Natural Selection

by Amanda Lance

  “He said something about Jamshid going to prison and his mother dying thereafter? He blames Kasper for it and he’s been posing as a student and living next to me for the last year. He wanted to get back at Kasper, to hurt him.”

  The small gasp at the other end alerted Emilia that Mrs. Levkin had connected the dots, probably knowing more about the situation than even Emilia did. And she swore to herself that no matter what happened, she would educate herself on the affair.

  “Where is he now?” Mrs. Levkin pressed. “Where are you? Are you and Kasper somewhere safe?”

  “T-the police have custody of Cyrus now, but I’m on my way back to Iram Manor. Kasper and I are both all right…physically. But Cyrus threatened us both to make me say terrible things to Kasper…” Emilia cut herself off at the pass. Suddenly, the mere threat of physical harm seemed remedial compared to the fear that loomed within her, growing with each word she used to explain and each instant replay of the devastation in his eyes when she kicked him out. “Mrs. Levkin?” The need to stay safe on the road was now officially the only thing keeping Emilia from crying. I-I’m afraid he’ll do something drastic.”

  “I don’t know what help I can be, dear,” the older woman admitted. “I’m not even in the state. Do you want me to call Mr. Shiraz? Perhaps he would have better luck getting in contact with Kasper.”

  “Yes!” she nearly screamed into the phone. “Yes, please! I have the most terrible feeling…”

  She understood why Kasper wouldn’t take her calls, ignored her for the rest of her life for all she deserved, yet she couldn’t figure out why he wouldn’t respond to the police, or even the hotel when an officer suggested contacting him through that line. What if he had already learned about what happened and went after Cyrus himself? Or, while distressed, he drove and ended up hurting himself? She winced at the image and put the pedal to the metal, fixing to get him in her sights, and assure his safety as soon as possible. Kasper might not have ever been able to forgive her, but she still wouldn’t be able to bear it if something happened to him…at least, something that couldn’t be repaired.

  Emilia hadn’t been lying about the feeling she had, though the cops had assured her she was only suffering from shock and continuously interrupted her concerns with: ‘Are you sure there isn’t anyone we can call for you? Someone you want here with you?’

  How many times did she have to explain that Kasper was the only one she wanted there with her? The only person she could possibly want to talk to?

  Now, if only she could convince him of that.

  There were so many things she wanted to do to him aside from pleading and trying to explain what had happened. Emilia wanted to love him, to smother his face in kisses and throw away every mask, burn all of the things he used to conceal himself from her. But above all, she wanted to tell him she was sorry. Apologize for all the things she said and her ridicule of him, the appalling way she had laughed and the disgusting way she had displayed false affection for Cyrus—making Kasper an outsider in his already small world. If was unwilling to forgive her, believe what had happened even—could it possibly hurt any more than the first time they had parted from one another? If so, Emilia didn’t know if she could bear it.

  Maybe dying would have been a better alternative after all.

  ***

  Iram Manor was just as empty as Kasper had left it, a lifeless shell without the smiles of Emilia Ward and the potential of her loving embrace.

  Not unlike himself, he mused.

  He had left his suitcases in the car, not having the motivation to do anything other than find himself a good drink and stew in those memories of her—the last thing he had of his little peach.

  So he trudged himself past the sheeted furniture and up the stairs. Other than the lack of artificial air, it hardly even mattered that the electricity to the house had been shut off in preparation for his stay away. After all, it wasn’t as though he would need any ice in his brandy or water, or food in his stomach! Kasper wanted to get as intoxicated as possible as soon as possible, and after not having had a drink for almost a month, he remained hopeful that it would not be a difficult goal to accomplish.

  He sat himself in his favorite office chair and gulped from the bottle like a starving infant, desperate to relieve himself of the curse she had given him. Why could she not have been upfront with her distaste? Honest in her motivations? Kasper was scarce to think that her honesty would have made him any less fascinated in her from the beginning, any less likely to love her. Didn’t she know he still would have given her anything she wanted? Yet, if she had been forthcoming with her disgust, it would have spared him so much—quashing that terrible hope long before it flowered and keeping him in his proper mind. But he was not in his proper mind, never would be now, and all he could think about was the possibility of her love. If she had loved him, he would have opened windows, allowed all of that precious light of hers in she wanted! If she could tolerate him, he would have donated to every stinking animal shelter in her name, quit his drinking habits completely, and played music for her anytime she wanted! He would have gone out, faced the cruel public, and embraced their scorn just to be close to her, continued to hide in the shadows of her life until she needed him…

  If she had loved him, he would have done anything.

  Kasper ran his mind through the database that was Emilia Ward: the first time he had seen her, every pronounced smile and kind word, the feel of her against him, her ramped cries of pleasure… most of it had taken place in that very house, the prison he had shut himself inside in order to avoid the harshness of society. How humorous was it that the very world he had sought to escape had found him there, anyway? The determination of a single child enough to bring down his defenses?

  How appropriate was it that he should end his life there? Concluding the joke that she had begun?

  Would she cry for him then? Shed some of her precious tears in a pity-induced sadness? Of course, she would get over it quickly, as resilient and as flexible as she was. She would forgive herself and forget him easily, telling herself that she had held up the charade for as long as she possibly could. She certainly had given him more time than he deserved—proof of her generous nature and compassionate heart. And to hasten her remorse she would take solace in the bed of another, the arms of someone who couldn’t possibly deserve her.

  Yet he couldn’t think about that now, it was much too painful, draining the last of his energy from him until he felt his neck falling forward, his eyes drooping shut…

  No! No, he would not fall asleep to wake up another day!

  He would not live in a body where Emilia Ward couldn’t possibly love him.

  It took longer to stand up and steady himself than he would have liked; the dizziness from the combination of sadness and narcotics making him nauseous instantly. He laughed as he stumbled to the lock box, hidden expertly behind the bookshelf from even Aasif and that meddling Mrs. Levkin. Kasper paused briefly at the thought of them. Had he not just joked with Mrs. Levkin the month before about his suicide? Lectured all too recently on his tendency to self-harm by Aasif?

  Kasper took the box out from behind the wall and staggered to the file cabinet instead of directly back to his desk. Surely, his testament and life insurance information were stored on the computer somewhere, weren’t they? Regardless, he skimmed his fingers over the documents in the cabinet, swearing when his eyes blurred too much for him to read the labels or highlighted parts. He swayed back to the desk and tried terribly to remain conscious. If he left the cabinet open, they could find it on their own in addition to his stinking corpse.

  Would they hate her for her part in his death? Secretly relieved that they each could go out and seek new employment? As Emilia had given him the only true joy he had ever known, he hoped the latter, wishing with all his might that they would embrace her for her honesty. And even if he had the opportunity, he would not have changed her as his primary beneficiary. After a
ll, he had pledged to give her everything while he was alive, why shouldn’t he have given it to her in death?

  Regardless, he went for the ballpoint pen in the drawer just before removing his mask for the final time. If a few of his scribbled words could make her life more convenient, not to mention avoid potential criminal involvement, he would without hesitation—his second to last act of devotion to her.

  Once he felt secure with his words, he sat back in the chair, gripping the lock box to his chest as if it were a suit of invincibility—the armor that would shield him from pain. And in a way, it would. He stared at the gun as he thought about it, how a simple device would free him of his misery and unleash him from his scarred penitentiary. Really, it was a thing a wonder. He had been a freak accident, the bomb that had exploded into his parents’ lives and proved how cruel nature could be. Even as an infant, his ugliness had been enough to destroy his family and add more stigma to a culture that was already hated by the western world. But he would take all that power away now—with help from the gun—become nothing more than a bad dream and a body in the ground. Maybe, he mused with delight, he would become an urban legend, immortal even after he died in the rumors of others, a subject of fascination to excitable children and bored housewives.

  Just maybe, his little peach would not forget him.

  He put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.

  ***

  The traffic had been strangely kind, letting Emilia get to Massachusetts in just under three hours. And though her engine was smoking—the air-conditioning been lost the hour before—Emilia felt a slight surge of relief as she turned down the one-way road he lived on. Even that, however, did not last long as she saw the open gates to Iram Manor. Kasper rarely left the gate unlocked, yet alone open, and it only increased the same clenching sense of fear that had been bothering her throughout the drive.

  She saw Kasper’s car right away, parked in front of the garage and waiting expectantly for its owner.

  Somehow, that only made her more concerned.

  She pulled up alongside the car, banging away on the windows until she realized it was unlocked and there was no one inside. The summer heat made it impossible to tell if the warm hood was a result of recent arrival or not, so Emilia immediately ran to the stables—hoping with all her might that he was there, unhurt, and out of harm’s way.

  Not only was he not there however, the horses were missing—not altogether surprising given his stay away—yet from the looks of the dust on the arched walls and built-in shelves there hadn’t been a horse there in months, and certainly no Kasper. From there, her fear only grew more adamant, seizing her from the inside out so that her skin tingled and her breath was shortened.

  Emilia ran to the manor then, imploring time to move faster as her feet could not. If Mr. Shiraz’s car wasn’t there, then neither was he. And if the New York police hadn’t taken her fears seriously, then there was no way that they would have sent local authorities to take his statement, let alone check on him…

  She called out for him continuously, the sound of her shouts and the gun going off blending in together to create an awful sound. Emilia’s feet were barely in the door when she heard the blast—her heart temporarily stopping as her mind registered what it was, and potentially what it meant.

  “Kasper!” she called out again, but received no response.

  In following the echo of the blast, she took two steps at a time, not stopping even as she tripped over herself and developed rug burn on her knees from falling. In earnest, she screamed his name—called out for him over and over until the words coming out of her mouth sounded like nothing but rubbish. Even then however, it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t move fast enough, couldn’t get her body to move with enough motion to be with him right that very second! In another life, she might have thought the noise was a firecracker, a car backfiring, or even just a large object falling to the floor, and yet with her all too recent experience, Emilia immediately recognized the sound and the fear illuminated within her.

  Upon reaching the third floor, she began talking, her words no longer words, but just a garbled combination of prayer and begging.

  When she walked into his office however, the jabbering fell beneath her and her screams went silent.

  There was no sound to describe what she saw: Kasper slouched over the desk with blood pooling around his head, his unmoving form reeking of gunpowder and alcohol.

  On the floor was a gun.

  Somewhere in her mind, she became aware of the sound of her voice calling out his name, the feel of her body moving again as she ran to his side. The tears were freely flowing in an instant while her hands reached out for him—fearful of touching him and confirming what she suspected.

  “Oh God! Oh God! Kasper, what have you done?

  He moved just a little, his shoulders shrugged against the desk to inspire some hope in her.

  “Kasper?” She dared enough to touch the shoulder closest to her. And while it was a minimal thing, she appreciated how warm he was, additional evidence with his muscles twitching beneath her touch that he was still alive.

  “Kasper, please wake up?” She sobbed. “Please…”

  When he moved again, his head lolled to the side to face her and a soft groan emerged from his throat. She could barely see his face with the layers of blood, so much of it that she couldn’t even tell where it was coming from or the extent of his injury. With her hands shaking uncontrollably, she ran to the phone on the shelf, calling out and swearing when there wasn’t even a dial tone. Well, at least there was an explanation as to why he hadn’t been answering his phone.

  So Emilia had a try at her phone instead, dialing 911 and hitting send several times before returning back to him. Again, she knelt at his side, wiping the blood from his face with her thumbs and trying, but failing to keep her tears from blurring her vision.

  “K-Kasper,” she stuttered. “I’m so sorry, Kasper. I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean a single word of it!” She choked on the unstoppable sobs. “Please don’t die…please.”

  His eyes, which gave off the appearance of being sealed shut with the blood that caked the lashes to flesh, twitched just enough for her to be grateful, the joy of him so clearly being alive causing her to spontaneously call out. A moment later, Kasper’s eyes opened completely and the dilated pupils focused in on the face in front of him.

  “Emilia… just look at how beautiful you are…”

  She saw him smile through the blood before his eyes fluttered shut.

  Chapter 16

  And Back Again

  It was the sound of her voice that had made him flinch—either that or his body’s self-preservation kicking in to its greatest extent. Naturally, he wanted to explore the issue further, analyze what he did not know, but every thought became more difficult to think about as the pain set in: the scorching, agonizing pain that filtered through the nerves attached to his body and down the left side of the back of his head. Yet why should he still feel pain? Or anything, for that matter?

  A splash of anger flushed him as the sound of Aasif’s voice reached his ears, one soft voice yelling at the other. Was that Hartwell he heard? Damn those meddling idiots and their persistence to keep them alive! Why couldn’t they just have had the decency to let him die? One of them might end the life of a suffering animal, but not him? Did he not deserve at least that much dignity?

  Kasper opened his eyes to some kind of medical device that appeared to be attached to a needle in his arm. If he had the strength, he would have ripped it out, taking the vein and all the blood inside him with it.

  “Ah,” Aasif said with a sign of contempt in his voice. “I see Sleeping Beauty is awake.”

  Kasper tried to turn his head to the side, but found himself unable to do so. As an alternative, he swore instead, watching the doctor out of the corner of his eye quickly excuse himself and retreat out the door. He clutched his hands and wiggled his toes. Well, a
t the very least, he hadn’t seemed to give himself any kind of brain damage.

  “So,” Aasif said, moving to sit in the chair beside his bed. “Should I say I told you so now or later? Perhaps both?”

  “Damn you!” With his lack of energy, Kasper’s shout was barely a whisper, his normally husky voice concealed with a raspy tone. “Why couldn’t you just have let me be? Let me die in peace?”

  “You wouldn’t have had any peace in Jahannam.” Aasif crossed his legs and examined his nails casually. As if he rescued his clients from the brink of euthanasia every day! Ha! Kasper mused. Who did he think he was?

  “I was already there, you nincompoop!” Kasper coughed out a curse and let his eyes wander to the pitcher on the tableside.

  “Water,” he managed before the coughing commenced. Kasper wanted to comment on the lawyer’s lack of usefulness but didn’t have the ability with the burn in his throat and the headache that plagued him.

  Aasif sighed and poured the requested refreshment. He watched with impatience as his client sipped from the glass greedily.

  “I was not hired to be a caregiver, Kasper. I am not suited for it.”

  Kasper sputtered out the straw and scoffed. Even rolling his eyes was painful, and the ability to infuriate Aasif was not even remotely satisfying while Emilia Ward hated him. It seemed she had taken that as well.

  “Then you should not have tried! I have nothing to keep me here anymore.”

  “Because Emilia Ward left you?” He waved his hand away as if the notion itself was completely absurd. “Yes, I know all about it.”

  “Impossible. If you did, you would have let me die.”

  “Nothing is worth dying for, Kasper. How do you not know this by now?”

  “Love is worth dying for.” Kasper swallowed hard and shut his eyes. In his mind, he could still smell her perfume as if she were right there with him. Perhaps, he hoped, he had given himself brain damage after all.