Gabriel's Inferno Trilogy

by Sylvain Reynard

  Julia knew that something was wrong, and it wasn’t solely because she could hear the strains of Puccini’s Madama Butterfly wafting from the living room. Usually Gabriel greeted her with a hug and a few passionate kisses before removing her coat. Instead he stood there, not even making eye contact, waiting for her to speak.

  “Gabriel?” She reached up to touch his face. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” he lied, turning his face away. “Can I get you a drink?”

  Julia resisted the urge to nag him for information and instead requested a glass of wine. She hoped he would be more forthcoming over dinner.

  He wasn’t. He served their dinner in silence, and when Julia tried to make polite small talk over the roast beef, he responded monosyllabically. She told him she’d completed all of her schoolwork for the semester and that Katherine Picton had agreed to turn her grades in before December eighth, but Gabriel only nodded in response, glaring into his soon to be empty wine glass.

  Julia had never seen him drink so heavily. He was already drunk the night she rescued him at Lobby. But this night was different. He wasn’t flirtatious and happy, he was tormented. With each glass, she grew more and more worried, but every time she opened her mouth to say something, she would catch a glimpse of fleeting sadness on his face, which made her refrain. He grew progressively cooler and more detached with each drink, so much so that by the time he served one of his housekeeper’s homemade apple pies for dessert, Julia waved it aside and demanded that he silence Maria Callas so that they could talk.

  That drew his attention, since the pie (and the Butterfly) was the culmination of his supper. His Last Supper.

  “Nothing is wrong,” he huffed, as he strode over to the stereo to stop the operatic performance.

  “Gabriel, don’t lie to me. It’s obvious you’re upset. Just tell me. Please.”

  The sight of Julianne, innocent Julianne, with her big brown eyes and her now furrowed brow almost undid him.

  Did she have to be so sweet? So giving? Did she have to be compassionate? With a beautiful soul?

  His guilt compounded. Perhaps it was a mercy that he hadn’t seduced her. Her heart would mend more readily now, since they had not known each other sexually. They’d only been together for a few weeks. She would dry her tears quickly and maybe find a quiet, peaceful affection with someone good and constant, like Paul.

  The thought made him violently ill.

  Without a word, he walked over to the sideboard and grabbed one of the decanters and a crystal glass. He returned to his seat and poured two fingers’ worth of Scotch. He drank half of it in one swallow and thumped his glass down roughly. He waited for the burning sensation in his throat to abate. He waited for the liquid courage to adhere to his insides, fortifying him. But it would take much more Scotch to dull the ache in his heart.

  He took a deep breath. “I have some—unpleasant things to tell you. And I know that when I’m finished, I’ll lose you.”

  “Gabriel, please. I—”

  “Please, just let me say it.” He tugged at his hair wildly. “Before I lose my courage.”

  He closed his eyes and inhaled once again. And when he opened them, he peered over at her like a wounded dragon. “You are looking at a murderer.”

  Sounds hit her ears but didn’t sink into her consciousness. She thought she’d heard wrong.

  “Not only am I a murderer, I took innocent life.

  “If you can stand to remain in the same room with me for a few minutes, I’ll explain how this came to be.” He waited for her to react, but she sat quietly, so he continued. “I went to Magdalen College, Oxford, for my master’s degree. You know this already. What you don’t know is that while I was there I met an American girl called Paulina.”

  Julia inhaled sharply, and Gabriel paused. Every time she’d asked him about Paulina he’d always put her off. He’d tried to make her think that she was not a threat, but Julia hadn’t believed him. Of course Paulina was a threat to their creeping closeness. Paulina had pulled him away in the middle of dinner back in October. And before he’d run away Gabriel had stood, haggard, quoting Lady Macbeth. Julia trembled slightly in anticipation.

  “Paulina was an undergraduate. She was attractive, tall and regal with blond hair. She liked to tell people that she was related to the Russian aristocracy, an Anastasia of sorts. We became friends and would spend time together on occasion, but it wasn’t physical. I was seeing other girls, and she was pining away for someone…”

  He cleared his throat nervously.

  “I graduated and moved to Harvard. We kept in touch via e-mail for a year or so, very casually, and she told me she’d been accepted to Harvard for her master’s degree. She was studying to become a Dostoyevsky specialist. She needed help finding a place to live, so I told her about a vacancy in my building. She moved in that August.”

  He gazed at Julia searchingly. She nodded, trying to keep her trepidation from showing on her face.

  “The year she arrived was my most difficult. I was working on my dissertation along with being a teaching assistant to a very demanding professor. I was staying up all hours writing and getting very little sleep. That was when I started doing cocaine.” His gaze dropped, and he fidgeted with his hands, drumming atop the table.

  “I used to go drinking with the guys from my program on the weekends. We’d get into fights, on occasion.” He laughed. “I wasn’t always on my best behavior, and sometimes we’d go out looking for trouble. It paid off, though, with Simon.”

  He leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on top of his knees. Julia watched his legs bounce nervously. With every sentence he grew more restless, indicating that he was approaching closer and closer to the edge of the abyss in which he had hidden his secret.

  “One night someone passed around some coke. I wondered if it would help me stay up so I could work. That’s how it started. I used it as a stimulant, and I alternated its use with alcohol. I thought because I went to Harvard, I was a respectable recreational drug user. I thought I could control it.” He sighed deeply and the tone of his voice dropped. “I was wrong.”

  “Paulina was constantly around. She’d knock on my door at all hours because I was always awake. I’d write, and she’d sit on my couch and read or make Russian tea. She started cooking for me. Eventually, I gave her a key since she was over all the time. When I was doing coke, I didn’t eat much. She was the only reason I ate anything nutritious at all.”

  Now Gabriel’s voice took on a darker tone, as if the guilt inside him was clawing to get out. He read the question in her eyes and his jaw set.

  “She knew about the cocaine. At first I tried to hide it, but she was always there. Finally, I gave up and started doing it in front of her. She didn’t care.”

  Now he avoided Julia’s gaze. He looked ashamed. “She’d lived a sheltered life. She was completely innocent about drugs and a lot of other things. I was a corrupting influence. One night, she stripped out of her clothes and suggested we snort lines off one another. I wasn’t thinking straight, obviously, and she was naked…”

  He exhaled slowly and shook his head, keeping his eyes on his fidgeting hands. “I won’t make excuses. It was my fault. She was a nice girl who was used to getting what she wanted. And she wanted me—the drug addict downstairs.” He rubbed at his chin with the back of his hand, and Julia suddenly realized he hadn’t shaved that morning.

  He squirmed in his chair. “The next morning I told her I’d made a mistake. I wasn’t interested in being monogamous. The coke made me crave sex, although it eventually impaired my satisfaction. Karma, I suppose. I was used to being with different women every weekend. But when I told her all of this, she said she didn’t care. No matter what I said or did, or how much of an asshole I was to her, she kept coming around. So that’s how it was. She acted as if she was my girlfriend, and I acted as if she was a convenient lay. I didn’t care about her, I only cared about myself and the drugs and the damned dissertation.�
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  Julia felt her heart sink. She knew that Gabriel had never wanted for female companionship. He was a handsome man who was sensual in the extreme. Women fell all over themselves in order to attract his attention. Julia wasn’t pleased about his past, but she’d accepted it and told herself that it didn’t matter.

  But Paulina was different. She’d known this intuitively from the first time she heard the name. Even though she believed Gabriel was no longer involved with her, what he was beginning to describe was much more serious than a one-night stand. The green specter of jealousy curled around her heart, squeezing it.

  Gabriel stood up and started pacing, back and forth and back and forth. “Everything came to a crashing halt when she told me that she was pregnant. I accused her of trying to entrap me and told her to get rid of it.” His face contorted with emotion, and he looked as if he were in pain.

  “She cried. She got on her knees and said that she’d been in love with me since Oxford and that she wanted my baby. I wouldn’t listen. I threw some money at her for an abortion and pushed her out of my apartment as if she were trash.” Gabriel groaned—a twisted cry that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. He rubbed at his eyes with his fingers.

  Julia placed a shaking hand to her mouth. She hadn’t expected this. But as her mind raced ahead, a number of pieces of the puzzle that was Professor Emerson began to come together.

  “I didn’t see her again for a long time. I assumed she’d had the abortion. I didn’t even bother to find out, that’s how fucked up I was. A couple of months later, I stumbled into the kitchen one morning and found an ultrasound snapshot on my refrigerator. With a note.”

  He slumped back in his chair and placed his head in his hands. “She wrote, ‘This is your daughter, Maia. Isn’t she beautiful?’” Gabriel’s words were half strangled by the sob that escaped from his chest.

  “I could see the outline of her little head and nose, her tiny arms and legs. Little hands and little feet. She was beautiful. This beautiful, fragile little baby. My little girl. Maia.” He swallowed another sob. “I didn’t know. It wasn’t real. She wasn’t real until I saw her picture and…” Gabriel was crying.

  Julia saw tears roll down his cheeks, and her heart ached. As her own eyes filled with tears she moved to go to him, but he raised a hand to stop her.

  “I told Paulina I’d help with the baby. Of course, I was broke. I’d spent all my money on drugs and had already run up a tab with my dealer. Paulina knew that and somehow she still wanted me. We got back together, and she’d read on my couch while I wrote my dissertation. She stayed away from the drugs and tried to take care of herself and the baby. I tried to quit, but I couldn’t.”

  He pulled his head up to look over at Julia. “Do you want to hear the rest? Or are you ready to leave now?”

  She didn’t hesitate. She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Of course I want to hear the rest.”

  He clung to her tightly, but only for a moment before he pushed her away and wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. She stood to one side awkwardly while he continued his confession.

  “Paulina’s parents lived in Minnesota. They weren’t wealthy, but they would send her money. Grace used to send me money too, whenever I called her. Somehow we were able to stay afloat. Or at least, delay the inevitable. But I used most of the money for drugs.” He laughed darkly. “What kind of man takes money away from a pregnant woman and wastes it on cocaine?”

  He quickly continued. “One night in September, I went on a bender. I was gone for a couple of days, and when I finally came home I collapsed on the sofa. I didn’t even make it to the bedroom. I woke up the next morning completely hungover. I stumbled down the hall and saw blood on the floor.”

  Gabriel covered his eyes with his palms, as if he were trying to blot out the vision. Julia found herself holding her breath as she waited for his next revelation.

  “I followed the trail and found Paulina lying on the bathroom floor in a pool of blood. I tried to find her pulse, but I couldn’t. I thought she was dead.” He was silent for a few minutes.

  “If I’d checked on her when I got home, I could have called an ambulance. But I didn’t. I was high, and I crashed, and I didn’t care about anyone but myself. When they told me she lost the baby, I knew it was my fault. It was a completely preventable death. I might as well have killed her with my own hands.”

  He held his hands in front of his face and turned them slowly, as if he were regarding them for the first time. “I am a murderer, Julianne. A drug-addicted murderer.”

  She opened her mouth to contradict him, but he quickly cut her off.

  “Paulina spent weeks in the hospital, first with physical problems, then with depression. I had to take a leave of absence from Harvard because I was too drugged up or drunk to work. I owed thousands of dollars to some dangerous people and had no way of coming up with the money. Paulina tried to kill herself in the hospital, so I wanted to check her into a private mental health facility, somewhere where they would be gentle with her. When I called her parents begging them to help, they told me I was a disgrace. That I needed to marry her, then they’d help us.”

  He paused. “I would have done it. But Paulina was too unstable to even discuss it. I made up my mind that I would discharge my duty to her, and then kill myself. That would put an end to all of our problems.”

  Gabriel looked up at her with cold, dead eyes. “So you see, Julianne, I am one of the damned. Through my own depraved indifference I caused the death of a child and the permanent destruction of a young woman’s bright future. It would have been better if I had had a millstone hung around my neck and been cast into the sea.”

  “It was an accident,” said Julia quietly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  He laughed bitterly. “It wasn’t my fault that I had sex with Paulina and made a baby? It wasn’t my fault that I treated her like a whore, addicted her to drugs, and pressured her to have an abortion? It wasn’t my fault that I stumbled in, high, and didn’t even bother to check to see if she was in my apartment?”

  Julia took his hands in hers and grasped them tightly. “Gabriel, listen to me. You contributed to the situation, yes, but it was an accident. If there was so much blood, then something was wrong with the baby. If you hadn’t called the ambulance when you did, Paulina would have died. You saved her.”

  He wouldn’t look up, but she moved her hand to his chin and forced him to look at her. “You saved her. You said yourself that you wanted the baby. You didn’t want the baby to die.”

  He flinched beneath her touch, but she would not release him. “You are not a murderer. It was just a tragic accident.”

  “You don’t understand.” His voice was cold, listless. “I am just like he is. He used you, and I used her. I did more than use her. I treated her as if she were a plaything and gave her drugs, when I should have protected her. What kind of devil am I?”

  “You are nothing like him,” she hissed, her emotions getting the better of her. “He has no remorse for what he did to me, and given the opportunity he would do it again. Or worse.”

  She took a deep breath and held it. “Gabriel, you made some mistakes. You did terrible things. But you’re sorry for them. You’ve been trying to make up for them for years. Shouldn’t that count for something?”

  “All the money in the world cannot pay for a life.”

  “A life you didn’t take,” she countered, eyes flashing.

  He hid his face in his hands. This was not how he expected this conversation to go.

  Why is she still here? Why hasn’t she left me?

  She stepped backward and watched him momentarily. She could feel the despair rolling off of him in waves as she frantically wracked her brain to find some way to reach him.

  “Do you know Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables?”

  “Of course,” he muttered. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “The hero abandons his sin and p
erforms a penance; he looks after a young girl as if she were his own daughter. But all the while, a policeman hunts him, convinced that he hasn’t reformed. Wouldn’t you rather be the person performing penance than the policeman?”

  Gabriel didn’t answer.

  “Do you think that you should have to suffer for your sin forever?”

  No response.

  “Because it seems that’s what you’re saying—you won’t allow yourself to be happy. You won’t allow yourself to have children. You think you’ve lost your soul. But what about redemption, Gabriel? What about forgiveness?”

  “I don’t deserve it.”

  “What sinner deserves it?” She shook her head. “When I told you about what happened with him, you told me to forgive myself and let myself be happy. Why can’t you do the same thing?”

  He looked down at the floor. “Because you were the victim. I’m the killer.”

  “Let’s say that’s true. What would be an appropriate penance, Gabriel? How would justice be served?”

  “An eye for an eye,” he muttered.

  “Fine. An eye for an eye would mean that you would have to save the life of a child. You’re responsible for the death of a child, so justice requires that you give back a life. Not coins, not presents, but life.”

  He sat motionless, but she knew he was listening.

  “You saved Paulina’s life, but I know you won’t count that. So you need to save the life of someone else’s child. Wouldn’t that pay for your sin? Or at least offer some kind of restitution?”

  “It wouldn’t bring Maia back. But it would be something. It would make me less—evil.” Gabriel’s shoulders hunched in his chair as he hung his head low.

  The pain in his voice almost rent Julia’s heart in two, but she continued bravely. “You would have to find a child who was in danger of dying and save her. And that would be atonement.”

  He nodded slightly, stifling a groan.

  Julia sank down on her knees, taking his hands in hers. “Don’t you see, Gabriel? I am that child.”

  He lifted his head and stared at her as if she were mad, his watery eyes boring into her own.