by J. J. McAvoy
BANG!
“For fucking fuck’s sake!” I hollered, tossing the body off me and to the side like the sack of shit it was. Grabbing the staircase railing, I pulled myself up off the ground. “I am too old for this goddamn shit!”
“Will you please stop yelling?” Melody asked as she moved between the bodies on the ground.
“No, I will not stop yelling. In fact, I haven’t even begun to really motherfucking yell.” I glared and pointed to the security camera. “You! Yes, I mean you, motherfuckers! You shit face, bitch-ass cunt-nut bastards. It has been a goddamn year. I’m tired of killing you, every other fucking bloody day. Come out, and let’s fucking finish this.”
“The security feed was cut an hour ago,” she said, calmly rising to her feet to stand in front of me. Blood was splattered across her face, soaking her hands. Her hair had fallen out of the braid, and she had cuts on her lips and eyebrow. “No one is hearing you bitch but me.”
Pausing, holding my gun in one hand and the rail with the other, exhaling deeply, I finally found the strength to speak again. “For the last year, I’ve been shot about a dozen times, broke about half as many bones, nearly lost my eye, gotten a chunk of my hair ripped out, and now…” I pointed to my pants. “I’ve been vomited on like a garbage disposable by a midget assassin because why wouldn’t there be a dwarf assassin in this carnival of fucking freak show murders? Next, I’m sure well be fighting the clown, IT! All that said, I think I’ve earned the right to bitch just a little bit.”
“Sure, but does it have to be at me?” she asked. “Yeah, remember me? The woman who has been by your side, getting my bones broken, getting shot at, nearly burned alive. I’d like to bitch, too, but we don’t have time. Maybe next time when I tell you twenty years in advance to be worried—”
“I fucking knew it!” I knew it! “I knew you had been waiting to say I told you so for months now!”
“But did I not tell you so?”
“For fuck’s sake, Mel! How was I supposed to know they were raising an army? Your magical gut didn’t tell me all that!”
“I knew she was a problem!” Mel counters.
“Which is why I said go ahead and kill her but have a valid reason. Now you are—”
“What’s that smell?” She paused to asked me.
I paused, too. And it was only when we were both quiet that we heard the whistle along with the scent of gasoline. I glanced down to the bloodshot eyes of the midget as he moved slightly, a smile on his face as he lit a match with his hands.
“Fuck!”
“Window!”
Running toward it, I felt the heat and saw the blaze rise like a fireball from hell in the reflection of the glass before bracing myself as we broke through the pane. The night sky was a blur before the rush of cold water engulfed me. Pieces of debris, wood, glass, and metal flew into the water with us. Sinking to bottom, I searched for Melody, only for her to find me first. Her hand linked with mine, pointing to the opposite corner of the pool. Even under the thick layer of water, I could hear the house erupting into flames above us.
It felt like hours had gone by, but we needed to make sure no one was outside. Slowly, I lifted my head out of the water behind a piece of a broken chair.
No gunshots were a good sign.
Rising out of the water onto the ledge, I took a breath before rushing to Melody’s side of the pool, sticking my arm in. A second later, she floated up.
BANG!
“Liam!”
I am really too old for this, I thought as I saw her beautiful face pass me and I hit the water.
Damn her gut.
And damn that fucking bitch, Calliope.
ETHAN
“Are you thinking about me?” she asked, sticking her head right in front of mine as if she were a damn cuckoo bird.
“No.”
“Weird, I could I have sworn I felt someone curse me,” she replied, taking a seat on my lap, even shifting a little to make herself comfortable. The smell of vanilla and rose in her long brown hair now filled my nose. Her red lips spread into a slight smile. Her gray eyes bore into me as she brought her face closer. “And seeing as how you are mad at me, I figured we’d talk it out before I go.”
“Calliope, I’m trying to read.” I waved the tablet beside her head just in case she hadn’t noticed.
“I’m thinking of having a family dinner this week.” She didn’t look at it because she did notice and didn’t care. “Tonight is date night.”
“Calliope—”
“What do you think? Dinner or the opera?”
I turned my head, looking back to the document I was reading.
“Dinner it is.”
There really was no point in my speaking. She was fully capable of having a conversation without me.
“Ethan, you are supposed to interject and say, ‘But aren’t you going to be tired after spending your whole afternoon at brunch, my love, la mia anima?’”
I scrolled on.
“And you would be right. I would be tired. Assassinating presidents and plotting the downfall of the world’s greatest criminals are actually less exhausting than the sham wannabe aristocrats of this city, pretending to actually know or give a shit about art. But what can I do? Work is work. I must be phony with them. But after that, I’m free and all yours. Date night is important, and nothing can change that.”
I shifted in my seat, trying to ignore her, but she was Calliope, and she always had to win the war, even if it was against me. She kissed the side of my face before bringing her lips to my ear. “PS. I volunteered you to speak at the governor’s ball tomorrow night—”
Immediately, I tore my gaze from the tablet, staring at her face, which was now, if possible, less than an inch from mine. She placed her arms on my shoulders. “Don’t worry. I wrote the speech for you, seeing as how you could care less. And before you ask ‘if you were going to write it, why don’t you just give the damn speech yourself,’ remember, it is a speech to honor the first female governor of this state’s history. It means more coming from you, the son of the first female governor, than it does from your trophy wife.”
“You are a very heavy trophy.” I glared at her.
“It’s because I’m made of solid gold, boss.” Her grin widened, and she kissed my lips quickly before pulling back. Rising from my lap to adjust the knee-length skirt of her sweetheart- neck, red cocktail dress. I noticed she looked like a seductive, vintage, pin-up girl from the style of her hair, to her synched waist, to the string of diamonds around her neck.
“Isn’t this supposed to be a charity brunch meeting?” I asked her.
“It is.”
“The dress might be a bit much.”
“Nonsense. The ladies decided to auction ourselves for dates to raise money this year,” she said, bending over just enough that I could see the tops of her breast. “And since my husband refused to come, I have to put in a little more effort, don’t you think? How else will anyone bid on me?”
“Last I checked, you all were supposed to auction art, not yourselves.”
“You should have checked again. Besides, art is so boring to do every year. We needed to mix it up a bit.”
I did my best not to show the annoyance I felt rising in me, especially since I knew Calliope was doing this on purpose. “So, when you say the ladies decided to auction, you mean, you decided.”
Without shame, she nodded, kissing the side of my face. “But don’t worry about it; you really don’t have to come.”
“I won’t,” I stated coldly, lifting the tablet again. “In fact, I’m even more annoyed with you. Instead of explaining yourself, you switched the auction to make me jealous, to distract me from being angry at you. Do I look thoughtless enough to be manipulated so easily? Go on, have fun.”
“Why would I need to distract you?” she had the audacity to ask. “I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Do you ever?”
“Nope,” she answered, despite my sa
rcasm. “And don’t worry, I will have a blast. While you sulk here angry about past shit that I cannot change, nor would.”
“Nor would you?” My grip tightened, but I refused to look at her. “Really?”
“Are you coming or not?”
“I already said no.”
“Asshole.”
I ignored her, so she grabbed her purse from the table, and rose to leave. “Just remember, while I’m having fun, I offered you an olive branch, and you rejected it.”
SLAM.
Glaring at the door for a moment, I lifted the tablet to throw it, only for the door to open, and I paused. However, Calliope didn’t walk back inside.
“Is there still trouble in paradise?” Uncle Neal asked, eyebrow raised as he checked back down the hall, and then back at me. “What happened this week? You two have been all lovey-dovey these past few months…as much as you can be, I guess.”
“Did you need something?” I questioned.
He chuckled, stepping into the study. “Can’t an uncle check in on his nephew every once in a while?”
“That depends on what you are checking for,” I muttered, rubbing the side of my head, trying to distract myself from the thought of my crazy wife.
“Is there any subject you don’t mind being checked on for?” he pressed back.
And there wasn’t. So, I didn’t answer. Instead, I sat there doing exactly what she said I would be doing, sulking. What was worse was that I couldn’t even close my eyes without smelling her or remembering that damn dress she was wearing.
“Here.”
I glanced at the crystal of brandy. “It’s ten in the morning, Uncle.”
“And it’s 4:00 PM in Dublin,” he said, shoving the glass at me. “Wife problems go down easier with brown liquor.”
“Mmm.” Taking the cup, I shifted and sat back as he took a seat in the leather chair across from me.
“What are you two fighting about?”
I didn’t answer.
“Whatever you all are fighting about, just let her win,” he said, sipping his drink, causing me to narrow my eyes at him. What kind of advice was that, especially coming from him? Everyone in this family seemed to believe I gave in too much with her as it was.
“Don’t give me that look. I’m saying it for your sake,” he added.
“Is that so?”
“It is so.” He mocked my tone. “I didn’t trust her when she first got here. But after the last year, I’m now certain she is the only one in the world who can truly handle you.”
“Handle?” Was I a wild boar?
He nodded. “Yes, handle. Or are you going to deny that you’ve been much more relaxed and free since Calliope entered this house.”
I stared at him. If that is true, why does he send his children out of the house? Is what I wanted to say but instead focused on this subject. “I am as relaxed as I have always been,” I lied.
“It’s 10 AM. You’re reading the newspaper and having a drink with your uncle, sulking over your wife.”
There was that word again. Sulking. “I did not invite you here, Uncle.”
“And if it were a year ago, you would have already walked out. In fact, you would never have even been in the house at this time. You’d be in South Bend checking supplies instead. Or having a private meeting with the head of another family. Or you’d be at some morning meeting with politicians.”
“I have a meeting at two.”
“Really. A meeting? As in just one? Why?” he pressed. “Because your wife is handling the politicians, their wives, the community meetings, the charities, all the things you hate, while you focus on the business? She only tells you when to show up and smile for the cameras. And you prefer it that way. Since you were young, you never liked to truly get your hands dirty. You prefer to use other people to get what you want. And I’ve noticed Calliope lets you use her in any way you need.”
“Notice less, Uncle. Notice less,” I replied before taking a sip of my drink.
“Why? Have I stumbled on a big secret?” He laughed at me. “Well, let me not get into your crosshairs. All I’m saying is that, after what happened to Cora, this family could have crumbled. In fact, we’re still hurt. But because you and Calliope go on as you do, dragging us forward as if nothing happened, patching the cracks as you go, we’ve made it this far. The business is now as strong as ever; the families have been regaining confidence in you both. The city is calmer, and you two are the couple. Bravo.” He lifted his glass to me before finishing off his drink.
I cracked my jaw to the side. This was too convenient and one-sided in Calliope’s favor. “She told you to come in here and tell me all of this, didn’t she?”
He grinned, putting the glass on the table. “What Mrs. Callahan wants Mrs. Callahan gets. Good luck at the charity auction.”
I shook my head, finishing my drink as he left. Calliope really was unrelenting. It was one of the things I loved about her. But whenever she used her schemes on me, I wanted to strangle her. I disliked being controlled by anyone, and yet I found myself under her goddamn thumb anyway. She knew exactly what buttons to push. Rising from my chair, I grabbed my jacket, adjusting my cufflinks before walking to the door.
Stepping out, Dino—my personal bodyguard—pushed off the wall, coming over to me. He nodded once. I didn’t say anything, walking toward the front of the house. With each step, I debated smacking or mocking myself. So much had happened in a year. But the most important had been the changed image of Calliope and me in the city. The morning news called us the renaissance of old American royalty.
Trophy wife?
She went from being completely unremembered to being the woman everyone else wanted to be.
Calliope was now a princess on a mission to be queen.
Stepping outside, the familiar cold November wind blew around me, sending chills over my skin. The 30th of December was right around the corner. Calliope stood in front of the Bentley, a white fur jacket hanging over her shoulders. She glanced back at me. Her eyes narrowed, and without a word, she moved to step into the car as Monk opened the door for her. With Dino and the others here, he’d been pushed back down to a driver. Stepping forward, I pushed the door closed before she could get in.
She sighed. “Really?”
Reaching in, I cupped the side of her face. “You annoy the fuck out of me sometimes.”
“Same—”
Bringing her lips to mine, I kissed her, and like always, she kissed me back, her tongue entering my mouth. Her body pressed against mine; I could feel her nipples harden through her dress. Pulling back, I glared down at her.
“Go change.”
“No.”
“Who’s turning down an olive branch now?”
“Punish me for it tonight. We’re late, and the longer you keep me in the cold, the worse it gets.”
“Damn you.”
She smirked. “So, it was you cursing me.”
“I’m sure I’m not the only one,” I muttered, nodding for them to open the door for us.
It was only when we were inside that she placed her hand in my mine and said, “but yours is the only one I care about. Now, come on so I can tell you the game plan.”
The fact that I loved her fucking annoyed me.
2
“I have a meanness inside me,
Real as an organ.”
~Gillian Flynn
CALLIOPE
The last year had been the best year of my life. It was like a dream, like everything I had ever wanted but didn’t know how to make a reality. I finally had everything. I stepped outside in the best clothes, shoes, jewels, with the very best man on my arm. We stood proud and tall in front of cheers, applause and flashing cameras. Our photos would be reprinted on magazine covers and delivered to every home in the city… the country even. Anything I wanted was mine with a mere whisper. When I stepped into a room, everyone turned their heads and gave me their attention, whether they wanted to or not. Even my step-father, mother
, and sisters could no longer ignore me. They had gotten better at hiding their obvious hate and fear and become good little puppets. Ethan’s family, too. Everyone had fallen in line.
And on top of that, the greatest gift of all was my daughter, who was finally happy. She was free to call for her father or me, and free to call herself a Callahan.
Yes, that was perfection…but perfection was an illusion, too. Under this great façade of family and luxury was blood. Some I had spilled. Some that had been spilled long before me. It seeped out and poured from every corner, crack, and opening that I touched or walked upon or entered. How did I not lose my mind? How did I keep smiling? How did I keeping going despite the blood that coated my hands—no, it wasn’t just my hands at this point; I was covered head to toe in blood. But I kept going because so did everyone else. This world was a graveyard, and those who lived did so to dance on the dead.
“Oh, but I didn’t kill anyone,” some of them would say, as if they were less of a monster, as if they didn’t see those who did kill and turn their gazes. As if they didn’t live in a great nation that had become a great nation on the brutalization of the weak and the powerless. As if they did not know they lived in privilege brought to them by someone with bloody hands.
Was I a monster?
Because I killed and lied to get here.
Was I a monster?
No. I was not.
I was like them. Weak until I decided not to be weak. Powerless until I decided not to be powerless. Covered in blood as they were or their grandparents or their great grandparents.
I was not a monster.
I was something far worse.
I was human.
I was put on this earth to fight it out to get to the top, against other humans, so I would not feel ashamed. I would not regret it. I would not even wash the blood off my hands. Yes, this was me. And no matter how evil, cruel, or ruthless anyone thought me to be…they were still going to turn their head and give me respect. Because they knew, deep down, what kind of person you were didn’t matter so long as you were at the top.
