Swimming with Sharks

by Nele Neuhaus

  “I suggested that they take my car because Christopher’s car wouldn’t start, and now they’re dead.”

  Alex was deeply touched by his trust. She could feel Nick’s need to talk in order not to suffocate. He stared off into the distance.

  “I’d love to be able to cry. But I can’t. Everything is dead inside of me. I keep asking myself why? Why Mary? Why my son? Why the girl? It’s not their fault that I…I…that I refused to listen to the warnings. It’s my fault because I thought of nothing else but chasing Vitali, even though Mary kept asking—no, begging—me to stop.”

  He fell silent, and Alex heard him take a deep breath before continuing.

  “How can I live with this? How can I ever fix what I’ve caused?”

  “But you didn’t do anything. He did.”

  “No,” Nick said, shaking his head. “I was obsessed by the thought of stopping him. I shouldn’t have provoked him.”

  He grimaced.

  “What difference would it make if he were in prison today? With his connections, he’d be out in no time, and nothing would have changed. If I’d stopped chasing him and attacking him in public, they would still be alive today.”

  Nick hid his face in his hands. Alex hardly understood a single word he said.

  “I was arrogant. Fanatical. But I was wrong. It almost seems as if God wanted to punish me for my pride and arrogance.

  “No,” Alex objected quietly, “you only tried to speak the truth. That was courageous of you.”

  “Courageous?” His voice sounded bitter. “It wasn’t courageous. It was stupid.”

  “You warned me about Vitali,” Alex said. “I refused to believe you at the time, but now I see that you were right.”

  He looked at her with bloodshot eyes.

  “No one can get to him. He’s stronger because he’s unscrupulous and brutal.”

  “That’s not true,” Alex answered. “It is possible to get to him. I’ve unearthed things about him that could ruin him.”

  “A few months ago, I would have been happy to hear that,” Nick said and sighed. “Now I just don’t care anymore. That won’t bring my family back to life.”

  Alex remained silent. She understood how he felt.

  “Why did you come here, Alex?” Nick looked at her with torment and self-reproach in his eyes. Alex felt like holding him in her arms and consoling him.

  “I didn’t know your wife very well,” Alex whispered, fighting her tears, “but I respected her very much. And I also like you, Nick. It kills me to see you suffer like this.”

  A tear ran down her cheek, and she noticed how Nick’s lips quivered.

  “It’s strange.” He gave her a hopeless and penetrating gaze. “Of all the people I thought were my friends, no one has said that to me. They only had empty words. ‘Life goes on’ and ‘time heals all wounds.’ They stay away from me as if I had leprosy. I can sense it. But really, what I needed was someone to talk to.”

  “Most people are afraid of being confronted with death,” Alex replied.

  “But you, Alex, you hardly know me, and still you aren’t afraid to come here and talk to me.”

  “I grew up in the country,” she answered. “The cycle of life and death is normal there. People here remain silent, as if death didn’t exist.”

  “I could accept death, even though it would be difficult,” Nick said, “but the thought that it’s my fault…”

  “As long as you tell yourself that you’re at fault for your family’s death, you’ll never be able to cope with what happened.”

  “What do you mean?” Nick looked at Alex with a somewhat surprised expression.

  “Forgive me, Nick,” she replied, “but I don’t think you’re even trying to process what happened. You’re running away by tormenting yourself with this self-reproach.”

  Nick was silent for a moment. Alex was afraid she had offended him.

  “Vitali must have tried to kill you because you stepped on his toes. You didn’t do it out of vanity, but conviction,” she said emphatically. “You were convinced that you were doing the right thing. How can that be a mistake? It was a tragic chain of unfortunate events that your family was hit instead of you. If you and your chauffeur had taken the car, then you’d be dead now.”

  Nick stared at her, and she returned his look.

  “When I was ten,” she said quietly, “my grandfather gave me a foal. I raised it, broke it in myself, and loved it more than anything else in the world. It was a magnificent horse. A few years later, a thunderstorm approached. My grandfather called to me and said that I should bring the horse into the stable. I didn’t do it because I was reading an exciting book. Thunderstorms were nothing unusual. So I left my horse outside.”

  Nick looked at Alex steadily.

  “The next morning,” she continued, “I wanted go riding, but my horse wasn’t there. I searched the entire paddock and finally found it. It had been struck by lightning out in the meadow. I was beside myself with grief and blamed myself. I knew that it was my fault because I hadn’t listened to my grandfather. Of all the horses, my horse was dead. I thought I’d die from grief, and my feelings of guilt were so intense. I wished that I could turn back time and undo my mistake, but I couldn’t.”

  She sighed, remembering.

  “I blamed myself. That was the first time in my life that I realized how many things just happen in life, and we can’t change them after the fact. This may sound fatalistic, but that’s simply the way it is. My girlfriend’s father was struck dead by a falling tree, my younger brother died while walking home from school when a truck driver lost control of his vehicle, and a friend of mine from school died at fifteen from leukemia. Aren’t these cases just as senseless as your family’s death? And who’s at fault?”

  Nick’s face was twitching. Alex detected a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Impulsively, she grabbed his hand, which was scarred from the burns.

  “It’s not your fault, Nick.” Her voice trembled. “And your wife certainly wouldn’t want you to sit here and torment yourself with all this guilt.”

  “No,” Nick said, his voice gruff, “she wouldn’t want that. She…had steadfast belief in God and always found comfort in the Bible.”

  Alex sensed him trembling.

  “The Lord is my shepherd,” he whispered, “I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil; for You are with me. Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the House of the Lord forever.”

  Pools of tears formed in Alex’s eyes.

  “Psalm 23. It was her favorite verse. I keep repeating these words, hoping to understand what Mary found comforting in them.”

  Nick’s voice failed him, and his hand clamped around Alex’s.

  “My God,” he exclaimed, “I miss them so much! I always thought that we had an infinite amount of time together, but now I see there’s no time left at all!”

  Nick saw Alex’s tears and sensed her sincere sympathy. Maybe it was this certainty that he was no longer alone, that another person understood his pain, that let the dam inside of him burst all at once. His long-suppressed tears suddenly ran down his face, and he didn’t feel ashamed. The powerful, fearless Nicholas Kostidis allowed himself to be weak and discouraged. He cried unlike anyone Alex had ever seen cry before. It was the terrible sobbing of a desperate man. She took him into her arms.

  He slipped off the bench, fell to his knees, and crying desperately, he pressed his face into Alex’s lap. She simply held him tight, stroked his hair, and let him cry the cathartic tears. His abysmal grief shook her to the core, but she admired him for showing his real emotions. After a while, Nick’s crying abated. He
clung to Alex like a child looking for comfort and security.

  “Everything will be all right,” she murmured. “Everything will be all right.”

  “Really?” Nick raised his tearstained face to look at her. His eyes were red from crying.

  “Yes,” she nodded, “I’m sure of it. All wounds heal, and what remains are the memories of the beautiful things that you experienced together. There won’t be any forgetting, but there will be understanding.”

  “How can you be so sure, Alex?”

  Nick was still kneeling in front of her, and she held both of his hands.

  “Because that’s the way it is. Because I’ve experienced it myself.”

  Nick leaned his head on her knee again and took a trembling breath.

  “I’m sorry that I lost my composure like this,” he whispered.

  “You don’t need to apologize,” Alex answered softly. “It makes me happy to know that I could help you even the smallest bit. There are times when we need someone to listen and try to understand.”

  “Do you?” Nick looked at her again. “Do you understand me?”

  “I think I do.” Alex observed his tormented and hopeless face pensively. She reached out and stroked his unshaven cheek, which was moist with tears. A bond of trust had formed between them.

  “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here for you, Nick,” Alex said in a throaty voice. “And you don’t have to worry that I’ll tell anyone.”

  “Thank you.” He managed to smile slightly and rose to his feet with some effort. “I’m so grateful to you.”

  They sat next to each other for a while before Alex realized that she was still holding Nick’s hand. She let go of it with a sense of embarrassment.

  “I…I have to go now. Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” he replied, and it seemed to Alex as if a tiny glimpse of his old energy had returned. “I’m much better now.”

  Before she could leave, he grabbed her hand again. “Why did you really come here, Alex?”

  She looked at him, and then she stood up.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she replied.

  Lost in her thoughts, she walked along the cemetery’s winding paths. The sun had penetrated the dense clouds in some areas; its warm rays had melted the fog away. The Mass was over, and churchgoers visited their relatives’ graves. Alex was still dazed by the unexpected trust that Nick Kostidis had placed in her, and she felt a deep affection for him. He wasn’t hard and ruthless. He was completely different than she ever imagined.

  As Alex turned a corner, she almost collided with a man. She murmured an apology, but an ice-cold shock struck her when she saw this man’s face. Never again would she forget those cold, yellowish eyes. It was the man she had seen at Sergio’s birthday party—the man who killed David Zuckerman. And there could only be one reason why he was here at this cemetery: he’d come to finish a job that failed a few weeks ago. Sergio had sent him here to kill Nick Kostidis.

  Alex didn’t consider the fact that she was also in danger, that the man possibly recognized her and might tell Sergio she was here. She worried only for Nick as he sat unsuspectingly at his family’s grave. Luckily, the man with the yellow eyes didn’t know exactly where Nick was. He walked slowly around the cemetery’s paths with a searching look, but trying not to attract any attention.

  Alex broke into a run with a pounding heart and reached the bench where she had sat next to Nick just moments earlier. But the bench was empty. Panic raced through her, and she started to run again. Finally she saw him. He was walking toward the church with his head down and his hands buried deep in his coat pockets.

  Apparently the man with the yellow eyes had spotted him that very same moment. Protected by a massive yew tree, he raised his rifle and took aim. Alex stumbled across the graves. She didn’t care that people were looking at her angrily.

  “Nick!” Her voice cracked. “Watch out!”

  Nick Kostidis turned around in surprise, but she had already reached him and thrown her body against his. They both lost their balance and fell to the ground. The bullet that was meant for Nick hit the gravestone right behind them, smashing the stone slab and breaking it into two pieces.

  “What…what…what was that?” he asked in confusion. Alex carefully turned her head to look for the shooter. He was gone. Then the floodgates burst, and she started to cry. A few passersby came closer and stared curiously at them.

  “Somebody shot at me, right?” Nick whispered.

  “Yes.” Alex got up, sobbing, wiping her tears. Nick also stood up. He was very pale, yet surprisingly calm.

  “You saved my life,” he said and grabbed her hand. Alex flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

  “I recognized this man by chance when he walked past me,” she said, her voice wavering hysterically. “I’ve seen him at Vitali’s house. I was at his birthday party and got lost in the house when suddenly this man was standing right in front of me.”

  Her knees turned to rubber, and she needed to sit down. Nick knelt next to her, looking at her in concern.

  “I followed him. The door to the library was slightly ajar, and then I heard…I…I heard this man say to Sergio: It is done. Zuckerman won’t utter another word. Do you understand, Nick? This man shot David Zuckerman, and now he tried to kill you!”

  “Are you sure it was the same man?” Nick observed her closely.

  “Yes, yes, definitely.” She nodded vehemently. “I’ll never forget his face. He’s one of Vitali’s henchmen. Oh my God, this is terrible!”

  She couldn’t stop the tears flowing down her face, and this time it was Nick’s turn to console her.

  “Come on, Alex.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her up gently. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “And what if he tries again?”

  “He won’t.” Nick was surprised by his own coldness. Alex’s panic sobered him, and suddenly he was able to think more clearly than he had in months. Just this morning, he would have preferred to die so that he wouldn’t have to endure this pain and his terrible feelings of guilt. He thought he would never feel anything again, but he was mistaken. He’d clearly felt fear just now, and he was worried about Alex—who had just saved his life by risking her own. They entered the church though a hidden side door, but even the thick walls couldn’t make Alex feel safe. She looked back repeatedly and almost expected to see the man with the rifle reappear. Nick held her hand while she walked beside him as if in trance. They left the church and turned into a cloister that had a green courtyard at its center. Nick knew his way around surprisingly well in this maze of corridors and hallways.

  Ten minutes later, they were on the third floor of this fortresslike monastery. He stopped in front of one of the doors and knocked.

  “Come in!” someone called, and Nick opened the door. The whitewashed room had dark oak beams on the high ceilings and was modestly furnished. Beside the massive, dark wooden desk were floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and the only wall decorations were a wooden cross and a framed picture of Pope John Paul II. A lean, white-haired Jesuit priest sitting at the desk looked up in surprise.

  “Nick!” the priest exclaimed, and a warm smile spread across his face. “How nice to see you!”

  “Hello, Father,” Nick replied.

  “How are you?” The priest took Nick’s hands in his and looked at him with total sympathy. Alex figured he was older than he looked, for she had never before seen such wisdom as in his kind eyes.

  “I’m doing better,” Nick replied. “Thank you.”

  “Inscrutable are the ways of God.”

  “Yes. It’s difficult, but I think I’ll make it.”

  “You are always in our prayers.”

  “I know. Thank you.”

  Only then did he seem to remember that he wasn’t alone.

  “Father, allow me to introduce Ms. Alex Sontheim. She’s a friend of…Mary’s and mine. Alex, this is Father Kevin O’Shaughnessy.”

  “Hel
lo.” Father Kevin extended his hand toward Alex, and his firm handshake surprised her.

  “Father Kevin is an old friend of mine,” Nick explained. “I was an altar boy in his church.”

  “Sit down, please,” the Jesuit offered. Alex, whose knees were still soft as butter, smiled gratefully. She sat down on one of the simple wooden chairs, which was as uncomfortable as it looked.

  “Someone just tried to shoot me here in the cemetery,” Nick said, and Father Kevin turned pale.

  “Shoot you? In our cemetery?” He made the sign of the cross.

  Nick told him briefly what had happened and then grabbed the telephone. Alex, whose body was still shaking, noticed that his voice sounded almost as firm and energetic as when she knew him before. He called his assistant—this Frank Cohen who’d brushed her off so determinedly yesterday—and repeated the whole story. Then Nick turned to Alex.

  “How are you?” he asked, sincerely concerned, and grabbed her hand.

  “That’s what I should ask you.” She tried to smile but hardly managed it. “You’re the one who was shot at, after all.”

  Nick gave her a friendly look. The desperation had vanished from his dark eyes.

  “I owe very much to you, Alex,” he said quietly. “You brought me back to life today and saved it shortly thereafter. As of this morning, I felt like I’d rather be dead, but now I realize that I’m still clinging to my life.”

  Father Kevin, who had been listening silently, cleared his throat.

  “Can I help in any way, Nick?”

  “I’m sorry that something like this had to happen here of all places,” he responded. “The police will be here any minute.”

  Father Kevin looked worried.

  “The main thing is that no one got hurt. Do you have any idea who this was?”

  Nick’s face darkened, and he swallowed slowly. Alex slightly squeezed his hand, which she was still holding.

  “I’m afraid,” he said in a strained voice, “that it was the same people who tried to kill me with the car bomb.”

  A half hour later, the otherwise peaceful cemetery was filled with people. The police searched every corner for evidence that could point to the perpetrator. Officers of the NYPD Crime Scene Unit examined the broken tombstone and the bullet, which had been fired by a precision rifle with a silencer. They crawled under the yew tree in search of footprints and talked to other cemetery visitors.