her body and extinguished her passion, that spark behind her eyes.

  Whenever I try to reignite her flame, no matter how subtle my attempts, she catches on. As the hint of a smile begins to appear on her devastatingly beautiful face, she throws up those walls to trap the guilt within herself, obliterating the hope that begins to build in the centre of my chest.

  She believes that she doesn’t deserve to be happy or even content; I don’t need to be a mind reader to know this. And I can’t exactly send her to a shrink to confirm this or to help mend her.

  Never before have I felt so helpless.

  On Christmas day, she moved back into the apartment, where she still resides now. As much as it pains me, I cannot deny her a single thing – so I have allowed it, giving her some space and time to come to terms with what she had to do.

  I have visited a handful of times, unbeknownst to her. After pouring my glass of whiskey, I sit upon the leather armchair and listen to her cry from behind the wall that separates the living room and the bedroom.

  I fail to see how her being there is helpful at all.

  I suppose it is a positive sign that she is out tonight. That she skipped dinner with me last night is not a good sign for me, however. While I understand that she needs space to deal with her grief, I did not agree to a hiatus on our relationship.

  I tell myself that she will heal. One day, she will wake up and Eddie won’t be the first person she thinks about. But for now, I must remain patient and continue to gently remind her that she did the right thing.

  This is the sole reason why I have kept Dominic close by. She didn’t just kill the cop to save my life. If Dominic had not been dying on the floor, I am almost certain she would not have followed through.

  Having him around is my indirect way of reassuring her that she did the right thing. She knows that he would not have survived if we were stuck in that house a moment longer.

  Right now, he loiters at the rear of my new ride. Being as useful as he is to me now, he could probably get away with leaning against it as I am. I could certainly forgive a scratch or two. However, he cannot help but stay on alert, ensuring he has unobstructed views of the street and ample space to move should he need to take action.

  I continuously remind him that he is not here as an employee, that he is unfit for duty and the other security personnel who are always nearby can handle it. But he is nearly as stubborn as my wife.

  Looking at the man, you could not tell that he has a stomach wound that would take any ordinary man out of action for months, if not years.

  Just now, he straightens up and I follow his focused gaze to the entrance of the pub that Helena had entered.

  She is in a rush as she emerges; worry painted all over her angelic face. Her outfit is anything but angelic, however.

  I am sure that her short, wine-coloured dress is tasteful and likely even more conservative than what most other women wear out to such venues. However, I cannot help but wish that her black coat was closed shut instead of draping loosely over her thin frame.

  My heart sinks at how much smaller she has become. If it weren’t for me, would she even eat at all?

  So lost in her head, she fails to see neither Dominic nor myself and continues her hasty retreat.

  Stepping in her way, I enquire, “Helena?”

  She slows and it takes a moment for her to come to a complete stop.

  As I reach up and cup her face, she breathes, “What are you doing here?”

  I am about to tell her that she owes me a night together and I have come to collect her but think better of it. She is clearly distressed about something. Even after asking me her question, she begins to lose focus.

  My mind reels as it begins to imagine what could have possibly made her upset.

  “What has happened?” I ask as I gently pull her face back to meet my eyes. “Did someone hurt you?”

  Somehow, I have only made her more upset. She pulls her face away, straightens her coat and begins to walk away from me, down the footpath.

  Desperate not to let her slip away into the night, I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her against me. With her back caressing my front, I dip my head low to breathe in the scent of her exposed neck; the scent that warms me, makes me want to wrap myself around her like a snake and bury myself in her.

  Her hair is tied in a messy bun atop her head. It seems she refuses to wear it down now. The new length must bother her. Once again, I am filled with deep regret for cutting it.

  “Frank,” she breathes and it’s almost a sob, “let me go.”

  I squeeze tighter. “No.”

  It must come across as unrelenting and final as I intended because she doesn’t fight me. Instead, she spins around and refusing to look me in the eye, she says, “Okay.”

  Then, she stalks to the car and I suppose we must move quickly.

  I rush to open the door for her, not believing how easy this was. But as she lifts a leg to climb in, a voice calls out.

  “Hey!”

  It’s a male about her age with short, curly blonde hair. He wears long, tan chinos and a leather jacket that is open to reveal a plain white tee.

  “There you are,” he smiles in her direction, as if I am non-existent.

  Caught off-guard, I don’t know how to react.

  “Who are you?” Dominic enquires, about ten feet away, arms folded against his chest and head held high. What would I do without him?

  The male stutters, now unsure of himself as he finally notices me, too, “Well, uh... I uh...”

  He looks to Helena and so do I.

  She is just about to cry, those beautiful eyes so round and glassy.

  “Did he hurt you?” I growl, low enough for our ears only.

  She swallows and shakes her head. “No. Frank.” She shakes her head again and a tear falls down her cheek. “No...” She implores me without words to understand.

  Dominic takes his eyes from the man, which indicates to me that he does not consider him a threat. He walks over to us and asks her softly, “He remind you of someone?”

  She nods and begins to cry.

  Ah, of course. The cop.

  I was never any good at making such emotional connections. As lethal and cunning as Dominic is, he has always been grounded on a certain level by the love of his daughter and granddaughter.

  Since makin
g Helena my wife, I have softened somewhat but I fear it is too late to change how practical my mind works.

  Dominic blinks and nods in understanding. “I will wait by my car if you need me,” he says, before walking away and leaving me with this mess.

  Helena sinks into the passenger seat and I close the door, satisfied at last to have captured her.

  Inhaling deeply, I face the man who has now walked halfway towards us.

  “Is she okay?” He asks, concerned, and I know that he wants her – just like any other man that lays his eyes on her; just like that cop.

  I can see the similarities – and not just in appearance either. The eyes hold the same vulnerability but there is a more complex creature behind his boyish facade.

  “Sir, I swear to you, we barely spoke and... I can’t imagine that I said anything offensive or hurtful.”

  He places his hands in the pockets of his jacket and his shoulders shrug as he fights a shiver from the cold. “If I could just speak with your daughter, I can sort this out-

  “Ha!” My face stretches widely as I smile in amusement. I cannot help it.

  Daughter?

  I twist around to peer inside my car, thinking that perhaps Helena has heard, and it may have lightened her mood. But her wet eyes remain in the road before her, refusing to look our way, to acknowledge the man who has brought those painful memories to the forefront.

  My heart breaks because she had made the effort to go out tonight, because she tried.

  Out of respect to her, I decide to let the man down gently by telling him, “My wife is feeling rather fragile at the moment.”

  I take the keys out of my pocket and begin to step around the car, to the driver’s side. He gapes at me, her husband, as I continue, “I am sure you meant no harm, nor offense and as always, I will take good care of her.”

  I wink. “Good night, kid.”

  The drive home is quiet.

  She must have nothing left to say about this whole mess anymore. Is this another good sign? Or am I being foolishly optimistic?

  Over the past few weeks, she had asked me about how I was coping after shooting Samuel. Perhaps she failed to understand my answer – that I only felt glad that we found her in time and that I sincerely believed that I did the world a favour – as she didn’t speak to me for days after that. According to Leo, she is likely expecting me to feel some kind of remorse and be agonising over what I did.

  When it seemed that she was beginning to cope with her own actions, she began asking how we were going to cover up our involvement in Eddie’s death.

  I was reluctant to overwhelm her with too many details, afraid to undo any progress that I thought she had made. However, as usual, she wasn’t satisfied until she knew everything. Besides, she did need to know what the story is, on the slim chance she is to be questioned. Thanks to Seamus, she should never be in such a position, however.

  So, I told her all about my friends in the FBI – some old, some new – and the lengths we went to, to convince the rest of them that their agent, John, had gone rogue and fled the country.

  To our advantage, his team already held concerns that he was getting too close to her and had planned to remove him from the investigation anyway. They knew that it was only a matter of time before he did something to jeopardize them and were easily led to believe that he ran after my wife rejected him.

  The only lies that Helena would need to tell, if questioned, is that the last time she saw him was at the apartment, when he tried to kiss her and that I am not aware of the incident or even her friendship with the guy. We absolutely cannot and will not indicate that I know anything about Eddie or his real identity. If they were to have an inkling of this, they would grow too suspicious

  We must also keep our visit to the Taxidermist to ourselves.

  Before I ordered that the house be burned to the ground, the men ensured that the camera feeds were only sent to Samuel’s phone, which was subsequently wiped and destroyed.

  At Helena’s request, the greenhouse remained intact, with only the evidence of her presence removed.

  She wanted to ensure that the victims were found so that their families could have some answers and maybe even closure. It would have been easier to burn it to the ground but alas, she wanted something, and I simply had to give it to her.

  The Taxidermist himself is nowhere to be found.

  The FBI would be aware that they got the wrong guy and are likely delving into my involvement in that. However, they had arrested and then killed an unarmed, innocent man at the direction of the Mayor, so perhaps they will take the smart route and drop it. Well, calling Henry innocent is certainly a stretch.

  My men will find Stanley. And not because I am worried about him blabbing to the feds; no, he had the chance to do so this entire time. I want him in my basement to show him just how weak and dull I can be when someone threatens to kill and mutilate my wife.

  When we arrive home, I hastily exit the car and rush to the passenger door, eager to take her inside the house.

  But when I open the door, she only sits and stares ahead. I wait expectantly on the rocks that make up the driveway.

  “Helena?” I prompt, softly. But she only continues to stare ahead.

  There’s something different about her silence now. When I realise what it is, I kneel beside the car, petrified of what’s about to come.

  “Baby, come inside,” I gently persuade her, fingertips brushing the loose hair from her cheek.

  “No,” she says, confirming my worst fear. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  The light from the stoop illuminates her moonlight skin. The waterproof mascara has stayed in place but the pencil around her eyes has smudged slightly, making the green of her eyes stand out dramatically. Even in her pain, I want to strip her and take her.

  “Please don’t do this,” I plead. “Come inside.”

  I need her to listen, so I pour my heart out. “I love you. You are my whole world. Baby, you are everything.” I clutch her silken thigh and my voice breaks when I tell her, “You cannot do this to me.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

  Finally, I can feel the bite of the cold, night air. The broken woman before me has made up her mind that she doesn’t want to be a part of my world anymore.

  And what can I do?

  I fight to remain calm, to do the right thing and not drag her out of the car, throw her over my shoulder and lock her within the walls of our home.

  As if he could hear my thoughts, Leo appears beside me. He must have been waiting inside the house.

  “Frankie,” he says gently, squeezing my shoulder, “let me take her back to the apartment.”

  If it were anyone else who approached me, I would have taken them out and done exactly what the voice in my mind is urging me to. But Leo was there when I made that shameful mistake of cuffing her and cutting her hair and I know in my heart that I cannot do it.

  I take in the sight of her, painfully aware that it will be a while before I see her again. But she won’t look at me and my eyes begin to water. Suddenly, my vision wavers and I know that if I were to blink, the tears would spill.

  Tears have not wet my cheeks since I was a young babe and I am only afraid that if they do, I will not be able to stop them.

  Thankfully, the practical part of my mind takes over and I think to say, “You must promise me that you will not turn yourself in.”

  The thought of her doing so dries up my eyes so fast and helps me refocus.

  She looks to me now and those plump lips part for a breath before she speaks, “I won’t. The only reason I haven’t is because I don’t want it to lead back to you.”

  Her own eyes are leaking now, and my instincts threaten to return, the urge to force her into the house almost taking hold. It takes all that I am to stand and take a step back.

  With a heavy heart, I finally close the door and hand the keys to Leo.

  Slowly, he walks around the front of the car and when he
reaches for the driver’s side handle, he looks across to me.

  I am silently begging him without words, without making a single movement, to fix this. The glum expression that he returns tells me that there is nothing that anyone can do.

  Of course, I plan on watching her, on relentlessly contacting her, visiting her and doing everything in my power to win her back.... But I cannot shake this feeling that I will never see her again.

  My panic is amplified when he finally gets behind the wheel and closes his own door.