by Rimmy London
We said our goodbyes, which were more formal than the hello’s had been, and which ended with a Ms. Lane. I stayed on the deck, watching his car jostle down the dirt road and wondering just who Givanni was. He was a mixture of familiar and foreign, and I couldn’t say for sure if we were coworkers, or friends... or potentially something more.
* * *
Two low voices debated in the background. My dad and his oldest friend Jack were almost philosophical when it came to guns. I walked down the aisle, tracing the tops of glass cases and wondering which one they would pick for me. Would they imagine me with a big black revolver? Or maybe a more delicate silver pistol? I rolled my eyes at the thought of a gun in my hands, not really caring which one they would deem best. Guns had never been something that interested me. They were too unpredictable, and in the wrong hands, they seemed to change the more cautious actions of some individuals into something reckless.
Motioning for me to join them, they apparently had found something. I looked at the black metal thing lying out on top of the glass case. “Is that the one you think I should get?” I pulled out my wallet as I asked the question. My dad put one hand up.
“Hold on there, pick it up and see how it feels.” I paused for a moment, not really wanting to go through all this. Finally, I put my wallet down and reached for the gun. After getting both my hands around it I was able to lift it up, but I tottered forward, eventually stepping out to balance myself. It was strange having the entire weight of a gun in my hands. Having used my dad’s rifles growing up, there was something more stable about them, the way you tucked it into your shoulder. A handgun just made me feel like my arms were weaker than I thought. I shrugged my shoulders, which was fairly difficult due to the fact I was still holding the gun, and set it back on the glass counter.
Looking up I saw that Dad and Jack were both frowning. I waited while they began a whole new debate over which one I should try next. Apparently, they weren’t impressed with my ability to handle the first one. After a few more awkward stances with various guns, they looked out of ideas. Jack frowned, reluctantly reaching under the case toward a black drawer. He pulled out a small, silver handgun. Something I doubted he was proud to have in his shop. I smiled. It looked about half the size of the bulky black and grey ones they had been showing me. This one looked a lot more manageable, something I could hide if necessary. Lifting it up easily with one hand and turning it side to side, I smiled back at their disappointed faces before reaching for my wallet again.
On the way home my dad sat quietly in the passenger seat, his expression not as encouraging as the one he’d worn on the way to Jack’s shop. I laughed, but he didn’t seem to hear me over the wind tunneling through our cab. “Dad!” I yelled. When he glanced over, he had the hint of a smile on his face. “I’m sure this gun will protect me just as well as the others. Probably better, because I can actually stand and hold it at the same time.”
“That’s hardly the point,” he answered. His deep voice didn’t need to be raised to hear clearly. “Those others, all you would need to do is hold it up and whoever yer pointing it at would run for their lives. This one,” He swung his head toward my bag. “I don’t think it will have that level of intimidation. That’s all I’m sayin’. But it’s your call, and if you’re more comfortable with it, that’s what you should have. In the end, a gun’s a gun. I’m just sayin’ that I’m not more comfortable with it.”
It bothered me to think of firing a gun at an actual person, and I tried to imagine doing it. That wouldn’t be something I could practice, it would have to be a knee-jerk reaction if I was to even have a chance. I was suddenly sure whoever was coming after me would have had plenty of experience.
Chapter 4
I bit my lip and took the key out of the ignition. My apartment had never looked so intimidating, and I felt tension tighten in my chest. At the sound of footsteps, I whipped around with both hands clenching the doorframe. Givanni strode across the street, a friendly smile stretched across his face. “Thought you might like some company,” he said cheerfully. I fumbled to get out of the car, trying to look unaffected and not the least bit like a leaf skittering in the wind. But by the time we’d crossed the grass and climbed the steps my shaking was hard to hide, especially as my key danced around the lock. Finally getting the door open, I entered feeling more like an intruder than the actual occupant.
Givanni was content to lounge on the couch and became the picture of confidence as I searched every room. But there wasn’t much for me to discover, other than my books being piled all on one shelf, and a rug or two out of place. I wondered if Givanni had been one of those who’d stayed to clean up. Remembering his use of the word ‘ransacked’, I hoped my clothes hadn’t been thrown around. Especially my underwear drawer. I spun around at the thought and inspected the dresser. It was completely organized, and my hopes sunk a little. I wasn’t one to fold panties in a neat little row. But asking Givanni if he’d cleaned up my intimates seemed ridiculous. Who cared anyway? We were both adults, and this was too serious a situation to be worried about something so trivial. Still, as I joined him I couldn’t stop my cheeks from growing warm, no matter how much I cursed them. I jumped into conversation. “So, how did you know I was here?” I ventured.
He smiled slightly. “I got a call letting me know you were home - we wanted to keep an eye on your place for a few days. Just to see if anyone would return. I thought you might want some company at first.”
“By we, you don’t mean the - police?” I was shaking my head, not able to see why he would suddenly be in command of LAPD.
“No, no,” His head joined mine in dismissing the thought, “Shellbrook. We, you know, were concerned that this might be. Connected. To… to other things.”
“Uh-huh.” My chin lifted a little as I took in his confusing explanation. My boss was watching my apartment? It all seemed a trifle - or a whole sheet cake - too noble. Why would they waste their time protecting me? “But you probably want some time to get settled?”His eyebrows were lifted with the comment, clearly leaving me with the option of thanking him and sending him on his way, if that’s what I should want. Leaving me. Alone. In my apartment.
I swallowed.
“I’m hungry, do you feel like spaghetti?” Though it was only three p.m., my stomach was reminding me that I had skipped lunch. I didn’t wait for him to answer and escaped to the kitchen to get started. Grabbing a pot, I filled it with water and set it on the stove with a clunk.
“Sure,” Givanni’s answer made me jump. He opened the fridge. I watched as he pulled out a few tomatoes and began chopping on the small wooden cutting board. Leaning back on the counter I didn’t have much to do as he moved from tomatoes to garlic, and finally olives.
“Ow!” I jumped back as a few drops of boiling water landed on my arm. Turning down the heat I opened the cupboard but stopped when I heard Givanni dumping a box of spaghetti into the pot. “Am I in your way?” I laughed.
“Of course not,” he replied, clearly missing my sarcasm. He handed me a fork. “Stir that slowly,” he ordered as he was carefully crushing herbs in his hands. I tried to keep track of what he was stirring into the pan of delicious-smelling red sauce, the aroma steaming up. Abandoning the pasta for a moment, I pulled out two large dinner plates and set them on the table. Shadows from the young willow tree outside my window danced across the plates, and I glanced up. The flexible branches swayed in a reverent bow. Though early fall was a perfectly normal time for it, I got the unsettling feeling that the wind had more strength than usual. I jumped again at the sound of my phone ringing and snatched it from the counter.
“Hello?”
“Ella?” It was my dad’s familiar voice but lined with stress.
“Yeah, Dad.” There was a pause before he answered, which was perfectly normal.
“You made it home alright?”
“Yeah, I did. I was just making something to eat.” I counted to ten, waiting out the next pause.
&
nbsp; “S’a storm comin’, a pretty good one. You got somewhere to go if your power goes out?” I glanced at Givanni. He was watching me as he stirred the pot of spaghetti I had neglected.
“I’ve got a couple of people I could call. I’ll be okay, you don’t have to worry about me.” My dad hmph’d at my answer before continuing.
“You just let me know if anything goes wrong over there, Ella-girl. I could send someone out if you needed.” I smiled.
“Thanks, Dad, I appreciate it.” And with a quiet ‘Uh huh’, he hung up the phone.
Givanni wasted no time in setting out hot pads and steaming pans on the table. I felt strangely like a guest as he lifted a mass of spaghetti onto my plate, covering the small mountain with his incredible-looking sauce. Sprinkling my plate with Parmesan cheese like a small avalanche, I twirled my fork through it. The first bite was so hot I could hardly taste it, and I swallowed quickly. My next bite I made sure to blow on, cooling it enough to enjoy the rich flavor and subtle spices. “Mmm,” I murmured. Givanni smiled as he used his spoon to twist the spaghetti noodles into a tight ball. Slipping it easily into his mouth, there wasn’t a single stray piece of spaghetti to be found. I reached for the spoon still lying next to my plate. Twirling the pasta around with fork pressed against spoon, I just about laughed as I took a bite of my perfectly manicured spaghetti. Givanni cleared his throat, and I caught his expression just before he forced it into a polite smile.
“It’s easier that way, huh?” he said.
I smiled back, not caring if he thought I was funny. Getting food in my mouth was my main goal when I was hungry. I had never really focused on the style I used to get it there.
“It is,” I conceded, and laughing with him we resumed twisting our spaghetti. I couldn’t imagine where this businessman learned to cook. Guesses played out in my mind like a movie reel, but none of them were realistic. I doubted he’d taken culinary classes in Italy, although he was Italian, or taken his first job catering when Shellbrook was the family business. Between bites, my eyes flickered to his face, thirsty for an answer. “So,” I swallowed a small bite of pasta. “Where did you learn to cook like this?” He glanced down at his plate and then back at me as if I was complimenting something he hadn’t given thought to. He took a sip of water.
“Actually, my grandmother taught me. ‘Vani, food is what gives life richness and love; its depth’.” He smiled as he quoted her, waving a hand in the air. The window next to me rattled, and we both turned to the tantrum outside. A chaos of clouds was sweeping by like an army. I leaned closer to the pane, watching them come from every direction only to darken like charcoal as they bunched together.
“Dad wasn’t kidding,” I said quietly. Givanni’s reflection shone in the window next to mine as he looked up at the mass of precipitation.
“I think I need to make sure everything is secure at my place,” he said suddenly. “I just realized I left the horses out.”
I looked at him a moment before answering. “I didn’t know you had animals. Don’t you live close to here?” He nodded as he slipped his arms into his deep brown leather coat. Not your usual brand either, the kind of material I was sure had come from a store I had never laid eyes on.
“I’d better run,” he said over one shoulder, already making for the door. I followed behind him like his own shadow, waiting for an answer. When he suddenly turned to face me I skidded to a stop, holding on to the doorframe to keep from colliding with him. “Thank you for dinner,” he rushed, his eyes the only thing that had settled while he spoke. Still tasting the garlic on my breath I smiled my reply. My brain was slow to realize that I should be the one thanking him. As he drove off rain let loose from the sky, drops like artillery pelting his windshield.
I closed the door, hoping to keep the chilled air out. The cold settled into my bones regardless and the wind whistled like laughter through a small crack in the front room window. I pulled a plaid throw from the couch and covered my shivering shoulders with it. But while its weight brought warmth, it wasn’t enough to distract me from the way the walls creaked with each change in pressure. I sunk into the couch and pulled a worn paperback from the coffee table, and in a few words, I was transported to Europe, racing up a mountain trail under a strobe of sunlight. I curled my toes under the blanket, still feeling a chill when a flash of anger from the clouds outside lit up the onslaught of rain.
And then everything went dark.
I let the paperback fall to the floor and shuffled, still wrapped in a blanket, to the darkened window. The entire neighborhood was out, not even a dusting of moonlight. Like my window was painted black. I leaned closer until a white cloud of breath fogged the scene. A cold gust of wind sent chills down my arms and I spun around, confused. I searched the shadows. Why can I feel the wind? A light ‘chink’ sound had my head snapping toward the hall. Curtains. In my bedroom. And the wind. Someone’s inside my apartment. My breath hissed in a tight gasp. It felt as if invisible hands would clasp around my throat any moment until I heard a thump and suddenly sprang into action. Hurling myself at the door I collided with the side table and scooped my purse up in a single movement, clearing the front steps in one leap. Instantly I caught sight of streetlamps from a more fortunate neighborhood and turned toward the glow. With a quick glance behind me, I saw a dark figure leap out the front door. I wrenched my head forward and ran - with no idea where to go. Although the neighborhood wasn’t new to me, I hadn’t met a single person. Not that I wasn’t sociable, I just had a lot going on with my work and father and… okay, maybe I had been a bit reclusive. I stumbled and jumped up again. He was too close now. I searched for light, options, anything. Like a frightened animal, my rational brain had shut off. Now it was just survival. Distance. Stay ahead of him. A noise behind me became his steps. Sure and strong... and heavy. He was gaining on me.
“Loriel!” I swung my head around at his voice but didn’t stop. It was Givanni chasing me. Givanni had been the one in my apartment. My brain tried to make sense of it, of any reason good enough to have him circle his car around and sneak into my bedroom. What could possibly make that scenario good? There was nothing. Run.
“Stop,” he huffed, his feet slowing. “Please. There may be more.” I looked back to see him no longer running but swaying with his hands on his knees and his curved back rising with each breath. I stumbled to a stop.
“There,” Breath. “May be more?” I gasped, drawing in enough air to settle my heart before it could explode.
“I was driving - away,” Givanni panted. “And saw a car,” Breath. “Stop at your house. It made me curious. It just -” Another breath and then he stood, arching his back against his hands. “It just didn’t seem right.” His breathing had finally settled, and the deep butter that was his voice had returned. “So when I took the road behind your house,” He pointed to the street tucked one lane over. “I saw a man walking around your building. Not bothering to be cautious, he walked like it was his property.” Givanni took a step forward. “So I waited and watched him. Maybe he had some business in the area - reading a meter perhaps?” Another step. “But when he hunched down beneath your window I knew I had been right to stop.” Step. “Looked like he used some tool to get it unlocked. He pushed the window up and lifted himself in. Got halfway through before I stopped him.”
I studied his face as he spoke, unsure of his story. It was like he was a magnet for trouble, ever since I had met him I’d been trailed by bad luck. Or maybe it was more than that. He shifted his feet in my silence. “The police are on their way, and he’s still outside your house if you want proof.”
A siren made its way through the static noise of rain, a whisper that grew steadily. I nodded. His let out a gust of breath, and we walked back to the apartment in silence with me repeating his story in my head and putting both sides together. His and mine. It wasn’t until I saw the man being pulled to his feet by a couple policemen, that I realized what the story could have been. He was a brute. Once on his feet,
he surveyed his surroundings.
The moment he saw me he went wild, dropping out of their hands and charging. He passed everyone quickly, and then there was nothing in his way. I didn’t turn my head to see if Givanni was still beside me. It would be stupidity to stand up to this man - this machine, who was barreling forward like a steam engine. I couldn’t remember screaming, or much of anything. There was just falling, and my head meeting with the curb, and Givanni’s silhouette against the streetlights as they lit up again.
* * *
“Are you awake now?”
My eyes flicked open to throbbing pain. They snapped shut. “I fink tho.” I opened them slowly this time at the thick sound of my voice.
“You’ve been given some pretty heavy stuff to help you sleep,” Givanni sounded apologetic. “It might take awhile to wear off completely.” Through tiny slits of sight, I scanned the room. Clearly, it was not a hospital - it smelled too good. My mind unwillingly traced over the details of the night before, and I brought my gaze back to Givanni. We were silent, both lost in our own memories. The heavy oak door creaked open. Pushing my hands under me, I struggled to sit up. Givanni gripped my waist and was much more successful, lifting me easily. I smiled at him before my eyes came back to a stack of light, fluffy waffles - a fading trail of steam winding up like a ribbon. The dainty woman, her hair swept back into a generous roll of smooth grey strands, walked swiftly to my bed and placed the large tray across my lap. She was all smiles, her cheeks pink and eyes a crystal blue. I couldn’t really see the rest, her tiny frame hidden by the bed. She patted my arm, squinting her happy eyes at me. I tried to thank her as generously as I could, but after a few mumbled attempts, she interrupted.
