She has her mouth open. Not open voluntarily by that vision, but he opened her mouth to take some sample from her own saliva. After that quick check up she kept her mouth open.
And it was not because of what he had said to her, nor for what she saw in his dried lips. It is just that she didn’t expect them to connect her in any way with that woman.
“...And the problem is now that you are involved into this case, since we found some traces of heroin in your purse.”
“What?” She said looking for something inside her purse. She examined it upside down and inside and out, she was exasperated. She hesitated and then continued rambling...“Who put that on my purse? On my “Black-hole”...” That is how she called that big bag that she carried everywhere and she used to hold just to hide a small pepper spray bottle to provide her some security as walked on the streets. Being victimized was not her deal. “Who did that to me? Someone is playing dirty here. You did that, didn’t you?”
“Calm down. Calm down. We are not saying that you are a criminal or something. We don’t have any suspect yet. Besides your boyfriend, of course, who we know have a direct link to the crime... We are just trying to find some other connections.”
“Look. You were very nice that night, but I am being threatened here now. I have no connections with that girl. Didn’t you hear me? No connections. So, please, just let me get out of here.”
“Wait a moment!” said another officer who entered abruptly in the room.
“Your life has been investigated and it looks like your boyfriend had a very disturbing childhood. Did you know that?”
She looks around and sees her reflection in the mirror. It was then that she noticed that the mirror was not really about her reflection, but there was someone behind the mirror. They were watching in her every move closely throughout a one-way glass.
“No, I didn’t know that.”
She was so surprised by the whole thing that she looked at both men in that interrogation chamber as if they were coming out of a surrealistic picture. She felt herself framed inside a piece of theater where she didn't rehearse and thus didn't know whose line was it, anyway. So they were all real actors.
“And they expected me to act like that too?” she thought. “Am I supposed to be the star from this play; or a mere display?” That is exactly how she was feeling...like a display...a doll in the hands of those playful actors...
“Yeah, yeah, sure you do. You must have known by now. This guy is screwed. He already had some records, being twice sentenced into prison.”
“Oh, my goodness, Dawson had a dark side that I never knew and I never dreamed of knowing.” There she sits like she carries a heavy load over her shoulder. She could never think that a man who seemed to be so in love with a woman could hide all that from her. “And why would he do that?”
“He was incarcerated before...for stealing. He is a burglar. Did you know that?”
“Oh, man!” she fought against what she was hearing. She feels a strange tingling sensation all over her head now. “That I didn’t know. My God! Is he screwed or what? And am I screwed now?
“You better get your friend’s address to us right away, or you are the one to be in trouble here as a retriever of proofs. Or you could also be considered an alibi for a crime.”
A cold stream of odd sensation prevailed all over her spine. Now she was feeling cold. No more the warming passion that made her feel so secure at her hero’s arms, but now she could feel the harsh cold wind coming from the fan.
But that is still not the final sentence. The sentence was to give her boyfriend to the hands of those policemen who seemed to care less about her feelings than for her boobs appearing inside her silky blouse, loosely bouncing freely, so much the opposite as she was feeling now. And there they seem to have an incisive glimpse aiming directly at her breasts so closely and not careful enough to take their eyes off, with much more eagerness than the whole story of a murder.
Long story short, they got her working with an undercover agent, which is fine for her. For not going to prison, she let them live her life for a while, and see how hard it is to be a young lady living by herself nowadays.
There are two agents taking care of her case: one is a middle aged woman who would help her find where the murder is. And there is another man, a fat guy, who prefers to be called just as Jay.
Gail Simon, that is her name, wants to play the role as the girlfriend who she does not see since her childhood in the suburbs of D.C. and that now appears in her life, tired of her suburban life looking for adventure.
She will have to make it all out. Now she does have a girlfriend who she doesn’t see for years and she will have to introduce her to her boyfriend.
“Probably she will try to seduce him, they will both go to bed, and then they can all go to hell as well!”
Oh, man! That is getting really complicated.
“Oh, Dawson, you damned son of Dawn... only if you were not so handsome!”
........................................................................................................
A Ransom in a pretty awesome amount..
Ten minutes past ten pm. They were expecting the blond to get out of that toilet soon. Another blond woman with sunglasses went inside the same changing room. When she left they kidnapped her instead.
The kidnappers left the Hotel with the blond. She got rid of their hands and escaped off the streets. But the other man saw when she tried to get into a telephone cabinet, and they caught her back again.
“Now, we have to find our blond.” The other blond managed to escape once again. They left in a car with who they thought was the billionaire’s wife.
The blond called a cab and followed them. They took the frightened woman inside an old building and wrapped her up with a strong metallic rope.
“Now we call the billionaire demanding the ransom.”
The blond came inside the building and inserted the same knife that they had left over the table deep into the chest of the billionaire’s wife:
“You bitch! Take it! You took him from me, now I take you from him.” She said with her strong Russian accent.
“Hey, wait!” said the kidnapper.
“Don't you tell me that she's no billionaire's wife!!
........................................................................................................
“The allegations against Dawson could charge him for at least fifty years in prison!” Gail told her.
She starts to cry. She never thought that such a thing could possibly happen in her life. A man who she dreamed of one day would ask her hand in matrimony is going to jail. And she is about to complete twenty next month. No, not twenty men in her life, you naughty! She was only nineteen...
“You know that I was planning to marry him?”
“Yes, you told me that,” said Gail with a complacent eye, “like five times!” She dried her tears with a tissue that she had carried in her purse. “After all you grew up together, you said that he was twelve when you mother decided to adopt him...”
¨He was like an angel to me, no one could ask for a better step brother... And I would step all over him and he would still do anything to see me happy. Anything and everything I would ask him to do, and he's just everything to me!”
“Who's your daddy?”
“What?” Christie asked.
¨I mean, if you are that important for him, where is he now to help you out to clean up this mess?.¨ said Gail, in a very honest tone. She had made her point.
“A series of allegations of black magic and sessions with fetishes are being investigated.” Gail sighed and then she continued with her weird explanations. Who cares?
“I don't care what she thinks of that all. I just want to be left alone.” Christie whispered. Inside her head it was another story. A brainstorm was forming very quickly and Gail was really getting into her nerves now.
Alone!! Did you hear me?
“They v
ideo recorded the murder of innocent people, and the torturing to death of women ages between thirteen and thirty is also part of the investigation,” Gail continued into her dissertation. “And I think your dear friend is very involved. It is kind of risky now. If I were you I would not go out with this guy ever again. And please do stay away from his companions. They might be very dangerous too. Your dear friend almost took you to your own death, remember!” No, she doesn't want to hear her anymore. And she won't even listen to her own thoughts...
“But he is my boyfriend, and I have feelings for him. Besides, his friends were always very nice to me. I may be upset with the way things happened, but I’ve been going out and I know his friends since I was five years old.”
“You better be careful, girl. Tomorrow, you will call your friend.”
Gail touched her with kindness. “But, by now do not get too close. Just mention about the friend who is visiting you, ok?”
The plot is ready. She might as well incarnate the scene and be part of the game or else she would suffer even more serious consequences. She might get fatally hurt otherwise. But how much more injured will she be than that? Her heart was bouncing back and forward, she could not even internalize her own feelings and she was expected to act and react naturally to everything that has been going on in her life lately. They also think that´s just too much to grasp for her. But they trust her instincts.
She tried to disengage from the situation. But every move she makes seem pointless. She cannot get away from this anymore than she could get away from her own truth. She has to play her part. And she can hardly breathe. She looks at her leg: it has a little cut, but the scar will stay forever. It was a deep cut. But even more difficult to deal with that it would be the profound scar that started to appear on her consciousness. Little she would imagine then that the worst was yet to come.
Happily Ever After the Rescue
It was ten o'clock. They were expecting the blond to get out of that toilet soon. Another blond woman with sunglasses went inside the same changing room. They grabbed her arm, and they left the Hotel. She got rid of their hands and escaped off the streets. But they captured her and also the other girl.
Now they left in a car with both the blond and the billionaire’s wife. They took the frightened women inside an old building and wrapped them up with a strong adhesive material.
“Now we call the billionaire demanding the ransom.” They left the building. The blond took the knife which was hidden inside her sleeve, let it slip to her wrist and then grabbed it.
“It’s all right, girl! I am a police officer, and I am going to take you out of here.” She cut the wrapped material from the blonde’s lips. It was then that she noticed there was a red tip of a fake nail inserted in her neck.
“It must have been from that Russian lady who insisted on offering me a drink and almost forced me to take it at that party, grabbing my neck and pulling me towards her glass.”
“You are probably right. Don't you move, and let me take this off of you,” said the policewoman, carefully taken that piece of nail from inside her skin. She took a closer look and added, “...or they became a bit more sophisticated after those failed kidnapping three times in a row and decided to track you down instead by using a cheap chip with a GPS.” She took it even closer and the material shined against her eyes. “My team and I will later on analyze it in the lab .I'm assuming that it was the only way that they got to make you be recognized among the crowd!”
The billionaire’s wife couldn’t contain herself and kissed the police officer passionately. She asked the billionaire for a divorce for she had just decided to marry the policewoman. She called her daughter eagerly to tell her the big news.
“Christina, you are invited to my marriage.” Her mother said.
On the other side of the line there was a devouring silence. It was terrible enough to know that she could not make anyone fall in love with her.
But then to finally live to hear that her own mother was about to getting married... and again! Christina looked at her watch for the last time as she had just died inside: it was ten minutes after ten. Well, at least that was what she thought then. It would take more five years until she could finally marry her soul mate, her heart, dear Art.
10
IN THE NEW YORK MINUTE
When I lived in Los Angeles, California, the first thing I noticed every morning from my windowpane it was that polluted air that seemed to stick forever over the hills like a printed Black-and-White picture near the busy airport. And although I had my HQ (as in the Heart Quarter) in Santa Monica, and feeling that ocean breeze and fresh wind in the Pier was already delightful, not even cruising on the colorful Boulevard or through the exhilarating Organic Farm Market, or in between boats in Marina Del Rey would uplift all spirits. Nevertheless, I care not (and I dare not) to miss at all the smog or the smell of smoke and diesel around the area. But, at that time, I was still drifted upon the Gardenia fragrance from my prior trip to Hawaii. I just missed so much my favorite flavor that nothing could beat that perfume, except the coffee and sugarcane tastes from the harbor in my sweet birthplace in Santos, Brazil.
Then I got married and moved to the suburbs in Washington. Again I had to get used to a different smell, of a multicultural facet and fragrance that still today I miss after living there for three and a half years and leaving then for more than ten years already. How not to if in the spring there is always that breathtaking beauty of the cherry blossoming in the front and the backyard of my former condo. During the fall, the delicate wind brings about the scent of wet and organic sensation through a mixed essence of the perspiration of the earth spread through a carpet of the red and orange leaves on the ground. And the winter seemed to stick out the best odor from the pine trees contrasting with the white snow in the forest that pictured my window, where sometimes I could see a red fox, or a couple of deer, searching for some food. And even the stink from the ice covered with salt touched our nostrils with candor. All tastes offer a bouquet of choices and memories recollecting a sense of enlightenment of just being alive. But there are some smells that stay in your heart forever and yet you better off try not to pull that memory too often.
A week before September Eleven a bird crashed against the sash. Two feathers remained in that same pane of glass that had witnessed so many changing of seasons, and yet had displayed some ethereal scenery, all of which already inspired me to write three novels. I thought the scene was so spooky that I cried my lungs out. Just after that I went to Canada with my husband by car. We passed through New York three days before the 9/11. He wanted to stop there. I didn't, and for my relief he complied.
"I see a dark cloud over this city. I don't know but I don't like being here. Let's get the heck out of here. And let´s do it quickly!" I didn’t have a vision, although that eerie sensation was persistent. I actually saw a black cloud exactly over the towers. Then in the morning of that tragic day we were in Canada. We turned the TV on. We saw there was a strike on the frontier. And we were worried about not being able to go back home.
"Now we cannot go back to the States." I said angrily.
All of a sudden they stopped showing the strike and what appeared to be a fire on a building came on the TV screen.
We could not quite get what was going on. And then when we saw the other plane crashing the other tower we were shocked and numb. I looked at that scene again and again in disbelief. After a few seconds, and only then that I knew that America was under attack and I went down on my knees and I started to pray. That seemed the only reasonable thing to do by then.
“Please, God, there let not be a war, please, I'm begging you!”
I looked at that beauty in front of me. I had a panoramic view of the lake and tower in Quebec. I saw people walking down the streets as if nothing happened. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining and I could see all that from the hotel room through the window and the floor where I was still kneeling down started to shake. It was me i
n shock, choking with my desperation. Outside everything looked so perfect, like a Renascence painting, and I was sobbing, shaking in the same place like the wings of a humming bird in flight, crying my eyes out and with the world around me still. "Now we cannot go back to the States!" I finally said, desperately.
Time is an illusion. Just in a few seconds I had passed from a state of powerless but arrogance to a state of completely stupor and humility. What five seconds can do to your life! Five days later, on a sunny Sunday morning, we were back to New York City. The smoke was still out there after almost a week. And I could feel that intoxicating stench of burning, of ashes, of death, so acrid that it reminded me of the strong radioactive emission that I sensed on a sole piece of atomic debris from Hiroshima, lost in the middle of the hall in the United Nation Building.
Like Adam and Eve, we were also exiled, away from the Paradise. We had to go away from the place that we always knew as safe and cozy. And so we left. The place where we got used to call home, so far away from our own hearts now, since hell touched base.
She went to the party close to the Marriott Hotel, in the subway, near the escalator from the Metro, underground Juniper Street in Philadelphia. Someone held her a paper where it described the way Pennsylvania was settled.
Sylvan means “jungle” and Penn is the founder of the Quakers and he got this entire “jungle” as a payment from a debt of King Henry (or Charles III, but I pretty much think the latter inherited this debt from him).
Then he founded Philadelphia, which means the city (Delphos) of the brotherly Love (Philos). It is quite interesting to know that the Quakers were protecting the natives and that they all thought that everyone, regardless of sex, ethnic origins, color or culture, all people have the right to freedom for everyone of us have this light from God burning deep inside.
But, anyways, she just felt as if she was not invited here, since she was not really invited. They look at her as if she were a stranger. She actually WAS a stranger. She was an alien, all right. There she was something she always felt like anyway, an alien living in the USA.
Mysterious Murder of Marilyn Monroe Page 15