by JM Darhower
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “She’s gone, baby. I did everything I could, but she’s fucking gone.”
His words caused her panic to surge. She started chanting the word ‘no’ and screaming incoherently, telling him he needed to go back and make it right. She blamed him, because he wasn’t giving her an explanation, his reassuring words only stinging more. He ignored his ringing phone, not moving an inch as he took everything she threw at him, every harsh word and painful scream. He’d given her hope and took it right back away, stomping on it with those words he’d spoken: “She’s gone.”
Every “I hate you” that echoed from her chest was followed by an “I love you” from his lips. Every time she begged him to let go, he told her he would be there forever. His hold was strong, his arms familiar, but it did nothing to take away her pain.
She gave in after awhile, the force of her blows lessening. Her tears dried as her body relaxed into him, but her fists never once unclenched. She grew silent and still, staring at the snowy television screen in a trance.
* * * *
Carmine was still exhausted when the sun made an appearance the next morning, his body feeling like needles were being jabbed through his skin. He started to sit up, but Haven grasped on to him when he moved.
“I just need to stretch,” he said. His throat was painfully scratchy, his shoulder sore, but he tried to ignore it. It didn’t matter how bad he felt physically. Nothing would compare to how torn apart Haven was inside.
She let go of him and settled back into the bed as Carmine grabbed his phone. He dialed Celia’s number and sat back down as the phone rang. Her frantic voice answered, telling him they were worried and would be at the Antonelli’s all day dealing with things. He hung up and glanced at Haven, her defeated expression staggering. The sight of her sorrow made his chest constrict. The spark was still in her eyes, though, and Carmine grasped onto that. She was still there, radiance shining somewhere deep inside of her.
She hadn’t lost her faith in him yet.
He cleared his throat. “They asked if you wanna say goodbye.”
Pulling herself out of bed, Haven slid on her shoes without a word. He grabbed his keys, and the two of them headed for the door.
Carmine drove slowly, in no rush to get back to that place. Haven tensed once he pulled onto the property, but he said nothing, unsure if he should tell her that Michael and Katrina were also dead.
He got out of the car and sighed when Haven made no move to exit. He was about to go around and open her door, but Celia stepped out of the house and told him to give her time. It was hard, but he walked away and left her there, reminding himself that he couldn’t coddle her. He could be there if she needed him, but he couldn’t do it for her, no matter how much he wanted to.
Celia walked him out to the big, barren tree in the middle of the property, where a small wooden stake protruded from the ground. They stood there for a few minutes as he gazed down at the freshly disturbed ground, the air thick with heat and unspoken words.
“It isn’t your fault,” Celia said, rubbing his back. “I know how you are. You always blamed yourself for things you couldn’t help.”
He wanted to tell her she was wrong, because this was his fault, but she’d just disagree with him.
Celia shook her head when he didn’t speak. “You don’t have to say anything as long as you at least hear me. None of it was your fault, just as this isn’t Haven’s. We should’ve told you that more, and you need to be sure to tell her. She’ll try to come up with a way where things would’ve been different and her mother would’ve lived, but you know it’s impossible.”
He nodded at that, remembering how he used to roam the woods for hours as a kid, going through scenarios in his head where his mom had lived. He’d find something insignificant and twist it into the catalyst that caused the downfall. He didn’t want Haven to fall into that trap, because he knew what happened when someone did. They became cold, slowly dying inside as the blackness took over.
“It’s not fair,” he said. “She never got to live.”
Celia sighed. “Her life may not have been her own, but her death was. She made a decision and saw it through. None of us can take that from her. None of us should. We should respect that, as hard as it may be.”
Carmine looked at her, surprised by her words, and his heart nearly stalled when he spotted Haven right behind them. Jumping, he grabbed his chest. “Christ, Ninja. You scared me.”
Haven didn’t speak as she walked to the marker, crouching down in front of it.
She sat there, silently running her hands across the ground. Lifting up a handful of dirt, she held it loosely for a moment before clenching her hand into a tight fist. The dirt filtered between her fingers, scattering in the air as it drifted back to the ground.
After a minute, Haven got to her feet and walked right past Carmine and Celia on her way back to the car.
* * * *
Haven barely said a thing for days. Carmine couldn’t get her to eat much, and sleep was fleeting for the both of them. They stayed in the motel in California for the rest of the week, blocking out the world, but by the time the weekend rolled around, he knew it was time to go. The Mafia had departed, his father was still alive, and the incident in Blackburn was under control. It was time to head back to their lives. Time to face reality.
The drive was strained without conversation. Carmine stopped frequently during the day to get a break. By the time the weekend came to a close, they were pulling back into the city limits of Durante.
He parked beside his father’s Mercedes when they reached the house, and he climbed out, stretching. Haven went straight inside, not bothering to wait on him. He followed her, running into his father the moment he stepped into the foyer.
Vincent eyed them cautiously. “Hey, kids.”
“Hey,” Carmine said.
“Dr. DeMarco, sir,” Haven said. “May I be excused?”
“Of course, dolcezza. You don’t even have to ask.”
Carmine frowned, watching as Haven disappeared up the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”
His father sighed. “Just take it one day at a time, Carmine.”
He nodded and went straight to the third floor for his bedroom, finding it dark and empty. He tried Haven’s room next, his chest aching as he grabbed the knob. Relief washed through him when it turned smoothly, and he found Haven climbing into bed.
Kicking off his shoes, Carmine slid in beside her. “It’s not your fucking fault, Haven,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “None of it is. I won’t let you push me away.”
Her body shuddered as she started to cry, but she still didn’t say a single word to him.
Chapter 42
The bookcases surrounded Haven like skyscrapers, towering above her in the room. Strolling among the stacks, she occasionally pulled out a book and surveyed the front cover. She’d skim the description, waiting for something to jump out at her.
They’d been back in Durante for a few days, just in time for Carmine to start his senior year of school. He was immersed in class and football, leaving Haven with days to fill on her own. She cooked and cleaned, but she still had hours left over with nothing to do.
Needing something to distract her, she turned to the library. She hoped to get lost in a different world, be absorbed in a fictional time and place, the life of someone else. She wanted to forget about everything that weighed on her again so she wasn’t constantly plagued with thoughts of her mama’s last moments. She found herself wondering what she’d been thinking and how she felt. Had she been scared? Had she been in pain? Was there ever a moment where she second-guessed her decision?
The feeling of failure nagged at Haven. She ran that day in Blackburn because she’d been desperate to save her mama, and she hadn’t forgotten that. She never let go of her promise, and she’d gotten close, only to have it snatched away at the last minute.
Now it was too late. Her mama was gone.
Haven ran
her fingers along the spines of some more books, and came across one without a name. She pulled out the leather-bound book and a piece of paper tumbled to the floor. She picked it up and unfolded it, her brow furrowing when she saw it was a letter.
Walking over to the chair by the window, she sat with the book in her lap as she scanned the withering note.
10/08/97
Mrs. DeMarco,
After careful consideration, I've decided I can no longer be a part of this investigation. I took the case without knowing the details surrounding the minor in question, and had I known them at the time, I would’ve declined. For all intents and purposes, Haven Antonelli does not exist, and I implore you to forget you ever encountered her. It's not safe to involve yourself in the affairs of these people, because they won't hesitate to silence you if they discover your actions. Enclosed you’ll find a full refund of my fees. Please consider our contract severed, and I request you no longer contact me concerning this matter. Thank you.
Arthur L. Brannigan
Private Investigator
Stunned, Haven scanned the paper a second time, certain she had to have misread something. Pieces of the puzzle started filling in to expose a hidden picture that left her speechless.
Eyes brimmed with tears, her stomach dropped when she realized the date on the top of the paper. October 8th, 1997—just a few days before Maura DeMarco had been killed.
* * * *
Vincent tapped his pen against his desk, surrounded by mounds of files and folders. Work was piling up, but he couldn’t seem to focus on any of it. His attention kept wandering, his thoughts and eyes drifting toward the live feed playing on the computer screen beside him.
It had been nearly two weeks since the kids had returned from Blackburn, and the days had proven to be some of the longest of Vincent’s life. The atmosphere in the house was tense, the silence that followed both of them unnerving. He sat behind this desk every night and watched as his son paced the hallway just feet from the office door, his hands assaulting his hair as he berated himself. Vincent couldn’t hear him, but he knew where his thoughts were.
Vincent pressed a few buttons on the computer and the screen changed to a view of the library. He spotted the girl, curled up in the chair by the window with a book on her lap. It was the same place she’d been every night while his son paced the hallway, sitting in the darkness and staring out into the yard. She was withdrawing further and further as time went on, but Vincent was too exhausted to try to mediate.
He was in deep with la famiglia. He lied, cheated, plundered, and slaughtered for them, but one thing he’d always prided himself on was that, no matter what, he remained loyal. He may have been a criminal, but at least he could think himself an honorable one. That had all fallen to the wayside as of late, and they weren’t ignorant to his behavior. Every one of them was trained to spot deception.
And Vincent was weary of always being dishonest.
Maura had once told him that while not everyone lived, everyone did die, and with death came release. Death meant freedom—freedom from the things that weighed us down and held us back. Vincent used to ridicule her when she said such things, but he understood now. He understood what it was like to wish you could find peace, but you couldn’t because your work wasn’t done. You hadn’t served your purpose, and until you did, you were damned to keep going. Vincent envied those that could rest in peace. What he wouldn’t give to have the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders.
He switched cameras once more and went back to the view of the hallway. Carmine was still pacing, his eyes darting between the office door and the stairs to the third floor. Vincent glanced at the clock, surprised it was already after eleven in the evening. Carmine usually made his decision before now and stomped up the stairs. The girl would hear him and scurry out of the library, darting back to her bedroom before he made it there.
Carmine’s pacing slowed, and when he headed for the office with determination, Vincent felt nothing but relief.
Judgment Day had come. One step closer to peace.
The knob turned and Carmine stepped inside, slamming the door behind him. Vincent refrained from chastising him for not knocking, thankful he’d finally made it inside. “Sit down,” he said, switching the view back to the library. The girl was still curled up in front of the window, not having moved since the last time he checked.
Carmine flopped down in the chair with a huff. Vincent met his gaze, seeing the curiosity and confusion. Resentment lurked underneath, but Vincent couldn’t blame him for that.
“You look like you haven’t fucking slept in years,” Carmine said. “And Christ, have you even eaten?”
Vincent leaned back in his chair. “You want to discuss my health, Carmine?”
His expression was sober. “Yeah, you look fucked up.”
“Well, thanks for the compliment, but something tells me you haven’t spent the past week loitering outside my office gathering the courage to hold an intervention.”
“How…?” Carmine paused. “You’ve been watching the cameras.”
“Yes,” he said, “and I was beginning to wonder if you ever planned to come in.”
Carmine sighed. “I didn’t know what to say. No sense barging in just to look at you, since you look like shit and all.”
“Considering you’re here now, does that mean you’ve figured out what to say?”
“No, I just got tired of standing in the hall.”
“Ah, then I’m better to look at than the white walls, at least?”
Carmine cracked a smile. “No, but it’s nice to know I’m not the only one around here that remembers how to joke.”
“Tale il padre, tale il figlio,” Vincent said, regretting his choice of words the moment they escaped his lips. Carmine’s smile fell, and Vincent knew exactly what he wanted to know. He’d been dreading this day for years. “Just say it, son.”
“When we were in Blackburn, Katrina said something. I mean, I know she was crazy and all, but she yelled at Corrado and said just because I was doing the same thing as you didn’t mean we were the same… that Haven wasn’t her. And it’s not just that—there’s other shit, too. So I guess I’m just wondering, you know…”
“You want to know how I met your mother.”
Carmine nodded. “The truth.”
The truth. It was something Vincent avoided, but he knew he couldn’t anymore. It played out like a movie in his mind, the moment that rocked his world and made him question everything he thought he knew in life.
It had been a scorching hot afternoon as he stood in the yard of the Moretti mansion in Las Vegas. Vincent was miserable, but he tolerated the heat better than what awaited him inside the house. He hadn't wanted to come, but he couldn’t let Celia down.
He brought his hand up to block out the blinding sun as he started around the side of the house. As soon as he turned the corner, he crashed into someone standing there. Dropping his hand, he grabbed a hold of them.
“I’m so sorry.” The soft voice caught Vincent off guard. He blinked rapidly at the girl in front of him. Pale skin glowed in the sunshine, a stark contrast from her fiery red hair.
Deep green eyes watched him warily, and he stared into them in a trance. Her mouth moved, but the words were lost on him. His stomach twisted, his heart unexpectedly gripped in a vice.
Colpo di fulmine. He was done for.
She didn’t resist as he pulled her into the shade, but the apprehension in her expression grew. “Is there a problem?”
“The only problem is I don’t know your name.”
She smiled. “Maura.”
“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”
“Beautiful?”
He scanned her, wondering if he’d missed something since she seemed so surprised. Her hair flowed past her shoulder and freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. She wasn’t Italian—not even close. No Italian he’d ever met had eyes that color.
Those eyes… Vincent could never get e
nough of them. And as he looked across the desk at his youngest child, he saw the same eyes watching him suspiciously.
“We met at Celia’s engagement party,” he said, looking back away. Sometimes it was still hard for Vincent to take.
“I know that much,” Carmine said. “You nearly knocked her down.”
“Yes.”
“And she was there with Corrado’s family?”
“Yes.”
“So, what was an Irish girl doing at a party for two Italians?”
Vincent shook his head. He’d wondered the same thing that day.
He and Maura had sat against the side of the house, his legs spread out in front of him as he fanned his sweaty skin. Maura’s knees were pulled up to her chest as she plucked the dry grass around them.
“Are you not hot?” he asked. They’d been sitting there for at least an hour, neither one speaking much. They both just seemed satisfied hiding from everyone else.
“No, but you can go inside. The cool air will make you feel better.”
“Will you go in with me?”
“No way,” she said. “That wouldn’t be good at all.”
He laughed. “Then I’m not going in, either. They haven’t noticed I’m gone, and until they do, I’m staying right where I am.”
“Will they notice you're gone?”
“No, I doubt they even remember I’m alive,” he said. “What about you?”
Before she could answer, her eyes darted past him. Vincent turned around and groaned when he saw Katrina standing at the corner of the house.
Katrina’s mouth hung open. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Go away, loon,” Vincent said. “I’m not in the mood for you.”
“Not you,” Katrina said. “Her!”
His brow furrowed when Maura jumped to her feet, looking away as she started to shake. “Sorry, mistress.”
