by Janis Jones
Chapter 52
Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo
Mara phones Derek for the fourth time, standing on the curb, talking into her cell phone.
“Come on, Derek... Pick up.”
She hears his outgoing message and the beep.
“I’m getting worried here... Just give me a call . . . we can talk, huh? Okay, let me hear from you. This isn’t like you . . . Okay, ‘Bye.”
Mara, now in her truck, phoning again.
“Derek, just let me know you’re okay. I can leave you alone, but you need to let me know you’re alright. Otherwise I’m coming over because you’re scaring me now . . .”
Her eyes dart around nervously.
“Okay? . . . Please . . . just call me. You know we can handle anything, but . . . Okay...’Bye.”
She starts up the truck and rolls out of the parking lot.
Mara is aware that she is driving way too fast and tries to stay calm. Sensing the beginnings of panic, she starts to chant softly and tentatively under her breath.
“Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo, Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo, Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo. Please be okay. Call me back. Okay, keep it together. You can do this! Nam-Myoho-Renge-K. . .”
She lays on the horn as a car backs out into her path.
“Mother-fucker, get out of my way! Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo . . .”
She tries to hang onto the rhythm and bangs her fist on the steering wheel in frustration.
“Breathe, breathe, breathe . . .”
Chapter 53
Dark and Quiet
Nervous and fearing for the worst, Mara arrives at Derek’s house. She jumps out of the truck and lopes up the slate walkway. The lights are dim. She knocks softly, her face close to the door.
“Derek? It’s me. Can I come in? Are you okay?”
There is no reply or change. She knocks again, tries to peer through the half-closed blinds and quickly turns and stoops to find the key under a rock in the garden.
“I’m coming in, D. I have to see if you’re alright.”
A sick fear crawled up and down her back. Whatever I see, please let me do the right thing and not fail him. A wild, suffocating cavalcade of images and memories tore through her mind. Work, love, danger, pleasure . . .
Walking gingerly through the living room, she sees his silhouette. Derek sits on the floor, his back against the refrigerator. He is slumped over, a vodka bottle cradled in his arm.
She crouches to touch him on the shoulder. She sees his belongings and medication on the desk nearby. The image of Casey, holding up the blister pack of blue tablets, two there and two gone, came to her mind. She was right to take the chance and tell me, and I punished her for caring.
“Derek, it’s me. It’s Mara.”
She touches his shoulder and leg with both hands, craning her neck to try to see his face. Please be hurt, unconscious or asleep. She is relieved to hear his ragged breathing.
He suddenly responds, flinching violently, and tries to jump to his feet.
“It’s okay, it’s me . . . let me help you up. I was so worr—”
Derek shoves her away. She loses her balance and falls backward.
Derek raises his voice.
“You think you’ve got everything figured out, don’t you? You think you’re some fucking . . . ace detective and you know everything, right?”
Mara is shocked and silent, trying to guess what’s setting him off.
“If you’re any good at all, it’s because I taught you! You’d still be wearing a uniform...”
“I… I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
Derek fairly bellows.
“I . . . said . . . RIGHT?! You know what I mean.”
“Let’s talk about it. Come on—”
“Fuck that! It’s too late. I am done. I can’t do this anymore.”
He is up on his feet, drunk and extremely agitated. His eyes blaze with animosity.
“It’s the case . . . Jordie’s little sister? You just need some time off. We both do. What if we go…”
Derek screams at her.
“There IS NO FUCKING ‘WE’! Don’t you get it? You did this!”
He jumps toward her and grabs her arm, yanking her toward him so he can grab her by the back of her hair
“You’re sooo smart. You got it all figured out. Right? Right? RIGHT?! I did this for you, you bitch!”
Oddly enough, this was the thing that scared and hurt her the most. Mara had never heard him call any woman a name, even his ex-wife. Something had utterly broken him down, and it was horrible to see.
His face crumples and he starts to cry, genuinely hurt. He catches himself.
“Everything was for you, and you just spat on it! Everyone told me, but I wouldn’t listen. You ruined me.”
Who was everyone? Susanna? Larry? Was he having a complete breakdown?
Derek eyes the desk where the pistols are lying and switches his grip to the opposite hand, clamping down hard on the back of her neck.
She was scared for him and herself, but now she was also very angry. No one had ever treated her this way, and love him or not . . . it wasn’t going to happen now. But she had to be smart. Please help me stay calm. Who was she even appealing to?
“I still care . . . I just, . . . it just wouldn’t have worked beca...—Ow! Stop it! You’re really hurting me. Let go!”
“Are you crazy? I’m hurting YOU?”
He is icy and angry.
“You have no idea. Do you? All that time. I’m waiting. I’m being good to you. And, God help me, I still love you.”
He starts to cry and suddenly slaps himself hard in the face. Mara flinches.
“... But that is about to change . . . because I don’t wanna work with you, I don’t wanna talk to you.”
He spins her around and pushes her head down over the desk.
“Open the drawer! Open it!”
Mara slides the drawer open and looks down to see a beautiful framed picture of both of them on a boat deck in the sun, smiling and holding hands. Now she was crying.
Get a goddamn grip. He obviously was in an extremely dangerous state of mind, and she had to get them both out of it. Don’t patronize him. Stick to the absolute truth. Get this right.
Keeping an iron grip on her neck, he snatches the frame from the drawer and without looking bangs it hard against the stainless-steel refrigerator. The glass shatters and rains down on the terrazzo, skittering like water drops on a hot skillet. He sails the frame across the room where it bounces off the nearby weight bench and cartwheels to a stop against the bookcase face up.
Mara is afraid and angry in equal measure.
“Let me up! Derek, let go of me now!”
He snorts, finding her request funny and pathetic.
“Or what?”
“I don’t know what to say to you or why you —”
“That’s right. You don’t. And I really don’t want you to do or say anything.”
He is now the soul of politeness.
“But I sure would like you to look at one more thing before you go.”
“What?” It registered that he had said “before you go” She couldn’t think of a single good interpretation of the words.
“Open that little box.”
She reaches for the little case and springs open the lid. Inside is a beautiful custom-made platinum ring with onyx inlay and a large emerald-cut diamond.
Mara speaks in a husky, pained voice.
“Oh, it’s beautiful . . . was this for . . .?”
Derek is not fazed in the least by her show of emotion. He is on some other plane.
“Take a closer look.”
He shoves her face down on the desk, crushing her hand beneath her jaw. Her eyes register a moment of raw fear. She pauses and takes an entirely
different tack.
She sounds sad and small.
“Is there any Stoli left? I just want to sit down.”
She looks and sounds completely defeated, almost like a child. Derek is momentarily disarmed, upset seeing her cry so hard and so much.
“In the freezer.”
Mara sniffs and wipes her eyes and nose. She tentatively asks his permission.
“Can I . . . can I just get it?”
“Yes.”
Mara speaks quietly and carefully, taking an apologetic tone.
“Will you have one with me? Please?”
“Just get it.”
He lets go of her and scoops up the two pistols as Mara turns to the refrigerator, rubbing the back of her neck. She reaches for the vodka bottle.
Mara looks sad.
“Aw . . . it’s almost empty.”
“Reach way in the back by the ice. There’s an unopened one.”
Mara stalls, rubbing her neck.
“You want glasses?”
“Okay.”
He grabs two slim, smoked glasses from the cupboard and walks over to sit on the weight bench. Mara sits next to him and opens the fresh bottle. He holds the glasses and she pours. He props the bottle between them on the bench.
“I’m so sorry.” And she really was.
Derek nods slowly.
“I know you are, but it doesn’t change things.”
“It hurts so bad that you don’t even want to work with me.”
No one else would understand this the way he would.
“It’s not just the ring. Look . . .”
A ‘throwaway’ pistol lies on his palm and she sees the raw, shiny swath where the serial number used to be.
She looks at it, blinking as she takes a sip of vodka.
“This was for you.”
Mara is on guard but appears calm.
“Oh, I know you were looking out for me. You always did take good care of me and I...—”
“That’s not quite true.”
Mara misunderstands him.
“Oh, yes. It is. You are the best, and I love you for that. Nobody ever did that for me, took care of me before . . .” She thought of Casey and wanted to be home. Everything hurt and everything seemed wrong but that.
“No, I mean the gun is for you not was for you.” There were only a couple ways to think of that.
Fear knots her stomach as she now knows her instinct is right. She tosses back the rest of the drink, her heart battering her from the inside.
“Just one more?”
Derek holds up his glass and hers, pistols still in his control. Mara unscrews the cap, carefully pouring into both glasses, overfilling and spilling the second one at the very last moment.
Derek watches the liquor run down his arm, wagging his head. He laughs as she screws the cap back on the bottle, looking apologetic and ducking her head.
“Sorry.” So sheepish, so contrite, so humiliated.
“Goofball. You never could drink worth a damn.”
Mara switches her grip and swings the heavy bottle in a short arc, cracking him on the left side of his head. This ran counter to everything she knew, believed and felt about him but she had to override her sympathy and fear and try to save them both. She had an odd thought about how your training in simulated situations comes back to you in real life.
He can’t use either of the pistols fast enough, and they clatter to the floor as she uses a roundhouse kick to take him down.
She uses her moments well, grabbing his service piece and kicking the ‘throwaway’ gun across the room.
He crawls toward her, not noticing the glass shards under his palms. He lunges, trying to grab her ankle.
“Don’t!”
Derek is resigned now.
“Just do it. She was supposed to die, not suffer. You know I’m not like that. And I knew I could get you over it.”
Without any cushion of time, Mara is infuriated beyond reason. His words seem to burn in the air. Her voice drops.
“Stop talking.”
“Please . . . do this for me.”
He is plainly asking her to shoot him.
Sirens drone in the distance.
Mara clenches her teeth. Her eyes flare wildly. She stands over him astride his legs and pushes the muzzle of the 9 mm against his left cheekbone near the corner of his eye. He makes no move to pull away.
Mara puts her face inches from his.
“Just shut up and don’t fuck with me.”
Derek stares blankly. Mara directs her fury at him.
“And I don’t want to see your bullshit hangdog look! You don’t always get what you want. But you don’t steal from me!”
She slows her breathing down, biting her lower lip and blinking rapidly. She slowly eases up on the pressure and pulls the pistol away, leaving a small, deep ring stamped in his skin.
Mara keeps her eyes and weapon trained on him. She grabs a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and throws it at him. How far he had fallen in her eyes now.
“Hold that on your head. I’ll get you out of here the best way I can.”
She paces and talks on the phone, still keeping her eyes on Derek, and the pistol at the ready.
“Yes, bring it up the driveway and kill the sirens . . . Thanks. I owe you one.”
With moments left, Mara walks over to Derek, weapon still trained on him. She brushes his temple with the back of her hand, knowing he is utterly lost and ruined.
He turns his face toward her. Her finger moves from the guard to the trigger. He takes her hand and presses his face into her palm, kissing it.
Derek speaks in a raspy whisper.
“I’m gonna die. I’m sick.”
Mara’s face is a mixture of disgust and confusion.
“You’re not going to die . . . what are you talking about? You’ll go to prison.’”
“I got a diagnosis.”
Car doors slam outside. Officers approach. Larry Fratiano hits the door first.
“Comin’ in, we’re comin’ in!”
Mara and Larry exchange concerned, sympathetic looks. Larry whispers to her.
“Oh my God, he looks awful.”
“Take care of him, Larry.”
“I will. Thanks for this.”
Mara hurriedly walks out the front door. Through the open door, she talks with uniformed officers.
Larry turns to Derek.
“Jesus, buddy. Let me go get you a shirt or something.”
Larry starts to walk to the bedroom, but turns back, genuinely upset. There is a catch in his voice.
“You should talk to people . . . let ’em know what’s goin’ on with you, man. A goddamn shame is what this is!”
He continues down the hall.
Derek is helped to the front door by Larry. He wears a fresh shirt but hangs his head looking utterly beaten.
Mara stands looking out and away from Derek’s house.
Uniformed officers approach the two men and separate them, placing handcuffs on both. Larry is shocked and clammy. Wearing a sick smile, he attempts a light, casual tone.
“Guys, guys? What’s up with the cuffs?” A shrug like Marcello might make.
Larry looks up to see Mara standing a few feet away. He makes a half-hearted effort to talk to her.
“Mara, ...Honey, speak up here and help me out.”
Mara keeps her back turned and stares out into the distance.
“You’re on your own, Larry. You called all the shots.”
Derek and Larry are placed in separate cars. Mara shakes hands with the officers, thanking them. The cars pull out and drive down the quiet, cypress-lined street.
Mara stands with her arms folded, eyes on the horizon, never turning back until they h
ave left the area. As she walks to the truck, she notices a small cluster of neighbors has gathered. She passes without comment, and they remain silent.
Chapter 54
Ain’t Nobody
A lone figure sits on a beachfront bench near a walkway. A truck is parked nearby. Mara leans forward, elbows resting on her knees, her chin propped on her hands. She stares out to sea.
After several minutes, she leans back, folding her arms and stretching her legs out straight. Her eyes are closed.
From a distance, Casey approaches on foot, carrying a rolled-up blanket and being led by Cecil on his leash. She stops and squats down to let him off his lead. He trots over to Mara and sits quietly by the end of the bench.
When Casey catches up, she walks behind the bench and bends down. Her silver necklace swings forward. Circling Mara’s neck, she puts her head down near Mara’s ear. Jarred from her morbid reverie, Mara turns to look at Casey as she comes around to sit beside her.
Casey rests her arm across Mara’s shoulders, holding a hank of hair lightly in her hand. She says something softly and Mara spreads the blanket over both of their knees. Her right hand drops down to find the Akita’s soft fur.
Their combined silhouette changes slightly as they tilt their heads toward each other, leaning. The pulsing instrumental intro to ‘Ain’t Nobody’ should be playing but the sound of the surf and the sizzle of sparse traffic from the highway will have to do. They look up to the darkening sunset sky, alone to themselves.
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