Ashes - The Special Edition: The Tales of Tartarus

by A. L. Mengel

  “I don’t understand this,” she said softly, as her tears started to come. “I need you. I need you in my life…your baby needs you!”

  “I stayed with you because I got you pregnant,” he continued. “But I told you that I wasn’t going to marry you. I’m not going to marry someone that I don’t love.”

  Paula leaned against the wall, placing her hand in her hands, covered by her mussed blonde hair, and quietly wept.

  Gradually, as they were lying there, as she finished her cigarette, stamped it out in the ashtray on the bedside table and flicked the light on so hard that the chain spun around the base of the light bulb. She sat up quickly, letting her pointy breasts hang free as the covers fell from her chest, and quietly wiped the tears from her eyes. She swung her legs to the floor and winced at the chilly tile against her toes.

  She got up from the bed, and walked out into the small kitchen - which looked dingy and dirty with an antique looking gas stove, harsh florescent lights overhead, illuminating a small black and white checkerboard linoleum floor. Last night’s dinner dishes – leftover spaghetti - were still in the sink caked with dried red sauce and strewn across the counter.

  She got a small brown, slightly rusted teapot, filled it with water and placed it on the stove. She lit up another cigarette, and walked back to the bedroom.

  “Then leave,” she said. She glared over at Dominick and looked at him directly in his eyes. “Get out of my apartment, and do it now.”

  Dominick looked over at her, his eyes widened a little in surprise. He was not expecting that kind of answer from Paula. She was not that type of girl. She did not get forceful like this.

  When they met at a small lounge in Kendall, it was Dominick, not Paula, who approached the other and spoke first. It was always Dominick who initiated sex. Generally, Paula would just “go along with” whatever the general consensus was, and take it. Even if she was not happy with the situation.

  “Get out!” she said louder and more forcefully. She left the room. Dominick lifted the pendant on his neck and gave it a quick kiss.

  He did not resist.

  He pulled the covers away and rose from the bed. He bent over and pulled on bright white underwear, and then fished for his jeans. The pendant he wore, nestled in a forest of hair in the middle of his chest, caught the light and glinted in Paula’s eye as he bent over. He put a small white tank top in a black leather gym bag that had been lying on the floor next to the bed, and walked over to the closet. He stopped for a moment, let out a short breath, and stood there for a moment.

  There was little of his in that closet; most of his possessions were at his own apartment in Miami Beach, but there were a few collared shirts and ties, two pairs of jeans, some shirts and some underwear and socks, which Dominick had kept at Paula’s apartment for those mornings after nights he spent with Paula - where Dominick would have to get ready for work or travel back home from Paula’s place the next morning.

  Dominick hastily stuffed the clothes into his gym bag, closed the zipper, and walked past Paula without even glancing into her eye for a moment. He charged through the small, newspaper-littered living room to a front door with a diamond shaped window three-quarters of the way up. With tears streaming down her cheeks, Paula followed.

  Once he reached the door, Dominick turned the handle and finally looked back at her.

  She returned the glance, her vision muddled by fresh tears, and almost thought she saw a hint of love and caring in his eyes; she thought she saw a tear, but perhaps that’s really only what her mind wanted her to see. Someone who cared certainly would not be doing this, would not walk out so quickly on her and his child, but all he could say was, “You’ll do just fine.” And then he opened the door and left, not saying another word to her, and not glancing again in her direction.

  After the door slammed she stood there, planted in the same spot on the floor as if she had grown roots, and cried softly. She leaned her head against the door frame and closed her eyes. Never before had she felt so alone.

  So helpless. Deep down, she had wanted the love from Dominick, but he was not there to give it to her. All he gave her was his child. She turned her head in the direction of the sleeping baby’s room – wondering how she was going to manage raising a child when she was all alone; her desperation in wondering how she would take care of it, in a cold, cruel and unforgiving world.

  She held the wave of emotions back long enough; but the overflow of pain started to take over, and she dropped towards the wall with her back against the door, her arm slumped over her head, and cried hard, dropping to the floor. She let it all out.

  Seconds later, the baby joined her.

  And then the teapot screamed for attention, creating a chorus of wails heard through Paula’s apartment after Dominick’s exit.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Roberto fell asleep in Antoine’s arms; the bed cover was damp with his tears.

  But Antoine remained awake. He was feeling his hunger again. He loved being with Roberto, but he had to go out and kill. He felt the aching need to do it.

  Being careful not to wake him, Antoine eased himself out from underneath Roberto’s warm body, and slipped out from under the covers. He arose and stood in the center of room.

  Slowly and quietly he dressed. Before he left, he tiptoed over to a small desk against the opposite wall, and found a small piece of paper and pen. He scribbled a note and dropped it on the covers so it could be read as soon as Roberto woke.

  Antoine stood above the bed for a moment, looking at his sleeping creation. He was so beautiful, sleeping there in his mortal sleep. Roberto changed positions, and his right arm moved up and over his head.

  Antoine gazed at his face one last time - the neat, shaved hair, the chiseled features, a thin goatee.

  Eternal youth…you will always be young, my friend.

  He gazed for a bit longer at Roberto, at the silently sleeping man in front of him, who he took from torment just a short while ago. He then fished the note out from under the covers, and he flattened out the wrinkles, and laid it on Roberto’s chest.

  *~*~*

  Antoine glided as he moved and seemingly did not have footsteps – he made no sounds, and later, after silently closing the front door, he emerged in the very early morning – the hours when darkness still hugs the land and the night is at its strongest. He wiped some blood off of his chin that had dripped onto his clothing. Drawing a white handkerchief from his coat pocket, his wiped it but the red smudge still remained. His white shirt was now stained pink, so he buttoned up his coat to cover the stain.

  Silently slipping out into the Miami night, the door to the Perez house closed behind him softly; Antoine glided down the front steps, down the path next to the artfully manicured bushes and a well-tended full, green lawn; his coattails trailed behind him. Through the iron gates, past the bench where Paula would eventually sit, and down the street to his parked Mercedes.

  He got in, slammed the door, started the car and gunned the engine, and sped down the street down Anastasia Avenue.

  He did not have much time. It was now past 5am.

  He had to get back to the beach and retire. Not that Antoine was a mythical immortal who couldn’t move about by day. But he liked to keep a pace and schedule to his life.

  As the car sped back to South Beach, to the condominium on Ocean Drive, Antoine began to think about Roberto.

  What a specimen, he thought. He will be my creation.

  Antoine could not get the image of Roberto out of his mind. He did not know why the young man had made such an impression on him, but he did nonetheless.

  Roberto was his.

  It saddened him to know what Roberto went through on a daily basis. The head of the Perez household – Hernan - was a very violent, demanding man. He worked at the International Bank of Venezuela, located in the Brickell section of town. Roughly twenty minutes from Coral Gables, his autocratic attitude earned him top honors at work, which came along with top pa
y. It afforded the luxurious surroundings in Coral Gables but the attitude carried over into the home life. He traveled extensively, so that lent some relief to Roberto.

  Eva Perez was a much different woman than her husband.

  She was very loving towards her son Roberto, sometimes to the point of being overprotective. Roberto and Eva loved each other and spent a lot of time together. It sometimes created a solace from the wrath of Hernan.

  Most of the time, at first, Hernan ignored Roberto. He knew his son was out “gallivanting” as he would put it, but he didn’t do much to stop it. Roberto and his mother seemed happy, and most of the time Hernan was too busy working to care.

  Because they were always ignored, Eva and Roberto became closer. From the point Roberto had been a child, Hernan’s job became increasingly demanding, and then Eva and Roberto would travel together. They laughed and made dinner together; cried in front of movies together and went out to experience all the nightlife that Miami had to offer. It was Eva who was close by when Roberto began to enter manhood and sprout physically, eventually getting to the point where he was much taller than Eva; since she had him at a young age, they were frequently mistaken for a couple. It was always Eva who attended his wrestling matches and gymnastics competitions. She witnessed his childhood, and then, over time, she was witnessing his transformation into a man.

  And perhaps that is why Roberto, in a sense, became the man in Eva’s life.

  Hernan was simply a figure, someone who provided for the two other family members but did not pay much attention to them. He was frequently either working extended hours or out of the country. He rarely paid attention to Eva or Roberto – when he came home, he would demand his dinner, and wait for it to be prepared while he downed his scotch and sodas while watching the news.

  But there also were nights that he came home already drunk and would start questioning Eva about dinner – he would ask why it wasn’t ready and waiting on the table – even if he came home from directly from a three martini lunch. Eva would always cower away from his anger, hurry over to the refrigerator, and nervously pull some chicken out to place in the oven. But no matter what she grabbed, it was always the wrong thing.

  “I said I wanted a steak tonight you bitch!” And then Hernan would rip the package of chicken out of her hands and slam it on the floor. He then would grab Eva’s shoulder and throw her against the counter. As her face typically was slammed against the side of the cabinet, she then usually huddled against the counter and wait for him to go into the sitting room to make his drink.

  Most of the time he did. And almost always, after he left, she brought her hand up to her face, and more often than not pulled it away to see fresh bright red blood on her fingertips.

  During these episodes, Roberto was typically either away or in his room. If he was in his room, he usually heard the crash across the house – which announced Hernan’s arrival. On more than one occasion, he had tiptoed across the house, past a snoring Hernan in front of the tv, and into the kitchen where his mother was usually hurriedly preparing a meal, sniffling and blotting her forehead with a tissue. And on every occasion he saw her making dinner in that state, he would usher her over to the table, clean her wounds lovingly, and finish preparing dinner himself.

  That’s the way it usually went when Hernan came home from work already drunk.

  Shortly after that period, Eva was diagnosed with terminal, late stage cancer. She quickly became very sick – she lost weight rapidly as she started to waste away; the cancer was eating her alive very quickly. During this time, Hernan became increasingly violent, taking out a lot of his anger on Roberto.

  Perhaps he was upset about his ailing wife, and did not know of any other way to express his anger. Or perhaps he was upset with Roberto, who started a downward spiral of drugs and sex, leaving home – sometimes for days at a time with not so much as a phone call.

  Several times Roberto would leave the house with a black eye, or bruises on his arms, and when his professors and friends would ask him what happened, he would just say that it happened during a wrestling match, sometimes he said it was during practice, or sometimes he said that he fell off the rings during a gymnastics meet. He started to get a reputation of being a horrible athlete, although it was quite the contrary.

  Sometime later, Eva succumbed to the cancer, and passed away.

  Hernan had been grief stricken, and became almost unbearable for Roberto. Roberto’s downward spiral took a deeper turn, and that’s when he got involved with the homosexual underworld. After Eva’s death, he quickly became very promiscuous and started to sell his body for cash and drugs as well.

  It got to the point that sometimes Roberto would have two or three different tricks in one night, and generally would never come home - except on rare occasion. He just wanted to stay away from Hernan and his violence.

  Even though Roberto had the strength to put Hernan in the hospital, he still had some love and respect for the man and could not injure him in that way, despite the fact that Hernan saw no problem in beating Roberto on a regular basis.

  So he did not fight back.

  *~*~*

  Antoine’s Mercedes sped back north on Dixie Highway, which led onto I-95 northbound, and then up to the exit for MacArthur Causeway which led over to South Beach. And driving, thinking about Roberto, is when he decided he would come to save Roberto - save him from his misery. They could be together, side by side, demonic warriors; partners in the life that Antoine had come to know and make the best of so far.

  Roberto had dealt with so much pain and suffering growing up in the Perez household; Antoine could tell that just from looking at his eyes when they were together. Given his twisted childhood, and the strange childhood that Antoine had when he was mortal, he saw a connection between himself and the young man, and thought that he would be a good partner to have.

  When Roberto had been crying on Antoine’s arms, Antoine felt like he needed to take away the boy’s pain, to envelop him in the embrace he has come to give others in pain.

  Roberto. Let me take away your pain. Let me be your guiding light. I will lead you through these treacherous waters, just take my hand and follow me.

  That’s right, you’re gonna be my creation. My demon in the making.

  I know that my visit exhausted you and you will sleep and sleep and sleep…but when you rise, the obsession will start.

  And it will grow.

  Your obsession will overtake you; it will gnaw at your every emotion, your every sense. Everything will be heightened, every sense, every passion. And all that you will want to do will be to find me.

  But, my young accomplice, I will not be so easily found. Somehow, you will feel drawn to me, but I will be through miles of torment, of dark emotion, of wrath…that you will have to face and sift through before you see my face again.

  And then, my demon, it might be too late.

  You might not make it through. You might not be able to face your fears, your greatest sins – all of your hatred - in one giant netherworld of pain.

  Welcome, my demon.

  And when I enveloped you with my coldness you will transform into what you have always wanted to be.

  I know that and you told me that. It’s just a matter of time before you begin your transformation. You will see.

  Wake up a mortal once again tomorrow. Follow the obsession. For when you find me, you will be Nesmaron.

  Welcome my demon, and enjoy the ride into Tartarus.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Paula turned off the wailing teapot on the stove, but did not make a cup of tea. She settled the baby back down, then retreated back into the kitchen, and got a bottle of vodka out of the cabinet next to the refrigerator. She got a tall highball glass, a carton of orange juice, and padded into the living room and proceeded to make a very stiff screwdriver.

  Taking the first sip and sighing as the alcohol warmed her insides, she lit another cigarette.

  The power of alcohol.
>
  Taking over one’s mind, putting a veil over the eyes, shielding one from the horrors of the world. The form of escape so many have come to seek out, whether it be at home alone sitting on the couch, in front of the computer, or out at the bars, the shroud of alcohol takes one away from the harsh reality of life.

  And that’s exactly what Paula was doing, as she poured screwdriver after screwdriver, until she ran out of orange juice and got to the point of drunkenness that she did not hear the baby start to cry in the other room. She started pouring glasses of straight vodka and drinking them down, reaching a state of inebriation where she had no idea that the baby even needed attention.

  She was getting herself deeper and deeper inside the portal of alcohol induced state of existence, in the fuzziness of the clouds, swimming in the clear marmalade, up towards the pastel stars of light that shone down towards her arms; where she pushed through the thick marmalade, swimming away from all the pain she felt.

  But the power of alcohol is short-lived. She opened her eyes. The numbness, the feeling of warmth and comfort only lasts but a short time, and then reality comes back and sets in as one comes down. Paula sat back on the couch, her eyes glazed over. She stared blankly at the half-full bottle of vodka, sitting next to her glass on the coffee table. A cigarette burned in the ashtray, atop a slew of magazines, old candy wrappers, several remote controls and an empty condom wrapper. Then the glass seemed to be the only thing that existed to Paula. It stood out in front of her, above all else on the coffee table, it was the only thing that seemed to exist other than her in the room.

  Then her eyes drifted slowly to the left, where she saw the bottle of vodka, and it hit her how much she had drank, in such a short time. She could not believe it. And she sat there and sobbed, a drunken sob, but there was no one there to comfort her, no shoulder for her to cry on.

  Blinded by tears, she searched for the phone. Digging through clothes and newspapers on the couch, she finally found the cordless in between two of the cushions along with a copy of an entertainment magazine, and began to automatically dial the digits of her mother in Stuart.