Nemesis

by Cat Bruno

  With each response, his tone sharpened. I searched some nearby options on my phone and ordered from a Korean noodle shop without bothering him again. While I waited on the delivery, I walked around the house for what was only the second time. From room to room, I wandered, like a nomad in search of a land to call my own. It wasn’t here, not in this Colonial masterpiece with arching entryways and triple-wide staircases. But I pretended, imagining where I would place the upholstered divan and the granite side tables. In the master bedroom, I lay on the floor and pictured myself atop a four-columned bed hung with panels of sweet-smelling cotton. In the bathroom nearest to the room, a metal-clawed soaking tub sat, glorious despite its chipped porcelain. I climbed in and leaned back, closing my eyes as I remembered a similar tub many, many years before.

  That one, though, was golden and filled with water that never cooled. How I miss the luxuries of Olympus!

  I woke to William screaming for me.

  “The food’s here,” he said after I ran into the kitchen.

  William stood on a metal ladder, one that appeared to be brand new. Overhead, he stripped a wire bare.

  “Since I walked here, I don’t have my purse,” I told him.

  “My wallet should be in a box by the front door.”

  After finding it easily, I paid the deliveryman and took the medium-sized brown bag and large cup of sweet tea.

  “I got us both guksu,” I told him we as sat down to eat.

  A short time later, he asked me to hand him one of the sections of the light.

  “The narrow piece with the wires attached.”

  Just after I handed it to him, my sneaker kicked over the tea. Before I had time to react, the drink spilled and puddled on the plastic sheet beneath his ladder.

  “Damn,” I grumbled as I leaped backward.

  “There are rags on the porch,” William said swiftly.

  I did not go to the front porch, my friends. But it wasn’t me who silently crept down the dark basement stairs, either. Well, it was me, but it was the old me. Nemesis and not Dandelion.

  Using my cellphone as a flashlight, it was not hard to find the circuit box since the basement was empty. There, on the far wall, it hung, the metal door swinging open with a welcoming invitation. The wooden stairs that led down did not creak or groan as I walked, which is how I knew that Nemesis had opened her wings. Even with her at the helm, floating softly toward the circuit box, I made sure to keep my hands at my heart and touched nothing. When I reached the wall, I pulled the fingers of my left hand inside of my shirt and lifted my arm.

  The cell phone’s light reflected bright against the metal box. Only one circuit had been shifted off and forced to the left. With the sleeve extended across my fingers, I pushed the plastic lever to the right.

  When I heard a loud crash from the floor above, I retraced my steps, but did not return to the kitchen. Instead, I walked to the hallway and stood by the yellow-painted light stand. Fifteen feet from me, William lay on the ground, with the metal ladder atop him.

  In a dream-like state, I went to him, flying to him with my feet inches above the floor. I kicked at the ladder until it rolled to his side. Uncertain if an electric current still flowed through the room, I pulled him to the hallway. Then I raced to the door, which was down another hallway and grabbed several towels from the porch, just where he said they’d be. I did not bother to close the front door.

  Kneeling beside him, I reached my fingers to his neck.

  There was no pulse. But there was blood dripping in thick streams from the back of his head.

  I put my lips to his throat, searching once more for that rhythmic thrum. I found none, but smelled ash across his body.

  As soon as I pulled my cell phone from the waistband of my leggings, I called 911, although I did not move from where I lay.

  Only later did I hear the recording of what I had said.

  It did not take long for the police and ambulance to arrive. But that did not matter. William could not be revived. I remember someone pulling me away from him, and another man asking me what happened.

  With the torn-in-half towel squeezed inside my hand, covering those lifelines Matt had warned me about, I told them in quiet gasps, “I went to find some towels and I came back to him on the ground.”

  My words had been whispered, as if I had forgotten how to speak. They took him to the hospital, and I rode along, accompanied by a uniformed cop twice my age. At some point, Tom and William’s parents arrived. And others, too. I don’t remember much from those hours, as Nemesis and I fought for control.

  Electrocution, they said, intensified by the standing water and metal ladder.

  “No simple jolt,” one young cop noted and I overheard.

  I stayed silent most of that night. She had done it. And while I had long expected to feel joy, I did not. My tears, when they finally came, were not forced or a fraud. And only the wrinkly-faced cop was there to comfort me. He held my hand until Susanne found me.

  “None of this makes any sense,” Susanne sobbed as she embraced me.

  None of it would, if you were mortal.

  With the same arms that had killed her son, I held Susanne as she cried. The gods are known for just that sort of thing. Dark irony is often a favorite tool they use. In a blue-lit family area near the emergency room, the two of us huddled on vinyl-padded chairs and waited for news. She waited, I suppose. By then, I only waited for the wings at my back to stop fluttering and for the sword at my hip to fade.

  By the morning, they both had.

  I returned home to shower just after the sun had risen. Tom had dropped me off, although neither of us said anything during the drive. Out of all of us, he was the most despondent, I think. He loved William truly and without conditions, you see, since he accepted each mask as if William wore none at all.

  Not long after, the detectives started arriving. My friends, I know that I have traveled far off course and often against my own recommendations. However, my collection of masks had not been entirely discarded, and I wore the one that I needed most when they came.

  “Do you have a few moments to talk, Mrs. Hamilton?”

  Hold steady and be sure not to lose your focus.

  “Please, come in,” I quietly told them.

  My hair, wet and dripping, dampened my long-sleeved sweater, and I could feel the flush across my face from the hot shower. All told, I did not look well, with the shirt hanging from me unevenly and my hair uncombed.

  “I see that we have come at a bad time,” Detective Lewis stated. “We won’t keep you long. First, we are all so sorry for your loss. The rest of Columbus mourns with you, yet we know that your pain and that of Mr. Hamilton’s parents is unmatched.”

  The other man, Detective King, was not so kind. His eyes shined like lightning when he stared at me, blue-ice at their edges.

  “What can you tell us about the breaker?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t seem to understand.”

  “The breaker, Mrs. Hamilton. It was never turned off. Did William mention it to you?” Detective King pressed.

  We hadn’t even made it into the living room; all three of us stood just behind the couch that served as the border between the hallway and the living area.

  “I hadn’t been there long, at the Village house, I mean,” my explanation began. “I walked over and we ordered food. He was already working on the light when I got there.”

  As I mentioned many pages ago, do not offer much information, even if repeatedly asked. Play dumb, but play dumb smartly! Oh I know that Detective King wanted to see if I knew anything about how a breaker box or electric panel worked. I chose to purposefully misunderstand his query and his identity. And I only confirmed what was already known: that I was there and we ordered food – both of which the noodle house employee would verify, if he hadn’t already.

  “So you don’t recall your husband mentioning needing to turn off the power in the kitchen?”

  Instead of answering aloud, I
shook my head, which is when Detective Lewis came to my rescue.

  “Here’s my direct line,” he said as he handed me a white business card. “Call me if you remember anything, even if it seems minor.”

  They were gone within five minutes, although it was apparent that Detective King did not want to leave. The visit was an exploratory one and intentionally brief. The detectives had come to feel me out, so to speak.

  Once I was alone, I poured myself a glass of whiskey, the kind I preferred before William ever entered my life. At some point, William’s parents came to the house and encouraged me to get dressed. If they smelled the whiskey on my breath, they proved far too polite to mention it.

  “We need to make a statement to the press,” his father explained.

  When I protested, Teddy chided, “Dandelion, this is no time for tears or breakdowns. Hold yourself together until we get the arrangements made.”

  His wife tried to step in to offer a gentler approach, but Teddy’s anger was fair and just, and one that had been earned. More, it was an excuse for me to remain stoic and tear-free. That was a mask I could wear well. In short time, the three of us composed a short statement expressing our profound sadness and shock and thanking those who had kept us in their hearts and in their minds. We asked for our privacy to be respected and promised to release more details in the coming days.

  “There will be cameras and news vans outside the house for days,” Tom warned in a telephone call to Teddy.

  “It would be best if you stayed in a hotel for the week, Dandelion. Too many people know where William lived. Pack some stuff, and I’ll drop you off on my way downtown.”

  “Of course,” I agreed, staying true to the plan of concurring with nearly everything.

  Was it the gods’ favors that swept across me and blanketed me with peace or satisfaction after a job well done? A bit of both, I think.

  Homecoming

  On the day of William’s funeral, Helios and all four of his gold-fire steeds arched across the sky in victorious splendor. I longed to join him; to fly far from the cemetery with its stony tributes to modern gods. Had I not met Griffin that day, I might have.

  “I never know what to say at moments like these,” he began.

  We both stood outside the church, for different reasons I guessed at the time. Now I know better. A cigarette burned orange between his lips; smoke swirled in between us like a chain of ash, rising and curling as it escaped. But it was his colorful hair that I could not pull my gaze from, which he noticed.

  His other hand combed back the blue, black, and red tresses that waved across his face as he said, “It’s for a movie.”

  When I stayed silent, Griffin explained, “William is my cousin. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it in for the wedding. We had just started shooting.”

  Again, I said nothing.

  “I told you I’m terrible at this.”

  “I’m no good at playing a widow, either.”

  Was it the lack of sleep and food that contributed to my outburst? It was a foolish thing to say, even in dark sarcasm. Just as we have kept track of the rules, let’s keep a tally of my mistakes.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I should walk over now.”

  It was only the two of us who waited at the church; everyone else had made their way to the large reception hall where a luncheon was being held in his honor. My absence would be noted.

  But, naturally, Griffin did not give in so easily.

  “Would you allow me to walk with you?”

  In those early moments, I knew nothing of him. However, beneath the haze that had covered my thoughts for weeks, the memories of him dwelled. Even in that fog, I recognized that he tried to guide me out.

  “Who are you?”

  Have you ever seen the smile of a lion? I hadn’t until then, and I did not know if he wanted to kill me or shelter me as his mouth opened and widened to reveal a camera-ready grin.

  Griffin’s eyes blazed golden when he laughed. “Your new friend. It seems like you could use one.”

  “There are nearly a thousand people here,” I told him as we walked.

  “And how many of those would tell you that they overheard my uncle Teddy trying to figure out how to amend William’s will to exclude you?”

  Perhaps he tested me. Perhaps he did so at the Hamilton’s behest.

  Without slowing down, I stated, “There’s a pre-nup. And I don’t want any money. What I would like is to drink as much whiskey as I can and sleep for days.”

  “That is definitely something I can help you with. Right now, however, you should walk in to this reception. I’m going to smoke another cigarette and then find a back door entrance. But I’ll find you before the evening is over.”

  Nothing else matters. Not the hours I spent at the memorial or the hushed conversations I noticed between Teddy and a gaggle of suited men. Not that Elizabeth was there. Not that Tom stayed by her side. Not that Susanne looked at me with distrusting blue eyes. Not that the credit card William and I shared had been canceled, my debit card declined when I tried to buy a coffee.

  The only thing that mattered was that Griffin had come, finally, winged and roaring. Eagle-eyed and sharp, he vowed to help me collect and protect what was rightfully mine. He told me this while we shared a bottle of whiskey in my hotel room later that night. Weeks later, and with more luck than I deserved, I realized trusting him had not been one of my mistakes.

  “Did anyone follow you here?” I had asked before I let him in.

  “Follow me from the fourth floor, you mean? Like follow me up the steps? I’m no expert, but I think I would have noticed.”

  “You’re staying in this hotel?”

  “Nearly right below you. My uncle recommended it. Many of us are staying here.”

  Did Griffin really think that I would get drunk and confess my crimes? After all, he had brought the bottle. At that time, only Nemesis welcomed and remembered him. Dandelion did not.

  “So who put you up to this?”

  “I don’t expect you to trust me much, not yet anyway,” he admitted, as if he could read my thoughts. “But you will someday, as you have done in the past.”

  It was not the first time that he mentioned a shared history, but I could no longer think clearly. How often throughout these pages have I discussed the disconnected memory of modern mortals? And, now, I was just as bad. For the first time since my return from California, I could think of nothing but sleep. As I fell back against a mound of pillows, I whispered how tired I was.

  “Did you put something in the whiskey?” I mumbled with thickened words.

  If he answered, then I did not hear it.

  Hours later, when I woke, Griffin slept on the couch, covered by a row of bath towels.

  “Hey!” I growled as I walked by on the way to the bathroom.

  For nearly a half hour, I stood in the shower, paralyzed with a level of uncertainty that I had never experienced. Abandoned and alone, with the gods no longer watching, I wept until I could no more.

  That’s when Griffin found me and carried me home.

  You’re wondering, no doubt, about the nature of our relationship. After all, he had spent the night in my hotel and had seen me naked, all within the first 24 hours of knowing him. Have I lied to you yet? No, and I won’t now. There has never been anything sexual between us. Not even a kiss. Griffin stayed at my side that whole weekend, uncaring when his own parents questioned his devotion to me, a woman he had never met. His only explanation when I pushed him to tell me why he aligned himself with me as some sort of knight in shining armor?

  “I never liked my cousin much.”

  The family rebel. The outcast. The drama queen. The misfit. The historian. The traveler. The investor. A man of many hats and just as many homes, always curious and never satisfied. He was not charming, but he was fierce. Loyal instead of handsome.

  He was not Mickey, and I didn’t want or need him to be.

  Once I had gotten dressed, I exited the hotel
room first, to make sure that none of William’s family or friends witnessed Griffin leaving my room. Both of us knew how that would appear. About an hour later, he met me in the lobby, where I sipped coffee and waited for Detectives King and Lewis to arrive. If they wondered who he was, they did not ask, although soon enough Griffin would make himself heard.

  “How did the soda get spilled?”

  “It was tea, not soda,” I slowly corrected Detective King. “I knocked it over with my foot when I handed William a part of the light that he needed.”

  “Would you say that it was purposeful?”

  “Just clumsiness, I think.”

  “The water intensified the shock from the live wires. Did you know that could occur?”

  “No, not at the time.”

  “Did you see William turn the power off?”

  “No, he was already working when I got there.”

  “Was he on the ladder when you arrived?”

  “He sat on the floor and had a screwdriver in his hands. I think he was putting the light fixture together.”

  “Did you two have a fight recently?”

  “Not at all.”

  “What about in the past? Has he ever lost his temper with you or you with him?”

  Before I could answer, Griffin placed his hand across my arm. Just below his touch, the scar across my wrist burned in warning.

  “Dandelion, you shouldn’t answer that.”

  To him, Detective Lewis curtly said, “You her lawyer?”

  “Something like that,” he laughed with undisguised mockery.

  “We can get a warrant.”

  “For what? The cup of iced tea?”

  His jokes were not well received, as you can imagine. In full confession, I cannot recall the interview as anything other than a rapid exchange of words. The detectives asked, I swiftly answered. Yet, still, my body was slow and heavy with fatigue.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I can’t be of much help right now.”

  “Dandelion, go back to your room. I’ll finish up here.”

  As if he swept me into his arms and covered me with a soft, sheltering embrace, Griffin kept me from further harm. In the moments that followed, it was difficult to keep the smile from my face that wanted to bloom. Later, when Griffin returned, I asked what had happened.