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“But there are things I could tell them—”
“You’ve got no proof of any of it,tesoro.All the messes have been cleaned up. After you called into work sick the other day, you probably just took a bit too much cold medicine. It can do all kinds of strange things to the brain, make you think you’re seeing things…”
I hadn’t “called into work”. He’d done that. Or Amadeo had. Or maybe Amadeo had the blonde woman—Greta—call in on my behalf.
“If you’re so adept at covering your tracks, why did you have to take me at all?”
The man shrugged. “I think the boss just wanted to make sure you were safe. Now, you are.”
The cold block of ice in my chest grew, bitter and sharp. “Elio’s dead,” I said, though I already knew it was so.
He nodded, watching me, which made it all the worse when tears welled up in my eyes.
“Don’t feel too bad for the asshole,” the man said. The harshness in his features had softened, and there was no humor in his expression now. “We found a dead woman there with him. What he did to her…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Don’t waste your energy mourning him. He doesn’t deserve it.”
I licked my lips; they felt dry, like the tears had drawn all the moisture from the rest of me.
“Elio…” I had to stop and swallow to make my throat work. “Elio killed her? The woman?”
He nodded. “He won’t be hurting anyone ever again. That includes you,” he inclined his head toward me.
I was supposed to be grateful, or at the least, relieved. I could feel the expectation of it in the air between us.
But death did not bring me relief. Perhaps I’d spent too much time battling it to find relief in its victory now.
The man shook his head after a moment and drew himself up straighter. “Come on,” he said, motioning to the door once again. “I’ll take you home.”
Home.It was really over. That at least should have brought some modicum of relief.
I followed him to the door but paused, glancing back at the room—Amadeo’s room—then back to the big, bald man who now stood in the hallway.
“Where’s Amadeo?” I asked, wondering if this was his way of making it clear to me how insignificant I was to him. After the things he’d said, it did seem likely.
“He’s a busy man,” the man said, watching me like he’d done before.
Busy? Well, that was fine. The busy tosser could rot in hell for all I cared.
***
It was strange that so much could happen, and yet, everything remained the same.
The worn armchairs in the sitting room looked as cozy as I'd left them. The faux flowers on the tiny kitchen counter hadn’t changed a bit. There wasn’t even a fresh layer of dust on the flat-screen television that had sat nearly untouched since I’d purchased it six months ago. Unchanged. Undisturbed.
My home was a reflection of me, and yet, it bore no signs of being shaken and stirred and set back down, still reeling.
I felt out of sync here as I stood in my miniscule kitchen, looking over the neat row of clear tea jars on the counter. Chamomile to help with a good night’s sleep; peppermint for a morning pick-me-up.
I wondered which tea one might take to combat “recently kidnapped and dumb enough to have sex with her kidnapper”. Maybe I could blend it with a tea for “your ex-lover was just murdered” and be feeling right as rain in no time?
I picked up the jar of chamomile tea, the earthy scent stirring up memories from long ago.
“It doesn’t smell very good, mum,” I say, scrunching up my nose as the steam from the steeping camomile tea wafts across my face.
She laughs. “Well, perhaps not, but it does wonders to settle your father’s mind.”
My little brow furrows. “Like when my tummy hurts and you give me that drink to settle it?”
She nods as she squeezes a dollop of honey into the teacup.
