by Lynn S.
Neil soon gathered his composure and the doctor simply replied, “We still need a few minutes. Thank you, Trudy.” Turning toward Neil, Bauer said, “The telephone number I gave you is for the type of professional you require. Take that as my last bit of advice, Mr. O’Reilly. This session is over. Have a good afternoon.”
Neil turned on his heels and left without another word.
A couple of minutes later, Doctor Bauer opened the door between his office and reception just a sliver, knowing quite well there was no such thing as another appointment that afternoon. He looked at his secretary and let her know she could take the rest of the afternoon off.
“Are you sure, doctor? That last patient looked agitated. Wouldn’t it be better if I stayed?”
“And what could you do, dear?” The psychiatrist chuckled. He didn’t mean to, but she was barely out of college, and to his eyes, still a girl. “If he comes back to kill someone, let it be me. In time, you’ll learn to recognize tantrums thrown by rich boys. Nothing to worry about, as I said.”
“You reach your funny peak when patronizing, doctor.” The woman picked up her stuff. She knew better than to get into an argument over nothing. As she left, though, it was made sure that the door was locked behind her.
Bauer stepped out of his own office and sat at the secretarial desk, the waiting room empty before him. Without hesitation, he opened the top drawer of Trudy’s desk, finding a pack of menthol cigarettes. For once he was grateful for her unhealthy habits. Taking one out of the pack, he lighted it up and took a deep drag.
Being a man of the world implied getting to know people from all walks of life. Bauer met Nathan O’Reilly in the mid-1940s. He had recently completed studies and joined a medical office downtown as an intern. Nathan, already a reputed accountant, kept the administrative and investment part of the business, as the practice was looking into expanding to the Tri-State Area.
They made fast friends, being close in age. Once in a while, Nathan, always outgoing and dotted with a great sense of humor, served as his wingman. Eventually, and between beers, things slipped. Nathan told the young doctor details about his life that the man couldn’t help but look at with a clinical eye.
Bauer knew Nathan enough to become his confidant, and one late autumn afternoon, his friend showed up at his door with one of those of those favors that become heavy burdens.
“I need you to come with me, Louis.” Nathan was shaky, to the point that it was hard for his legs to keep him steady. Since the moment he laid eyes on him, Bauer knew whatever he had to say or show would amount to no good, but he followed, nevertheless.
“If you don’t tell me what is going on within the next five minutes, Nathan, I’m stepping out at the next station.”
After telling him they were going to the East Village, Nathan shut up. The man sat in the subway car, eyes fixed on the floor and hands in fists. Bauer didn’t leave him after the empty threat, the just kept going until 14th Street, north of the East Village. As they stepped out of the car, Nathan felt confident to speak again.
“This is something I never thought I’d do, Louis, but I was out of my mind for a bit. See, I saw him again, Francis Alexander. You know the man I told you about, the one who gave me the gold. Well, he told me to meet him in one of those building that is marked for demolition here at the Village.”
“And?” Bauer inquired, already fearing the answer. They had crossed the square, on their way to an apartment complex that had been closed down for quite a while and was not considered the safest place in town. He followed Nathan thorough shady alleys abandoned by jazz and into the forgotten fixed-rent complex.
Huge red Xs were spray painted on the doors, warning the public about the closed, unstable building that was soon to be razed. Bauer was sure that nothing good was to come from their impromptu tour of the city. Soon they found themselves in one of those apartments—the doors had been removed, but the windows were shut, so light came in filtered through thin slits and dust particles danced everywhere. There was a body on the floor and Bauer knew exactly whose body it was. Francis Alexander lay dead, his crisp blue shirt stained red after being stabbed in the thorax.
Bauer got close, keeping in mind a dead person was a game changer. He treaded lightly, careful not to affect the scene. Nathan explained that the argument that had ended in violence happened within the last hour or so. The corpse looked older, like that of someone who had spent days in the sun, strangely dehydrated. Blood had drained through the wound and towards the lower extremities as expected, but Bauer also noticed another striking detail. There were dark patterns underneath the skin. Spirals that showed no interruption became darker, more defined, as they connected flawlessly to the visible tattooed ink on his arms that started somewhere below the elbow and closed around the wrist.
“Tell me that you can see it…his real face.”
Bauer then understood that Nathan had not brought him there to serve as an accomplice, but to rule out that he was ever wrong or crazy about his notions of the man who lay dead at their feet.
“Whatever I see or not, it is not relevant, Nathan. You have put us both at risk by returning to the scene. You’ll need to turn yourself in. If he pulled the knife on you first…I am assuming this can be worked out somehow. We just need to think of a good lawyer.”
Bauer took a deep breath and exhaled through his lips, almost hissing. His perceptions about Nathan had been blinded by friendship. He never though in a thousand years Nathan to be capable of violence. What else was unforeseen about his friend?
“I’ll go with you, Nathan. We will contact a lawyer on our way to the precinct. There’s a police station between Bleecker and Hudson. Reporting this somewhere else might only increase the illusion of culpability.”
The Sixth Greenwich Precinct was a hole in the wall on 10th Street, with no more than ten active agents who worked their beat, preventing one or another escalation and bar scuffles. When Bauer and O’Reilly walked through the door, the officer at the desk looked at them with an amused grin while announcing to those around him, “Well, boys, it looks like we are running a white collar special today. What can we do for you, gentlemen?”
Both men were rendered mute when they heard a voice across the room.
“Officer, this is the man I am complaining about. Nathan O’Reilly.”
Bauer had to hold Nathan to keep him from hitting the floor. Standing in front of them was Francis Alexander. He still had the same clothes. The elegant light blue shirt, once stained by red pools of blood and grime, looked perfectly tailored and pressed, combined with dark slacks. The man who just minutes before looked like a mummified corpse, looked at both of them with an arched brow and a self-satisfied grin that the police officer didn’t notice.
“Are you sure, Mr. Alexander? This is the man who threatened your life? We can work on a restriction order, but looking at the fella here, I guess work will be double. He looks more scared of you than you of him. Since we are all here, why don’t we give words a try? After all, there has been no major damage.”
Bauer nodded on behalf of Nathan and after requesting to be present as well, the officer escorted the three men into a room. Though they were given privacy, a police officer waited by the door, ready to intervene in case a new confrontation.
The exchange was brief, as Francis Alexander was the only one to speak. The door was not even completely closed when he started, the man sure his words would be heard. Ignoring O’ Reilly, who looked nothing short of catatonic at the moment, the dark-haired man spoke to Bauer directly.
“Nathan will forget because I want him to. But you, my friend, will remember for both, and if you value this man’s life at all, you will not trigger anything that might bring about this incident again. Nothing happened here but a brief verbal aggression between strangers. Just another day in the city.”
Francis Alexander turned to leave, not bothering to obtain even a nod from Bauer. Knocking softly on the door, the officer answered and let him go, as h
e didn’t want to press charges. Nathan did the same. By the time they got back on the subway, O’Reilly was apologizing profusely to his friend for dragging him into an unnecessary incident. As the subway stopped at the station near Madison, the man didn’t even remember the name of the guy he had an argument with, and Bauer had grown uncomfortably silent.
The problem with being a man of science was the inability to process certain events that were divorced from the habitual. What happened that afternoon led Bauer to a constant search, knocking on doors he never knew existed. He was relentless, as he was with the challenges presented by his chosen profession. The fear for his life and that of his friend kept him away from O’Reilly, and Nathan, although oblivious to all, also drove a wedge between them. In less than two months the man had decided to return to Ireland. And that was it for them, they had become acquaintances, separated by distance and lifestyles.
But Bauer never gave up. Volume after volume of lore, conversation after conversation, he soon found himself part of a world that defied all logic and made him lead a double life. Years had passed and the Dark Heralds of Fae were brought to his attention once again. He didn’t know if it was on purpose—he couldn’t tell if Neil was as much a puppet as his father was and was being used him to warn Bauer of scores pending to be settled. After all, a secret was best kept when one of the two was dead.
He finished one cigarette and started another. Bauer thought about the friends he had made while indulging in that second life of his. The experts to whom he had trusted Neil’s well-being. “You are a good man, Louis,” they’d told him. “You have done the right thing. If Nathan O’Reilly is dead, let’s hope this generational curse ends with him, as years have gone by without further harm. But if it starts again, and it might, then Neil needs to come to us.”
“Come on boy,” the man wished while inhaling nicotine and mint. “Dial that number.”
He looked at his watch. It was close to six. The psychiatrist took paper to pen and scribbled some lines before tossing the note in the nearby trashcan. Trudy lived in Brooklyn, and if she went straight home, she’d be there already. It was better to dial, for her sake.
“Hello,” a female voice answered on the other end of the line.
“Trudy?”
“Doctor, what can I do for you?”
“I took a couple of cigarettes from your drawer. It is a terrible habit, young lady, leave it already.”
“Okay, Doc. Besides your usual need to mind my business…what’s up? Everything all right?”
Ah, he’d miss that spark and sass.
“Nothing much, except I have decided to take some time off. I need you to cancel my appointments.”
“For the rest of the week?”
“Make it for the coming three months.”
“What? Are you insane?”
“No, dear.” Bauer looked at his reflection in the desk’s glass. “I’ve grown old and a bit tired.”
Trudy tried to interrupt him. After being assured twice that it had nothing to do with the patient outburst that afternoon, the secretary insisted he couldn’t leave without discussing it over a cup of coffee. She was quick to say she’d be on her way back to the office immediately.
“Hey, hey. If you hang up, you’ll miss out on what I have to say, and besides, what is your plan, Trudy? Are you going to lay me on the couch and convince me it is somehow my mother’s fault? That is my job, dear. Listen, you will get as good a recommendation letter as they come and a nice liquidation package. Six months sounds good. Let’s put it this way, I’ll set it up so you can do whatever you want, except work for me.”
Bauer hung up, promising that coffee over the weekend, knowing it was the best way to ensure she wouldn’t call back with more questions. He took the stairs, after all it was just three flights, and the echo of his footsteps was a lot better than the dreaded elevator music.
Outside, the smog of the city had rushed in and the skyscrapers blended with the gray dome above them. It was as neat as a New York sunset could get, with tones of pink and orange dissolving into darkness, and no chance for stars. For many, that might have been the picture of desolation, but Bauer was born in the city. He was grateful for gray skies and elusive corners. Walking forward, the man knew exactly how and where to disappear.
***
Queens, Present Day
Adriana woke up a little after midday, irritated. Outside, the city was as noisy as ever. Through her window, she could see an impressive traffic jam with yellow cabs and buses leading the way. Surely some politician had decided to make a speech downtown. Someone important enough to sacrifice peace of mind by setting alternate traffic routes for everybody else in Astoria. The R and N Lines were bursting at the seams. It was better not to go out.
She opened the fridge, frowning in disgust at an old container of Chinese food that was quickly tossed away. There was nothing she’d like to eat. More than anything she was thirsty, so she filled a wide glass with ice and poured some water. Marissa kept haunting her waking hours. She had dreamt about her. Just minutes before opening her eyes, Adriana heard her daughter’s voice clearly saying, “Damn you, Adriana Popescu,” and the blonde woman couldn’t help thinking this whole damning one another to hell was a respected family tradition. All the Popescu generations had somehow cursed the ones before at some point.
Adriana didn’t reach the level of apathy her father had for his progeny, but she saw over Marissa’s upbringing from afar. Whenever they had to share anything beyond the ordinary, it was brief and on a need-to-know basis. That was, ironically, the only way to keep her daughter close. Adriana was afraid that letting her in too much might lead to Marissa crossing her out of her life completely. For a woman like Adriana Popescu, family implied a contract of sorts, an extended protection until it was inevitably dictated people should go their own way.
Across from her, a picture of Bastian Salgado kept a memory frozen in time; a man in his late twenties, embracing her as they both sat against the base of the stone lions on the library at the corner of 5th and 42nd. The Adriana who smiled, secure in his arms, had not changed a bit in twenty-six years. She had tricks to hide her true appearance, ways to make people oblivious to the fact that she looked more like Marissa’s sister than mother. Tricks her life depended on. She found herself drifting back to her father, who hated all about her, even her ever present youth. He called her half-breed, a hybrid, some disobedient abomination who inherited all the powers and none of the deterrents of their kind. Her father never stopped showing resentment toward her. In time, she understood it might have been fear.
“You are wrong, Pappa,” Adriana told the phantom in her mind’s eye. “Some of us might not bend to the thirst, but there are things that can quite expose us, kill us, even. Memories, for one.”
“Hey, baby.” The young man’s voice startled her for a second.
“I’m not your babe.” She was quick to answer the stranger she had dragged from a club somewhere between four or five in the morning. He was a young, good-looking guy, though a bit of a bore once she got to know him better. It surprised her to see he was still around. Sure, they had their fun, but she told him clearly to go at first light. She didn’t even care to check. Adriana was so restless she had gone into Marissa’s old room for the rest of the night. There were several things going on in her head, and bringing the young man home only added to the list of dangerous games she shouldn’t have been playing. Not in her current state of mind.
Allowing Marissa to go by herself to that house upstate without a word of advice was something she didn’t feel right about. But her daughter, being an adult, had very few things she could object to. Yet all the trigger warnings were there, and now Adriana was starting to think that she might have allowed Marissa to go because she wanted to extend the game. She knew the Alejandro woman—Isabel O’Reilly, or whatever her name was today—might have been a cold bitch, but she loved her son, and that love extended to those he loved as well. But now Esteban was dead, and
maybe her manners only kept her civil to some extent. The creeping feeling of sending her daughter, defenseless, into a bizarre set of circumstances was something she could not shake off.
The guy who overextended his welcome coughed twice, as if that would make him meaningful.
She turned her head to watch him walk toward her. He was confident, as he hadn’t bothered to grab a shirt yet. His torso was a tight, sculpted marvel—the best thing about him, as Adriana started to remember how the night before unfolded. It had been years since she cared for romance. Sure, they had sex, otherwise she wouldn’t even bother to invite him in. She liked waking up in her own bed. But, looking back on it, it was not as fun as she had hoped. The man was way too intoxicated for optimal performance and she hated to cater to her own needs.
Beautiful as he was to look at, the boy was dead weight for most of the night.
It had been nothing more than a roll and a tumble; his clumsy hands in a hurry underneath her skirt needed guidance and she was bored before she ever got excited. He was quick and she sort of amused. At least his skin was salty with sweat and effort. That taste lingered on her lips, curbing certain appetites and allowing her to sleep soundly.
And now, he was all composed, walking toward her with a stride she would have appreciated the night before. Half a smile and carrying the weight of his body in a manner that reminded her of a big cat, he was trying to compensate by making himself interesting, to redeem himself after a not so spectacular performance. He leaned toward her, making space for himself between her knees. Even after taking a shower, there was a lingering scent of cigarette and alcohol on his skin that only Adriana noticed. He kissed her roughly, bruising her lips with passion. She allowed it, just a little experiment to test if he was still interesting to her. The answer was no. His time had come and gone.
Adriana pushed him away, interposing the glass filled with ice chips between them. Shaking it about a bit, the ice inside the cup tinkled against the glass, a makeshift bell of sorts.