Until the Devil Weeps

by W E DeVore

“Do you like having me as your lover?”

  She nodded again.

  “Show me,” he whispered.

  She closed her eyes, bringing her mouth to his, letting herself relax into their kiss. He slid his hands down below her waist to grip her body closer. After several minutes of kissing Sanger in her foyer, Q found her nerves settled down nicely.

  “Still nervous?” he asked.

  “A little. It’s going to take me a while to get used to you making me blush instead of the other way around.”

  “You still make me blush,” he said.

  “Not like that, I don’t. I used to think it was funny when you’d use that superpower of yours on some poor woman. I never considered what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of it,” she explained.

  “I can stop, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

  “Uncomfortable isn’t quite the word, cowboy.” She gave him a wry grin.

  His hands slid up the back of her thighs and beneath her underwear.

  “What’s that word again?” he asked. A wave of desire rushed down her spine as he stroked her hips and she briefly considered forgetting dinner altogether.

  She slapped his hands away and grabbed his belt, yanking him forward. “I was promised a proper date, mister. And I am collecting on that promise. Keep your hands to yourself.”

  He kissed her again before looking around the room. “You’ve been rearranging. What’s with all the boxes?”

  Q smoothed her dress down and turned around to observe her progress. “Just clearing out some stuff I don’t want. Look through it; you’re welcome to any of it. Might need your truck at the rate I’m going. I never realized how little space I take up in this house. Ben was right.”

  He pulled out the abstract painting that had previously hung over the mantel. “You know this is worth something, right?”

  “Yeah, but I hate it. I can’t stand that stupid melting face staring at me all the time.” She motioned to the mantel. “I’m having some pictures blown up and framed to replace it. I’ve always liked photography better, anyway.”

  Sanger was staring at the discarded painting. “Ok, I give up. What melting face?”

  She took the painting from him and leaned it against the box. In the upper left corner of the explosion of brush strokes, she circled the offending screaming face that was formed from the negative space between the colors as it dripped down half the canvas. “There. Don’t look at the paint, look at the canvas.”

  Sanger stared for several seconds before recoiling from the painting. “Yuck. Kind of follows you, doesn’t it?”

  “Ben always thought I was being ridiculous.”

  “Yeah, but once you see it, you can’t really unsee it, can you?”

  “That’s the problem. Still want it?”

  “That’s a hard no. I think I could have lived my whole life without seeing that.” Darkness tracked across his face and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I need to tell you something, Clementine. I was going to tell you at dinner, but I’d rather get it out now.”

  She walked to the bar and poured them each a glass of wine. Staring at the bloody liquid in each glass, she gripped the edge of the bar. “I’m not going to like this, am I.”

  He walked behind her and pulled her back into him. “Please, my love. It’s important.”

  She nodded slightly and picked up her wine, moving into the living room to perch on the edge of a ruined leather chair. Sanger mirrored her, resting against the armrest of the couch and slumping forward slightly, holding his wine glass in both hands. He studied her for a moment before saying, “This case I’ve been working. It was a bad one. Real bad. The doer was a drug addict. I pulled in Urian Galanos for questioning.”

  Taking a sip of wine to calm her roiling stomach, she said, “And what does my former bassist’s drug dealer have to do with me?”

  “He thinks you’re friends, you know?” he replied. “He did save your life.”

  “No,” she corrected. “You saved my life, he just undid the corset.”

  When Q had starred in Derek’s Halloween art installation, she’d been attacked by a serial killer after losing Sanger in the crowd. She’d found Urian instead and begged him to find Sanger who’d been listening on the wire she was wearing. Urian had insisted on helping Sanger find her in the darkness beneath the exhibit.

  Sanger took a sip of his wine. “He’s worried about you. He says the shooting wasn’t a gang initiation. Says I should be watching your six because in his experience people who hire killers don’t give up when someone lives…”

  She slowly shook her head and he measured his next words as if they pained his tongue to speak them. “The thing is… it got me to thinking. What if you weren’t the target? With everything that’s happened to you – Niko, Ethan, the stalker – I thought it was you. But what if you weren’t the target? What if you were just collateral damage? What if they hit their intended target and that’s why they went away?”

  “No…” she whimpered.

  “Listen to me, my love. I don’t know why someone would want to kill Ben, but it’s a line of inquiry we never pursued. I’m going to pursue it now.”

  “Why would anyone want to kill him? Everyone loved him…”

  “Urian said it was a hit. It was bad money and nobody wanted to get near it because of you. Because they knew what Urian would do to anybody stupid enough to make a run at someone under his protection.”

  “Since when am I under Urian’s protection?”

  “I don’t know. He said he owed you a favor. You know what that might be?”

  Guilt welled in Q’s stomach. She knew exactly what that might be. She’d helped Urian to set up the gang she thought had murdered her friend because of his failed gun-running enterprise. When Urian was falsely implicated, she’d instructed him to let one of his men turn State’s evidence for the ATF, but not before he fed the real guilty parties the alligators. She didn’t know if he’d followed through with the latter, but she did know that by the time Rodney Augustine had given his evidence, Jeffries and her team couldn’t find the men responsible for Mike Ackerman’s supply of illegal guns.

  She’d never told Sanger and she’d intended to keep it that way. Taking a sip of wine, she said, “I don’t know, Aaron. Rodney maybe. I told Urian it was the only way to get the ATF off his back for that business with Mike.”

  It was a lie by omission, but a lie nonetheless and Sanger stared at her hard. “Is that all?”

  “Of course, it’s all.” She could feel his detective gears churning and she changed the subject, “Who the fuck would want to murder Ben?”

  “I don’t know. But I need you to start thinking about it. I can’t do this on my own. After Yvie and I split, Ben didn’t talk to me much for a while. If something happened. It would have happened then.”

  “But I was on the road…”

  “You know something, my love. I can see it. Who would do this?”

  Her hands began to violently tremble and she set down her glass of wine before she spilled it. “The same person that’s already threatened you twice. It’s all my fault. I should have quit that fucking band, but I had stars in my eyes. I left on tour. I missed out on all that time with Ben and that motherfucking crazy person killed him. I got him killed, is that what you want me to say? Ben’s dead because I joined Dark Harm. Ben’s dead because I didn’t take Burn Bitch Burn’s threat seriously. Ben’s dead because of me.”

  She ran up the stairs without waiting for a response and slammed the door to the bedroom, sliding down to the floor. Hot, angry tears stung her eyes and she shoved them away with her palms, refusing to give into her grief as the memory of that afternoon in June swallowed her whole. She banged her head in futile frustration against the door watching Ben’s face as he struggled to breathe, his eyes desperately searching for her and not seeing anything. Q covered both her ears and rocked herself until the sounds of Ben choking faded back into a memory. Still trembling and slick with s
weat, she sprawled across the cool floor.

  Hesitant footfalls climbed the stairs and Sanger’s worried voice called to her from the other side of the door. She exhaled out her anxiety and tried to breathe in something, anything else, before she pulled herself up off the floor and went to the bathroom. Her face was flushed and blotchy. An hour of careful makeup application destroyed by five minutes of crying. Her hair was a disheveled halo on one side of her head and a flattened mat on the other. She picked up a comb and put her curls back into some semblance of order. Another soft knock came at the bedroom door and she heard it open.

  “Clementine?” Sanger called from the bedroom. He walked into the bathroom and sighed. “You ruined your pretty makeup. And I ruined our evening, didn’t I.”

  Q sat defeated on the edge of the bathtub not knowing what to say. Sanger knelt in front of her and she curled her body around him.

  “I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard,” he said. “That I’ve been on case was bad; it’s making it hard to be human right now.”

  “What happened?” she asked, inhaling the cedar and Ivory soap smell of him and feeling her heartache dissipate somewhat.

  “Junky. Home invasion gone wrong. You don’t want to know.” He looked up at her. “Come on. Fix your face and let me take you out.”

  She nodded and stood up, retrieving her eyeliner from the vanity and correcting the damage. As she blotted her lipstick, Sanger moved behind her and rested his chin on her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Please forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. You’re just doing your job. I want you on my case. I don’t want to live with an ax hanging over my head. Just be careful.”

  He brushed her hair to the side and kiss the nape of her neck. “I’m going to find out who did this to you and I’m going to make them pay for it.”

  Q studied her reflection in the mirror and exhaled out her resolve. “Not tonight, Aaron. No more work tonight. Promise me.”

  Pulling her closer, he murmured, “No more work.”

  She leaned back into his arms. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Come on, where you taking me to dinner, cowboy?”

  “Our place.”

  ◆◆◆

  Manny’s Mexican was packed with people and they found a table near the jukebox. Sanger went to the bar and ordered them a pitcher of margaritas, carrying it back to their table. He took off his jacket and reached for her hand. She licked her lips and closed one eye.

  “Can I ask you something?” she said.

  “Of course.”

  “What is it you say to me after we have sex?”

  Sanger blushed. “I thought you spoke enough Hebrew to figure that out.”

  “A few words of biblical Hebrew to get through a bat mitzvah I only did for the presents doesn’t exactly count.” Her eyes traced the curve of his face. “Did you think I understood you?”

  “It’s not a complicated phrase, Clementine,” he chided. He brought her fingers to his lips. “Some things are easier to say. Not easier, just more natural, I guess. It was my first language. We were in Israel when I was born, lived there until I was in kindergarten.”

  “So, what are you saying?”

  “Just that I love you. That there is no end to how much I love you.”

  He leaned across the table and she brought her mouth to his and sighed. A throat cleared and they turned to find their waiter smirking at them. They ordered their dinner and sat back in their seats with their drinks.

  “What else?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he said, blushing.

  She studied him for a moment. “No, there’s something else. I’m going to figure it out. You may as well tell me.”

  He laughed. “Just brush up on your Hebrew, it won’t be difficult.”

  “God, my father is going to love you,” she said, heaving an exasperated sigh.

  “Well, he’s not the Toledano I want loving me.”

  “He should be,” she clarified. “He never liked Ben much. It was a constant disappointment to him.”

  “Who?” Sanger asked, sipping his drink. “Henry or Ben?”

  “Both,” she replied. “Can you imagine anyone not liking Ben Bordelon?”

  He considered her question for a moment. “No, honestly I can’t. That’s the problem.”

  Her stomach convulsed and she massaged her temples for a moment as another roar of panic swelled inside her skull.

  “You ok?” he asked. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

  Q chewed on her lower lip and examined their intertwined fingers. The diamond on her engagement ring sparkled in the dim light. “I’m trying not to think about it. I won’t be able to forgive myself if I do.”

  “I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. You know how I get.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Like a dog with a bone,” Q teased.

  Sanger dropped her hand and folded his arms. “Not fucking cool, Clementine.”

  She winked at him. “Had to get you back, cowboy.” Resting her mouth on the back of her hand, she turned towards the bar, scanning the crowd. “He could be here. Burn Bitch Burn. Or she. They could be here right now, watching us.”

  A heavily burdened platter of tacos and a basket of barbecued shrimp arrived and Q reached over to peel a shrimp. He covered her hand with his. “It’s going to be ok.”

  Her fingers busied themselves removing the shell and she changed the subject. “I’m going to Sunday dinner tomorrow. Yvie’s coming to get me. I haven’t told anybody about us, yet.”

  “You’re not doing anything wrong. You know that, right?”

  She nodded and popped her shrimp into her mouth. Sanger reached for a taco and took a bite. Swallowed her food, she said, “Tell Gracie and them that. I know they’re talking about me behind my back. It’s been that way since Christmas. Yvie says I’m their favorite topic of conversation. Discussing which one of my behaviors is appropriate and which one isn’t. I mean, Ben is dead. I am single, right? I can do whatever I want with the house, with whatever. Is there something I’m missing here?”

  Sanger finished chewing his bite before saying, “Well, I like to think that you’re not single and that you’re seeing someone pretty seriously, but no, I don’t think you’re missing anything.”

  She grinned at him and ate a chip. “You know what I mean, Aaron.”

  He wiped his mouth and exhaled slowly. “Clementine, it’s ok with me, if you want to explore your options. I know we kind of jumped in with both feet these last few weeks and me being in love with you complicates things. But you do what’s best for you. If you want to see other men - to make sure that this is what you want - that’s ok. We should be doing this on your timetable, not mine. I shouldn’t be pushing my agenda on you. I’m sorry.”

  “Physically incapable of being happy. That’s you,” she scolded.

  “Clementine…” he started to speak and she waved her hand dismissively to quiet him. She picked up a stray piece of brisket from his taco off the wax paper and popped it into her mouth, licking her fingertips and searching the room with her eyes. Turning back to Sanger, she stared him down.

  “Hey there, cowboy. Want to go on a date? How’s about you take me home and we explore some options.”

  His lips flushed bright red and he smiled at her for a moment before his eyebrows flattened with worry. “I’m serious, Clementine.”

  “So am I, Sanger. Fuck the Bordelons. If they don’t like this, that’s on them. I lost one man who loved me and I’m not losing another for the sake of propriety. I love being with you like this, Aaron.” She took his hand. “I don’t want just anybody. I don’t want options. I want you.”

  “Say that again,” he said.

  “I want you, Aaron Sanger, and I want to make this work.”

  “So far, it’s working out pretty well.”

  She paused, deciding how much honesty she should share in this new relationship with Sanger. But she’d always told him the truth and didn’t see much reason to s
tart lying now.

  “Aaron, you need to know that I’m still in love with Ben. I’m trying to make room for you, I really am; but it is going to take some time. I’m not sure I know how to do this, yet. At least not this part of it.” She paused, trying to think of a way to make him understand. “For what it’s worth, it was the same with Ben. The sex part was always easier for me than telling him how much I loved him.”

  Sanger was unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. “I don’t want to be your second choice. Some sort of consolation prize.”

  “Oh god, Sanger, that’s not what I meant!” Q exclaimed. “Ben and I were lovers for like an entire year before I even let him take me out for a meal. So far, you and me have that beat by a mile.”