Chapter 10

The warmth was missing; I had gladly let the cold air invade the house. The furnace in the basement clanked loudly, overheated from want of coal and firewood.

I had always  avoided mirrors.

I could not, as some scholars believe, see mirrors as anything more than what they really are. Mirrors cannot be eyes to a soul or true feeling they simple showed you a reflection.

Still, when that reflection has not changed in year. . . it creates the thought that perhaps a soul or true feeling have not changed either.

My eyes avoided the bruise just above my eye from where Lucie had struck me, I took in my reflection fighting to keep composure. There were still many things left to be done, dangerous things I had started.

My skin still burned with the memory of her touch.

I began to wonder how long I would have to wait ?  Till my reflection changed ? Would I even notice. I began to wonder if I knew how to become anyone apart from who I was at that very moment, the person I had been for so many years.

How long till I ceased to be the ghost of myself?



Clara

I hated waking up in this room, staring at the black walls wondering what came next. I wondered what day or month it was. Did any of that really matter ?

Somehow I was able to sympathize with Lucie, I began to want to understand her utter devotion, in some way I wanted to be her. I guess in some odd way Lucie and I  were starting to become one.

He loved me and I was certain of that. It felt terribly selfish and that made me happy.

Did Lucie know ? Of course.

How else to torture two people than to make their time together short and unpredictable and in reality unforgiving ?

Asking him to save me was a selfish thing to make him promise.

I knew that but I needed him to save me, to choose me over Lucie.

I pressed my hand against the dark walls, seemingly lost in thought. What would I find on the other side? That months or maybe years had passed?

But it was only a day.

The walls were still but there was something eerie about them, they were breathing?

I opened the door and found Mr. Fierro standing on the other side. I offered a weak smile and turned away.

“It’s snowing”, he said

“Is it?”, I looked at the covered windows, at least it was still winter

“Let’s take a walk”, it was much less than a suggestion

We stood outside, just under the arch stone awning watching the snow cover the grass, it almost made the gates look pretty. I bundled in a hideous wool coat to keep myself warm.

“Do you ever smile ?”, I asked

“I did. .. do, will one day again”, he assured me, “Ms. DeLune—“

“Call me Clara”, I said

“Clara”, he said, “Why is it that you care for me ?”

“How could I not”, was the most honest answer I could give.

The snow began to fall harder with a harsh wind. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw little puffs of smoke rise in the air.

The smoke must have been coming from Grandpa’s chimney. During the cold weather he would often light the fireplace to keep warm. It wasn't an electirc one like my parents had and when I was younger my sisters and I were fascinated by watching him gather logs and set them on fire.

 I remembered when we tried to make smoke signals one day and us girls had to run into the woods, not to far of course, till we could just see the smoke. A little reminder that we weren't to far away, we would try to read the smoke signals  and see what message grandpa was trying to send.

By the time we returned Mother and father would have been back and we would settle in the living room. In my memories it was perfect, wonderful and even charming.

Almost a perfect family.


Clara

“Oh, sorry”, I almost giggled

The tea table tilted on two of its three legs before crashing to the floor, a half empty tea cup and saucer rolled off and landed  just under my heel.

Inside the house, the hot air rolled of the space heater and I could feel the two glasses of wine I’d had  began making me unsteady. I was far from intoxicated but in slightly better spirits than I had been in a while.

There was no music and still we danced and even then not really, I couldn’t watch my feet or where I was going, I couldn’t take my eyes away from Mr. Fierro's, I didn't sense a bit of vulnerability or ardor when I looked into them. Occasionally however there was a flicker of something.

I tried not to think about Lucie, where she was what she was doing. Or oddly enough if she was here and I was too infatuated to notice.

“Careful, Ms. DeLune, he  warned taking my hand

“Yes, Mr. Fierro”, I said

I knocked over another table in the hall, an empty vase which made a pretty sound when it hit the floor and shattered into pieces, I briefly wondered why I had to be the one walking backwards.

Still he stepped closer and I stepped back till my ankle hit the smooth edge of the stairs. I took one step up the first step, he took another, Each one bringing us closer together and a little farther back.

I felt the third step and reached for the banister my hand slipped over the railing just as my shoes skidded over the steps.

The railing and steps were suddenly wet, covered in a thick pool of dark red blood, gently lapping down each step. The smell was suddenly defining and I realized the left side of my body was covered in it from where I had slipped I felt the red liquid pooling around my lips, I pursed them together as to not let it run in my mouth.

Mr. Fierro had also slipped, the blood shone brilliantly next to his skin. His eyes followed the top of the stairs where the it d continued to spill like syrup.

“Where is it coming from ?”, It was a stupid question

I attempted to climb the stairs the blood preventing me, making the stairs slick beneath my grasp.

“Stay here”, he ordered, still somewhat petrified from the blood staining his clothes

“No, I have to know”

I held my breath and planted both hands firmly in the red pool, climbing slowly to the top, my pants and shirt now soaked. I gripped onto the top step and coached myself to open my eyes.

At the top of the landing I saw a hand, a leg a part. . . of a person I didn’t recognize. Lying like broken toys in the hallway. I held in my scream when I noticed the ring on the hand that had belonged to Gail Beck.

Crawling onto the landing I was suddenly tempted to touch the hand, but before I could it moved, just slightly the fingers twitched. I jumped and with a strange since of déjà vu fell down the stairs. I hit the bottom and stared at the ceiling.

“Clara”, I heard Mr. Fierro call my name, but it was the least of my troubles.

He didn’t see what I saw

I saw my Grandmother, outside of myself

Just as I remembered her; her dark hair pulled into a lavish hairstyle Not a single hair out of place, piercing eyes and a smile that made me feel comforted. She was becoming more and more real and it frightened me.

What is it she had always told me ?

Never break her things, not in her house.



Mr. Fierro

“How was your holiday ?”,

Martin opened the door to his home office and I considered how to answer his question. I was beside myself trying to figure out why Martin had called me here.

“. . .I realized I have a lot to be thankful for”

Martin sat behind his desk, he appeared nervous.

“This is difficult for me, Mr. Fierro. .. but you see my wife and i received another ransom”

It was an almost surreal moment, perhaps a bit of misplaced irony. From his desk Roger produced an almost identical letter to the ransom notes I had sent him. Martin had not quite mastered his daughter’s handwriting but it was impressive.

“Are you asking me for more money ? Again?, I questioned him my eyes never leaving the fake ransom note

“A loan, in accordance to our agreement.”, he began to reason.

“I take it the first ransom did not go through ?”, I asked slightly out of amusement knowing full well he had never paid the ransom with the money I loaned him. He was however sporting a  new watch.

“No”

A lie, he certainly believed himself to be playing with his daughter’s life on a very thin line. I will never understand how she worshiped the man so. Martin was clever I would always give him that

“On second thought, Mr. DeLune, I’ve changed my mind.”

“What do you mean ?”, he was flustered.

“It is all very risky Mr. DeLune, for all I know you have your daughter secretly stored away somewhere and this is all a ruse to sipher money for your failing family business. I’d prefer you pay me in full for the earlier loan and we can put this behind us.”

He gritted his teeth, seemingly livid with frustration that his simple plan did not work, if only he knew all the cards I held.

“You know very well that I’m not in the financial position to do such a thing”

“I suggest you give the situation serious thought or I doubt you will ever climb out of debt.”

We sat in silence for some time.

“Perhaps”, I continued to be unusually long winded, “ the police should know about this second ransom.

Mr. DeLune raced me to the door, nearly closing it on my hand.

“You will not say anything to anyone so help me God I will, I will”

“What exactly ? Kill me to keep me quiet.”

It was a threat, a challenge that Martin may have given serious thought to .

“If my daughters shows up dead it will be on your weigh heavy on your conscious not mine.”, He opened the door,

“Prove it”

“Excuse me ?”

“If you believe yourself to be an honorable man and that your daughter is in fact kidnapped then I will put up  a 3 million dollar reward for her safe return. If she is returned we will call it even. If not you will always be in debt to me.”

". . . and you have this in liquid ?"

"I do, and you should of course hold on to it. After all she is your daughter."

"And this stays between you and I ?"

I nodded.

Lies, more lies more from me more than him, without hesitation we silently shook on it.

 Perhaps a few minutes or had I driven faster it would have been possible to avoid what awaited.


Clara

There was something dark about the study, a feeling and emotion I wished I could place inside my music. I suppose I never understood the appeal of having a study, I did all my "studying, my music, in the real world. Writing on park benches or in cafes.

Either way the study  was an odd place to grieve her. I'm certain Mrs. Beck had walked, clean and maybe even chatted here. I waited to feel sad to feel something other than terror from her . . .accident.

I sat on the other side of the desk and looked over the titles on the book case. To be honest they all seemed dreadfully boring. I turned my attention to the desk. It was rather plain except for a few pens, open books with writing in the margins and a calendar. Had I really been missing for nearly 3 months.

The drawers however were empty, but very heavy. I took out one of the drawers and almost instantly the bottom fell out. A leather portfolio fell to the ground scattering its contents.

A photo landed face up, I didn’t give it a second thought before I noticed it was a picture of me. I didn’t recognize myself I flipped it over and in my own forged handwriting what appeared to be a ransom message.

I picked up the other papers. The letter I had written for my parents telling them I was in Italy, copies of my signature, receipts for checks written out to my father.

I had stared at the ransom letters for a long time trying to piece it together, the money however spoke for itself.

I sat in the study waited for him to find me. I wanted answers.

hours past before I heard the door open, at first Mr. Fierro did not sense anything was wrong, then he saw the photos.

“What is this ?”, I asked

“Clara you have to understand”, he began to lecture me

“Understand what ? What have you done ?”

“I’ve done nothing”

“Have you been blackmailing my family? what does this mean”, The photo floated to the ground.

“ I cannot just leave this part of my life behind, perhaps when you have been wronged you will understand”

“What does it mean ?”, I studied the word on the photograph

Ultio

“Revenge”, he said quietly

“Revenge ? is that what this is about ? "

“How can you not see”, he continued, “Death would not be justice. Roger has had a lifetime, death would be a reward. This is the only way, this is how it has to be. He will be consumed wondering is she dead? Am I being haunted? He they will wonder if I really died did I ever truly exists. ? How can I be truly happy unless he suffers? “

“Happiness”, I scoffed. “Is that what this is about ?You have your life back and still you cannot be happy, a beautiful garden a large fortune and still you cannot be happy, you have my love and still you cannot find happiness ? How can that be?”

He was speechless, lost for words or prudent comment.

“I won’t let you do this”, I said, “I can’t let you hurt my family. It was 50 very long years ago.”

“Do you find you have a choice in the matter, Ms. DeLune. Let me do this and we will both have what we want. “

I stepped back


For a second I was filled with . . .rage. I wanted to do anything to stop him from hurting my family but I was afraid.I hated my naivety  and frailty.

I had always known deeply of his injustice. Did I think our love wouldn’t be effected by his hatred for my family.

“You are simple, egotistical and arrogant”, I shouted.

“Did you know your father did not pay the first ransom. The money was very tempting  to him. What do you think he purchased that was more valuable that your safety? Perhaps something for his son ?”

"Son ? what are you talking about ?"

"I suppose you will not longer be the youngest . . . I do wonder if he is trying to replace"

He seemed uneasy about his last comment perhaps apologetic.A single tear fell before I could stop it, I didn’t want to believe him but if anything he had never lied to me.

"I can't let you do this"

“I’m afraid Ms. DeLune you will not be going anywhere." his words were impeccably  courteous

I knew this to be true.

“Lucie hates you”, I said, “If I’m your means to and end then you are hers.”

“I doubt you understand what your words mean.”

“I know my words are valuable and I will be careful not to waste them on you. Perhaps you and Lucie deserve each other.”

December 18th

The wine is bitter as are my memories of our ill fated argument.

Emile finds it difficult to address me; the kitchen has closed only a few servers remain counting tips and casually smoking. Emile and I strolled out quietly without notice; I stayed a few steps behind him. The rain and fog had cleared to a crisp winter night..

“Why have you just now sought me out ?”, he asked

“I find it’s too late for me to turn back. Her love blinded me. As I acted out  my fate for Roger I  had been blinded by one important aspect and for that I am  in desperate need for your help”

“Fierro, I won’t help you tear another human down.”

“I figured as much, which is why I did not expect you to come willingly. I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, old friend.”

The feelings of guilt and betrayal were comforting and even welcoming as I pressed the barrel of the  unloaded sliver pistol into his back. I remained calm knowing that this was in part to fulfill my promise to Ms. DeLune..

“What do you want from me.”, Emile asked his hands slightly raised as I lead him to the car.

“I have always found you to be imaginative and insightful. I will need you to help me.”

“Help you?”

“Yes, I’m going to kill my wife.”