by Maria Herren
He found her less than a quarter mile down the mountain. The man who was carrying her had stopped when he heard his commander’s whistle. He was sitting cross-legged, holding her.
"Tu sei, Eric?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Good. Molto bene. She wants to say something to you."
"Don't move her," Eric said, sitting beside them.
"It doesn't matter. I'm sorry," the man said, placing her carefully in Eric's arms and walking away. The small bullet wound in her side made a sucking sound.
"No," he whispered. "No!" he screamed.
He stroked her face. It was pale and cold. He buried his face in her dark hair. "Eric?"
He almost didn't hear her soft voice.
"I'm here, Charly," he kissed her neck softly, blood on his lips, uselessly covering the wound in her side.
"My feet are cold. Eric, I'm not afraid," she murmured.
"I can warm you up! I'll ..." he struggled helplessly.
"Just hold me," she told him.
He watched the fire in her flicker hard against the coming darkness.
She leaned her head back in the crook of his arm and mumbled, "Don't blame Carlo. He was just trying to help me."
Eric nodded, his tears running unchecked.
"Our son ... he's Alex. Love him ... Lily... always will," she murmured before she died.
Eric threw his head back and howled in anguish.
⇼
They left him like that all night, rocking her and screaming at the moon. It was an awesome display of pain and they were afraid of him. He spoke threats in languages they'd never heard and yelled into the darkness to keep the shadows at bay. His mind could not accept the loss and allowed him to escape into insanity.
He quieted down when the first rays of sun began to filter through the trees. The young man approached him. "Are you better?" he asked hesitantly.
Eric looked up at him, his green eyes clear. "Charly's dead," he said simply.
Twenty-Four
Carlo wandered through the garden with Alex and Lily the morning of their mother's funeral. Alex tried hard to find the flower he wanted to give her. Lily had chosen a Casablanca lily. It took Alex a while. Some looked real good, some smelled real good. Eventually he stopped and started to cry. Carlo picked him up and held him close.
"What is it?'' he asked.
Alex wiped his eyes and looked at his father. "I want it to be perfect, daddy. I can't find one that's perfect."
Now they all stood silently together, staring at the casket. It was still early in the morning and the light fog was competing with the dancing rays of the sun.
It's going to be a hot one, Carlo thought, looking over the gathered crowd, most of who were concentrating on the priest who seemed to be droning on and on and saying very little. "She's not coming back!" he wanted to yell at the seagulls swooping toward the waves "I killed her! It was me!"
His eyes landed on Giovanni, standing beside Vincenzo. "I'm the one who made the pact with the devil!" he wanted to scream.
Carlo couldn't stand to look at Giovanni and he turned his eyes away, back to the seagulls.
The solemn silence took a while to register. "Daddy," Alex whispered. "It's your turn."
Carlo nodded, looking down at the sea of sympathetic faces. There was a poem he'd wanted to read. One of Charly's favorites. He fumbled in his pocket. It wasn't there.
"I'm sorry," he said. "She knew it by heart. I can't remember the words."
"I remember the words, Daddy," Alex said. His young voice carried across the cliff. "I'll start it, okay? Then you'll remember."
He took his father's hand. "Here's to life, with its crooked streets," his young voice rang out strongly. He looked up at Carlo.
"And here's to death, which we all must meet," Carlo continued, holding tightly to his son's small hand. "If life were a thing that money could buy, then the rich would live and the poor ... would die." His voice had dropped to a whisper on the last words, and they were leaning in around him. He raised his voice again.
"But God in his wisdom made it so that the rich and the poor, alike, must go." There was a long pause as he looked at their friends. "So here's to life!" he finally said, smiling with the words the way she always had.
A ripple went through the crowd, handkerchiefs were exchanged, some of the men and women smiled back a teary response to him.
Giovanni sobbed openly.
⇼
It was the cold stare from the back of the crowd that caught Carlo's attention. "You," Carlo mouthed. Eric didn't blink when he saw the spark of recognition. His was a hard green accusatory stare that gave Carlo a chill.
Everyone watched Alex lay the rose he'd picked beside his mother. Only a few heard his words. "I love you, Mommy."
When the service was over there was food and drink to be had in the house. Eric wandered from room to room. His father had told him not to attend the funeral, then offered to come with him, and finally said, "Don't do anything too stupid, son."
He took a seat at Carlo's desk. Nice leather, he thought, swiveling smoothly and admiring the chair. He leaned back and waited.
It didn't take long.
Giovanni closed the door behind him.
"So," he said, taking a seat opposite Eric and lighting his cigar. "Eric Tyler. It's good to see you again, but a shame it's under such horrible circumstances."
Eric didn't respond at all, just stared at Giovanni.
Giovanni became unnerved by his silence. He'd been expecting more tension. Eric seemed too relaxed.
Finally Eric spoke. "I'm going to kill you today, Giovanni," he stated flatly.
"I see," Giovanni puffed heavily. "That would be a big mistake."
Eric leaped up, clearing the large desk easily. He snatched Giovanni's cigar, pinioning his neck with one hand and sniffing the length with the other.
"Cuban. You're a real high flyer, aren't you, Giovanni?" he said, grinding the cigar under his heel into the marble floor.
He'd brought a garrote, but he was filled with such anger he didn't try to use it. His strong fingers throttled hard, wanting to break instead of suffocate.
Then the door opened again and it was a small voice that queried, "Uncle Giovanni?" It was Alex, standing hesitantly in the doorway. Eric loosened his grip, staring at the dark mass of dark curls like his own.
"Are you okay, Uncle Giovanni?” Alex asked, coming forward.
"Go away!" Eric growled, but Alex faced him.
Giovanni breathed heavily, "I just need some air, Alex. Go ahead and I'll be out in a minute."
Alex slowly backed out of the room.
Eric knelt down to Giovanni's smiling face. "You asked him to come in here?"
"Yes," Giovanni replied heavily.
"Why would you do that, knowing that I was going to kill you?"
"I didn't think you'd kill me in front of your son."
"You've made a lot of recent mistakes, Giovanni," Eric growled through gritted teeth. "That was your last."
⇼
Eric watched Alex and Lily with Carlo for a while before he left the house. They comforted each other so effortlessly with small movements and smiles.
He'd taped a message to Giovanni's chest to let Carlo know that he'd be watching his son.
"You own my heart, Charly," Eric said before he walked away. "My love goes with you and may God accept you with open arms.”
About the Author
Maria Herren lives in Ohio with her family. This is her first fiction novel. She has four other novels currently published detailing her battle with terminal cancer and her life as she continues to live in a state of grace.
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