24

 

 

Dierdre saw him coming up the river walkway. He walked with his hands pushed down into his jacket pockets, unsteady on his feet, but she found the sight of him suddenly pleasing. He smiled shyly as he came toward her. She liked the lie.

“Sit down here on the bench,” he said, taking her arm. “What’s in the bag?”

“Vitamins and some stuff,” she said, smiling as she sat down and put the bag down next to her.

“Where’s your handbag?” he asked, putting his arm around her.

“I don’t… know,” she said, remembering how it had arced toward the river after she had thrown it, how the water had bubbled around it as it sank. “Maybe I left it at the drugstore. There wasn’t anything important in it.”

“What did Reddy say?” he asked, putting his cheek against hers and holding her close. His voice was soft and pleasant, his breath warm in her ear as if he were still inside her.

“It’s all up to you now,” she said. “Your job’s still there if you want it. I fixed it with Reddy.”

“I’m grateful,” he said as the sun slipped behind a cloud, and she felt something hard press against her side. “Don’t look at me,” he continued, “or I’ll squeeze the trigger. Look straight ahead at that barge on the river.”

“I think I’m pregnant,” she lied softly, and felt him hide his face in her shoulder—affectionately, it seemed to her, but the gun did not leave her ribs.

His breath was moist on her neck as he said, “There’s no one else to stop you now that Reddy’s dead. He is dead, isn’t he?”

She said, “I took him out in my handbag. He’s in the river.”

“Him,” he said. “Three pounds was all of him. Seems there should have been more, should be more of anyone.”

She started to look toward him, but he pushed the gun harder against her ribs. “What was he to you anyway?” she asked.

“My boss, and a human being, but that means nothing to you.”

“It wouldn’t mean much to you either,” she said, “if you could do what I do. You’ll be my helper, remember?”

“To terrify people?”

“Control them, make them pay money, which will give us influence over the right people, make them do anything we want. And there may be other things I can do, maybe with inanimate objects— but at the very least take three pounds of flesh here and there and make the world dance for us.”

“There’s nothing good about you,” he said, and for the first time she felt his disgust.

“I’m learning,” she whispered. Fearless, she would win him over.

He was silent, but she felt his breathing quicken with her own. “Is it that redhead?” she asked. “You want that bimbo?”

He took a deep breath.

“She was the last on my list.”

“You sick bitch, you’re lying,” he said with a pained laugh.

She turned her head, looked into his unblinking eyes, and twisted wildly within herself, but his brains were slow in coming out. His eyes fluttered as he gazed at her, and she knew that in a moment she would have no time or strength left to reach him.

She twisted and knotted herself.

His brain sliced through the walkway fence and the pieces dropped into the dirty river below. He slumped against her, blood in his ears, eyes rolling back—and his gun fired with a muffled thud, as if two blocks of wood had been struck together somewhere beyond the world.

She tensed from the pain and clutched at him, knowing that he had held back until she had lied about Carla.

“Bill…” she said, staring into the shadows of his open mouth as the sun hid behind white clouds.

She held him.

After an age, the sun glared at her. She looked down and saw blood staining her blouse and skirt, and wondered if she could get up and walk home. A couple strolled by, and she held Benek close to hide her wound. A boy and his dog ran past. The dog stopped for a moment and looked back at her, sniffing, then ran after the boy.

She looked at her wound again. It was not pumping out blood.

She willed her fortress self to stand up. There wasn’t a lot of blood after all.

She took a few steps, stopped and looked back at Benek, then went back and pried the gun out of his hand and threw it into the river after his brains. Then she picked up the pharmacy bag and stuffed it into her pocket. Buttoning her jacket tightly, she looked back at him again, struggling against pity. How had he dared turn against her? It had been a delusion for her to believe that he could change, that he could love her and be her partner.

But now, finally, no one was left who knew about her, or would ever know about her, she told herself, and realized that this was what she had been working toward—her own survival, and the acceptance of herself.

She had made mistakes in discovering herself, but they had not been fatal, and there was still so much to learn and do…

She felt a sudden dizziness along with her relief, and realized that her injury might be fatal. She staggered forward and sat down with a jolt on the next bench. The dark crept up through her body, blacking her vision…

When light returned, she looked over at Benek. He seemed so small on his bench, and she remembered when she had been a prisoner inside herself, unable to reach out to anyone. Her next helper would be more appreciative, she told herself through her pain. After all, she had a lot to offer, and nothing would keep them apart…

Her pain insisted.

She stood up and staggered back toward Benek.

Her pain went with her.

She nearly fell over in the last few steps, but finally sat down next to him. Jaw clenched, he seemed to be gazing intently across the river. The barge had moved on, leaving a clear view of the far shore.

Angry at her pain, she worked to purge it from her body; but the harm was stubborn. She let her head down on Benek’s peaceful shoulder, and saw the blackness around her…

There will be no you and me, my love, she thought, then sat up, gasping for breath in the bright flickering daylight.

No you and me.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Only me.