Until the Devil Weeps

by W E DeVore

  ICU was empty, save one young nurse with dark hair twisted up behind her head. As Q strode confidently past the desk where she sat, the nurse craned her neck and asked if she could be of assistance.

  “No,” Q murmured. “I just came to be with my husband. He’s a policeman. He was shot. Someone called a few hours ago. Said he was awake.”

  The nurse stared her down and fear pooled in Q’s stomach, worried that an errant piece of brain matter or skull was stuck in her hair, kicking herself at her own stupidity for not going home and showering first.

  “I guess it’s alright,” the nurse finally said, releasing Q from the prison of her dread that had her frozen where she stood.

  The cop outside of Sanger’s room glanced up from his game of Angry Birds on his phone. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Q Toledano,” she replied. “Aaron’s friend.”

  The cop took her hand and squeezed it. “He’s been asking for you. He’s going to be alright, ma’am. Go see for yourself.”

  Q threw her shoulder into the door and pushed it open. Sanger was asleep, breathing on his own, but connected to highly oxygenated air and a myriad of machines. Her eyes traced the lines of the tubes running in and out of his body, landing at his elevated left leg. He was still pale from blood loss. The sturdy power of him reduced to a frail collection of tubes carrying fluids in and out.

  She pulled a chair close to the bed and laid her head down next to his body, taking his hand in hers. The comfort of knowing he was safe and the release of adrenaline made her eyes flutter. She had no idea of how long she had dozed, but when she looked up, Sanger was awake, absent-mindedly stroking her hair and regarding the steel grey morning as dawn drained away outside his window.

  “I smell bleach,” he said.

  Guilt pooled in her throat and she felt like gagging.

  Why didn’t I take a fucking shower?

  Q sat up and wiped the sleep from her face as subterfuge to smell her hands, relief filling her as she realized it was hospital disinfectant that permeated her skin and most likely the tube in his nose delivering oxygen to his overtaxed circulatory system. But she didn’t say that.

  “There was a lot of blood,” she whispered instead. “It was hard to get off.”

  Sanger’s eyebrows stitched together and he studied her face. “A lot of blood from what?”

  Fuck.

  She forced her body to exhale out the anxiety that roiled inside her chest. “You, my love. You.”

  “Why did you leave? Where did you go?”

  “The house,” she said, grabbing a hold of the first ready half-truth she had at her disposal. “There were some things I had to do. Because of Audrey.”

  “What things?”

  “It’s not important.” Q started to tremble, recognizing just how right Urian had been. There was no way to lie her way through this. No way to love her way out of it either. Sanger would have the cop outside his door arrest her in two seconds as soon as she confessed, but she suddenly didn’t care. This wasn’t a lie she could keep.

  Gus Multer’s wild-eyed fear flashed in her vision, the frantic breathing from his nose as she shoved the gun in his mouth filled her ears. Then bang. Then quiet. Then peace.

  Sanger reached for her hand as she curled in the chair next to him, rocking back and forth. “What’s wrong, my love?”

  “I did something, Aaron. Something you won’t be able to forgive me for.” She shoved the tears from her eyes and wrapped both hands around his fingers. “You have to understand, though. I did it for you.”

  Her phone vibrated on the arm of the chair and she looked down to see her grandmother’s smile looking out at her from the screen.

  “It’s Bubbe,” she explained. “She’s probably calling to check on you.”

  Q reluctantly answered and her grandmother’s voice said, “How’s Aaron?”

  “He’s fine,” Q smiled at Sanger. “He’s awake. You want to say ‘hi’?”

  “No, you let him rest. I am having breakfast with one of your charming friends. He said he took you to the hospital and suggested we call and check on you both.”

  Cold panic filled Q’s stomach. “Which friend, Bubbe?”

  “Mistah Galanos,” Constance replied. “He stopped by the house. Didn’t want me worrying where you were after all that terrible business with Ben’s cousin. Wanted to let me know that you were safe. We’re having a lovely time here at the house.”

  “Can I talk to him, please?” Q kept her voice even and steady and gave Sanger a gentle smile.

  Urian’s voice came on the line and purred, “Beautiful girl. Your grandmother is even more lovely than you. How’s your friend?”

  “He’s awake, he’s right here.”

  “Good. Let’s hope he continues to recover, yes? Don’t stay too long, you have a flight to catch. Your grandmother agrees that getting away from New Orleans is the best thing for everyone. You should listen to her. Listen to us both. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to either of you.”

  “Of course,” Q whispered. “That’s the best thing. You’re right.”

  “I’ll pick you up for three?”

  “Yes, please.” She hung up and forced a smile for Sanger. “Old family friend took Bubbe out for breakfast.”

  “Who?” Sanger asked, his eyes clearly not believing her.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Q sighed out her resolve. “Aaron, this person isn’t going to give up. They’re going to keep coming after me. More people are going to get hurt as long as I’m around. I’m going to go to Daddy’s. My plane leaves tonight.”

  “What did you do, Clementine?” he asked, holding steady contact.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Ernst said you left after I got out of surgery to go find out who did this. Then two minutes ago you said you did something bad. Something I wouldn’t forgive you for and now you’re telling me you’re leaving town. To a fucking tax haven with easy access to a dozen countries without extradition treaties. What did you go and do?” his voice broke.

  “Nothing,” she soothed. “I went to see Urian – to ask him - but he didn’t know, so I just went home.”

  “You went to see Urian Galanos and now you’ve done something I won’t forgive you for?” he asked. His voice shook. “Please, not again. Just tell me not again.”

  Then she knew that he’d arrest her, and that doing so would destroy him. She couldn’t let it happen again; let the woman that Sanger loved be a murderer. The lie that formed in her mind took life on its own. It swelled from the truth that formed the core of their relationship. There was another thing that he wouldn’t forgive. Something else that couldn’t be undone.

  “It was before, cowboy. Before you were shot. A long time before,” she said, studying the red liquid inside the tube in his arm, wondering if it was carrying toxic blood out or bringing fresh blood in. “I thought I could love you. I wanted to. I tried to. But I couldn’t. Not the way you wanted me to, anyway. I was selfish. I was lonely…”

  “You don’t love me,” he stated, like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

  “The thing is, Aaron, I do. Of course, I do. But not like you want me to. Not like I love Ben.” She told her eyes to look at him, but they remained fixated on the blood.

  “Look at me,” Sanger commanded and her eyes locked on his. “Try again.”

  Her mouth refused to move.

  “What did you do, Clementine?”

  “I lied to you,” she whispered.

  “Now, that I believe. What did you lie about?”

  “I don’t love you,” she gasped as she held his gaze.

  “No?” he asked.

  She shook her head and he reached for her face, pulling her towards him. Her lips brushed his and her mouth caught fire as she rested against him.

  “Liar, liar pants on fire,” he whispered.

  Tears fell from her face to his as she watched his eyes. “I don’t love you.”

  He kissed
her again and it felt like heroin burning through her veins. “You don’t love me,” he mocked. “Sure, you don’t. Tell me what’s really going on.”

  “Please,” she begged. “I have to go.”

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “What happened?”

  “Nothing, my love. I just can’t let you risk your life for me. I’m not worth it. You deserve better than…”

  “Than what?”

  “A woman who doesn’t love you.” She set her jaw and cleared her throat as she aimed for his single point of weakness. The one small spot her lie would penetrate. His fear. The same fear she’d been salving since their first morning together. “I love Ben. I was right that day at Manny’s. I only get one. You’ll only ever be my second choice. You were right all along and I don’t want that for you.”

  He flinched. The venom of her deceit finally penetrating his defenses. “No.”

  “Yes. I love Ben. He’s my husband. Anyone else is just a second choice. A consolation prize. And you shouldn’t be anybody’s consolation prize.”

  His heart rate sped up and he panted. “No.”

  “I don’t love you, cowboy. I’ll never love you. I’ll never love any man the way I love Ben. You were right. It was a horrible thing I’ve done. To use you like I did. But that’s what I did and I have to make it right.”

  Their eyes locked and he studied her under his trained detective’s radar. “Are you telling me the truth, Clementine?”

  She dug her nails into her palms to quell her involuntary trembling. “Yes.”

  “Then get out.”

  She nodded and moved to leave, satisfied with her success and sickened by its result. As she reached for the door, her left hand began to shake uncontrollably and she rushed back to Sanger. His head was turned to the window. She brushed the back of her fingers against his face and he looked at her, raw pain pushing back like a wall of fire.

  She kissed him again, breathing him in. “Take of yourself, cowboy. Please.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why, detective.”

  Confusion and desolation raced through his eyes. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I can’t.” She kissed him one more time. “Goodbye.”

  ◆◆◆

  Q glared at the mural of her smiling heroes as Urian and she threaded through the airplane hanger-shaped terminal of Louis Armstrong airport. She hadn’t said a word to him since he’d picked up for her flight, except to confirm that their secret was safe. That no one suspected she was leaving town for any reason other than the one she’d given.

  She’d ended things with Sanger to protect him. She was terrified that more killers would come for her. She needed time away to finish grieving for Ben and Jasper. All the events of the past few days had just been too much.

  The thing was, everyone believed her. It made all the sense in the world. Ben’s family was ensconced in the grief of yet another tragedy. They just wanted her safe. Ernst believed her lies. Her grandmother believed them, too. Nobody argued but Sanger. He took one look at her and saw the death behind her eyes. The light within her dimmed again by taking the life of another human being, no matter how wretched they were or how much they deserved it.

  As Urian gently pushed her towards the security gate, he said, “There is the price you pay for peace, beautiful girl.”

  “So, they say,” she replied, chewing on the side of her middle finger’s cuticle, hoping he was picking up on her subtext.

  He took her hand in his. “Trust me when I say it’s worth it.”

  Q hoped, more than anything, that it was true.

  THE END

  Author’s Notes

  I am not the first writer to explore the complexities of love and loss, and I won’t be the last. Letting go of one of my favorite characters was a cathartic experience and helped me to work through some of my own lost love issues. Suffice it to say, grief takes many forms.

  To those of you who loved Ben as I did, I promise, his death had a purpose. You’ll just have to trust me on that.

  Songs referenced in passing:

  Night and Day – Ella Fitzgerald

  You Shook Me – Led Zeppelin

  Everything’s Gone – In Flames

  No Diggity – Blackstreet

  I Got a Woman – Ray Charles

  The quote Derek uses to eulogize Ben is from Silence by Thomas Hood (Public Domain).

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  W.E. DeVore is a musician, producer, and audio engineer. In her career as a musician and sometimes rock star babysitter, she has been fortunate to know some of the most entertaining and unique individuals that seem to only grow from the Louisiana soil. She’s also experienced some things that a nice Jewish girl from Montana probably shouldn’t know about - but it does make excellent fodder for a little fiction. DeVore has lived in Southeast Louisiana for the last two decades and currently lives in Baton Rouge, although her heart will always be in New Orleans - sweaty, dirty, crime-ridden, music-filled wonderland that it is.

  To learn more, visit www.wedevore.com.

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