“Goodbye Girl.” The door swings closed on its industrial springs behind me and I step into the future with new purpose. And a deep sadness that I will use to my advantage.
Caesar
As the days lengthen
So the storms strengthen
I take the car into the city in search of something to eat and more smokes. Driving stretches my leg to the point where it feels as if my skin might rip apart. The city is waking in the early morning light, a yellow haze caused by city smog carpets everything in a false beauty. I park a small way from a twenty four hour convenience store. The half broken neon sign a relic from years ago flashes, signaling they are ‘-pen’. The air is still thick with the muggy heat that never seems to leave this place. I think of her lost in these streets alone left for the predators that eye me from everywhere. An obnoxious bell rings above the door and when I heave it open, the shop is cool and refreshing. The low buzz of industrial air conditioning soothes my ears. There is a dirty take out counter in the back and while it looks awful, the smell is amazing. The spicy Mexican flavors have filled the shop and my stomach reacts with an audible growl. It isn’t breakfast food at all but anything will do right now I guess. I order from a young boy, a teenager maybe sixteen, and go to the front to pay and get my cigarettes. I mill around walking down the aisles waiting for him to prepare my food, my eyes stay on him afraid he will spit in it, or drop it on the floor.
The ache in my chest is worse than the pain of my burnt skin, a dull pain that hangs there throbbing with every heartbeat. There is something missing from me as I leave the small grocer, my heart misses her. There is no static noise in my mind, everything is quiet. I have found a peace that never existed before in me. I have accepted the future and today my demons are silent and my heart is empty. I may be a deplorable human but I have always had a heart. In fact, my heart was always a hindrance in my line of work. My ability to feel love and affection kept me from the depth of depravity where others like Mateo live. He told me that day he didn’t want to be saved, that we deserved to happy the way we are, I finally understand it. I spent my life trying to save him, to fix him and control him; when all he ever wanted was the freedom to be the boy he was, in doing so however he has taken something from me. In fairness to him, I gave her to him. I should have known he would want her dead, his mind cannot deal with the emotions and actions of those who live. A seed of revenge has been sown in my mind, a little voice that whispers to me how much they should pay for taking her. Everybody has its price, the parts or the whole, they cost something. They should pay for hers with theirs.
Some boys have a special bond with their mothers, a tether that ties them to the womb from whence they came. I would cut my mother's heart out in an instant. I never felt that connection, that need for her presence in my life. She was the deliverance of evil in my life, the voice that set my madness free, the sound of pain and torment. Mateo, was a lot like me; he never cared for his mother much either, not because she was a bad mother, but because he simply couldn’t.
Back inside the building that houses the family business, I remember things I had allowed myself to forget. I am sat on the floor, my fists bloodied and my knuckles aching from the force with which I hit her. It wasn’t my fault she spoke when I was already past the point of no return. I didn’t mean to assault my mother. I didn’t want to hit her - or maybe I did. My back rests against the metal frame of the bed in Hugo’s room and his arms hang loosely around my shoulders where he comforts, calms and silently heals me from the monster inside. The disease that keeps me from human connection and meaningful love. The noise, the fucking deafening noises that never leave me be. He was an anchor.
Now he is my betrayer. I am unable to communicate with people without becoming sick, I wish for a world without sound. I want to press mute. I have wanted that all my life. My cigarette dangles from my lip as I push open the office door with a new purpose, a new plan and an agenda of my own. My mother will be dead in three weeks, in fact I have no idea why I never killed her before now. I should have ended her hold on my life years ago. I dial the hotel number and ask for her room number.
“Madre.”
“Caesar, my son.” Nails on a chalkboard, dangling a steak in front of a lion. The silence is over.
“We need to have dinner and discuss the plans for when I get home. I cannot live with you, Ma. Things need to be in place.” Lies spill from my lips with no effort at all, in fact I smile at the prospect of watching her suffer as she has watched me.
“That sounds perfect. Bring Mateo with you, tomorrow?” The sound of insanity.
“He is too busy, just us, Madre. Tomorrow is fine. I will have someone fetch you.” I don’t wait for more of the amplified chaos to scream back at me. I hang up. I am buzzing with the excitement of finally putting my insanity to death. I am going to exorcise my own demons. A doctor knocks at the door, looking for approval to enter my space. I nod for him to sit, the list of bodies coming in and parts going out with their tissue matches and blood types is on the clipboard. He holds in a shaky hand and passes it over for me to run through. I need to check that the spares are paid for and that the parts are available. I detach from the humanity of this process, this is a business, like a body shop where you get your car fixed; we just fix people.
“These are fine.” I look up so I can see his face, he came to us from Korea and is one of my most loyal employees. “Can you manage without Mateo and Hugo?” Neither of whom have arrived today.
“We can manage just fine. I will call the delivery teams now.” His accent is mixed and he stutters slightly.
“Good, get started. I am coming to see them now.” Eight goodbyes. Eight less tortured souls. Over a hundred lives saved or changed forever. A fair trade. He takes back the clipboard and leaves the office. His white coat no longer quite white and his shoulders slightly slumped with the weight of this job. No doctor studies all those years wanting to become a murderer. Most of them have high hopes of saving hundreds of lives and he does, but he has to kill some to do it. I feel like I am a gun with the safety off, I am an accident about to happen as I walk out of the office and get ready to do what I have always done - say goodbye. I realize that all I long for is hello at the end of the day, a person. A someone who will be there when the goodbyes are over.
Blood pools on the floor at the end of a long day, neither of my wayward family members returned today. I think the Lord may be protecting them from me, because had I seen Hugo I would have killed him without thinking about if for a second. He took what was mine and I will never forgive him for that, I shouldn’t have to. As I cover the last body of the day, I wheel it through the doors, no longer able to lift them over my shoulder with ease. The service elevator is dark, dirty and unreliable in this building. I hear the grinding, shuddering as it halts behind the closed doors. My whole body is hot and the stuffy space makes it worse, my stomach flips as we descend down towards the incinerators. The metallic smell of blood coating my sinuses with every breath, but I need them because the heat is so stifling. The desolate passage opens in front of me as the falling lift jams to a harsh stop. There are only a few medical staff and security that stay this late; it’s eerie and still down here just the roar of the fire and the machines fills the space. The place feels gloomy tonight, but I fear that despair is following me and doesn't come from here but from within me.
I lift the lifeless waste that is left after everything that can be sold was taken onto a conveyor and hit the switch. The wretched smell of burning blood and flesh, and the crackle as it pops with the heat fill the room and I turn away. My job is done for today.
When I eventually reach my living quarters, I cannot call it home or my room because it is neither to me. It is simply a place to pass time; and time will pass much faster after tomorrow. The water of a hot shower helps to keep my mind in check as I run through the things I will need to get ready in the morning before I meet with my mother. Strangely I have no anxiety, no fear and no noise at the
thought of what is to come tomorrow. Instead, I collapse on my bed still wet from the shower and sleep with my sweet girl in my dreams.
Haunting brown eyes look into mine and there is love in them. She blinks them closed, her long lashes keeping them hidden from me as she rests her head on my chest. I feel her heart beating against mine, but they are in time, one beat. Her fingers trace my skin up and down my spine where her arms are wrapped around me. This tender moment where all we both feel is love, love and a burning desire to make her mine again. I kiss the top of her head and her soft hard hair smells of soap as I inhale. She lifts her head slowly so that I can see her again and now I kiss her sweet lips. Silver scars mark her pretty face and I wish this kiss could erase them all. As her tongue dances with mine I have never felt more at home in all my life. I stop kissing so I can look at her in all her broken beauty, she opens her mouth and whisper escapes. “Give me your heart. I will keep it safe, Caesar.” The soft sounds are a gunshot in my mind turning me from lover to monster in a breathy word. My body betrays my tender thoughts with lust so violent I cannot stop it. Shoving my child away so that she stumbles and falls onto all fours, my belt is unbuckled before she can even push herself up. “Stay there.” I put a hand on her back as I slide my pants down to my knees, her bare ass facing me. Years of beatings seen on the surface of her skin. I am salivating at the picture before me. “Love me, Papi.” A soft moan and my senses are lost.
I wake in a pool of sweat and cum, the night still dark outside. My sleep eludes me as I toss restlessly in the grief of what has been lost.
Ramira
Black we are but much admired by men
they seek us until they are tired
When you have been around as many dead bodies as my family has you can smell it a mile away. The thick foul odor permeates everything and clings to it as if hanging onto life after death. My son has the reek about him when he gets close to me, the putrid stench of burnt flesh is more than any aftershave can hide. He looks different today, his eyes are darker, his back is straighter and he is smiling. Caesar never smiles when he sees me. In fact the man hardly smiles at all, making the smirk on his face confusing. He even has a tie on and his dress shirt has been ironed properly. He isn't his usual scruffy self, he looks fit to be my son, my successor. He looks like a businessman and not a common criminal for the first time since I stopped dressing him. I like this version of my boy, he looks like his father, handsome and charming.
I look around the hotel room he has brought me to, it's nicer than mine. I wondered where he was staying, he usually chooses squalor over the luxury of hotels. The table is set for two and there is a waiter standing next to a food cart waiting. Caesar pulls out a chair for me to sit, he hasn’t forgotten the manners I beat into him as a child after all. There is nothing more attractive than a gentleman, a man that carries himself correctly and does so with good manners. You can hide all sorts of bad things behind good manners, like our business.
“Caesar, you look so handsome, my boy.” My words are a sword to him and yet today he doesn’t even flinch.
“Thank you Madre.” He turns to the waiter and I notice he has something in his ears, I can see the white flash as his head moves. I feel my brow furrow as I try to strain my failing eyes to see better. He stuffed his ears with cotton; he can’t even hear me at all I suspect. Yet he answered me as if he heard me.
The waiter pours wine for me and brandy for him, he spills a drop of the blood red liquid on the white cloth as he pulls the bottle away. The red is soaking into the fabric more as he tries to blot it with his cloth.
“Leave it, you can go now. I will do the rest.” He waves the man away, irritated by his presence. He scurries off closing the door behind him, I hear the automated lock click like all the hotels do these days. I am alone with my son who is allergic to my voice and for the first time since he was teenager I am afraid of him. I no longer want to torment him, I never did, but when he couldn’t stand my voice, it broke my heart and I became bitter. He was a thorn in my existence, the boy I wanted so badly and I couldn’t even tell him I loved him without him becoming a raging monster. Then when the sexual responses started I had no way to hide my disgust at his affliction. How could a boy be turned on by his mother; it was repulsive, the thought alone still turning my stomach. I had nightmares about my son masturbating to the sound of my voice, I became determined to cure him. I would not shut up, he would get over it. He never ever did though.
He places my lunch in front of me and then collects his from the trolley removing the silver cloches, revealing a beautifully plated cold starter. The chef here is definitely better than where I am staying, I might consider moving.
“The food here is excellent, have you enjoyed your stay? I might move hotels after this lunch.” Nothing no twitch, no flexed muscles or growls, he listened to me without being affected.
“I am not staying here. I stay at the factory.” His answer catches me off guard and I look around the room and there is no sign of him living here at all.
“Then why are we here, Caesar?” I am confused as to why he has brought me to hotel he isn’t staying in.
“Because we cannot exactly eat at the factory and I don’t trust that restaurants here are not serving me dead dog, cat, bat, or fucking rat. So I came to a place owned by a business colleague I can trust. You are also impossible to please, Madre, so I thought you would appreciate a private lunch somewhere nice. I also wanted to avoid the public spectacle we had last time we dined together.” He answers me, clearly no teeth grinding, no holding in his rage.
“Thank you, son. Let’s enjoy our meal before we discuss work.” We eat in silence. My voice hasn’t made him go crazy; he is relaxed and seems to genuinely enjoy the food and more surprisingly, my company. He smiles and comments on the taste and fresh ingredients. When he swirls his brandy glass and sips it, all I see is my late husband. I am in time capsule with him, we would dine like this when we started this business. Together, a team, but he had other ideas. He didn’t love me like I loved him. The bitter sting of his rejection and my son’s inability to be anywhere near me turned me into something dark and bitter. I became poisonous to myself and I was the incurable disease in my son.
“Would you like dessert?” He breaks the memory of my past.
“No thank you. Could we order some coffee?” I am not one for sweet things. Caesar stands and uses the phone on the sideboard to call room service to come and clear away lunch and bring coffee. The view out the window over the hotel gardens makes me feel like I am not in the filth of the city. I watch as a young couple walk hand in hand, I see the lonely girl on the bench watch them with jealous eyes. So much to live for, you only see what life is when you are getting ready to die. The flowers, the trees, the clouds building up in the sky. How often do we take a minute to look at the sky, to look into our children's eyes. I wished in that minute I hadn’t looked in his, because what I saw wasn’t anything good. I saw the monster I made, the baby I birthed and I saw his intentions all in a glance. I saw the reflection of my heart breaking in his black eyes. My son is going to kill me today.
I turn away. I will not run or fight because if I really think about my life and what is left for me, I would rather him kill me and find his peace, then die a miserable death from the cancer that is already killing me. Slow suffering and dying in agony is not what I want, but neither is seeing my own flesh and blood take my life. I wish that my life had ended with his father’s, that we had left this Earth together. What would he think of this mess? Our own son is driven to murdering me by my actions, by my inability to love him despite his illness. My need for perfection will be my death sentence. Perfection is a disease and it has finally killed me.
Caesar is busy, distracted by the waiter removing plates and cleaning the table where we ate. I choose to stand away by the window and watch the world just a little longer. Out the corner of my eye I see him hand the man a large wad of money and shake his head when the man says something hushed
. His lack of reaction to the man's whisper has me intrigued, has my son been cured at last? The coffee tray is set up in the small seating area. Two old fashioned wood and fabric chairs and a small glass topped table on a lavish rug.
“Sit, Ma. I will pour the coffee.” He is being so nice, yet I know his intentions are not good, there is no good in the man. The smell of good South American coffee fills the air as he pours the black liquid into a fine china cup. His hand trembles as he hands it to me, his burns still hindering his movements and making his grip weak. The cup rattles on the saucer. He turns his back to me as he goes to sit down opposite me. I gulp down the first sip of coffee and instantly know what has happened. The acid burns my mouth and throat as it goes down. I cough, gag and splutter trying to expel it but it's no use. The damage is done. I have been silenced, Caesar has delivered his message loud and clear. I let tears stream from my eyes as the pain overtakes me and I am lost to the searing burn as the acid enters my stomach and eats the lining away. I am going to die very slowly, very painfully and very quietly.
Svetlana
The diseases of her past finally started to shed.
“No! No, Mat’!” I scream, huddled in the corner, grasping the backs of my calves tightly, until I can feel my nails tear into my flesh.
I remember those moments now. The love that I held onto from my mother was never really there. I suppose it’s what you do when you have nothing else to grasp a hold of. She, like most others, wanted to rid me from this world. Fuck, even I thought I wanted to die until now. I kept fighting for reasons unknown to me. But, with the memories that haunt me like the plague, I recall the one and only that was destined to love and protect me in his own dysfunctional way.
The Goodbye Girl (Red Market Series Book 2) Page 16
