The Night the Lights went out in Boston
(By Mara)

Contains: mentions of domestic abuse, child abuse, and murder

The ceiling fan spun, around and around, without ceasing, with a squeaking sound coming from the rusty machine. The TV played clips of a pastor giving a sermon, but no one was listening.

Angelica lay upon the bed which was meant to be a guest bed, yet there were never any guests to use it anyway, and her three youngest sons lay beside her, all asleep. Her youngest son, Joey, had fallen asleep against her arm, and every now and again, Angelica would sweep her fingers through his soft head of hair. The TV's light illuminated the tear stained face of the boy, as well as his black eye.

She could only stare at him, the worry twisting in her gut with the burning acid of anger. She couldn't do this to him— to any of her boys. She had to get out, but how?

Her husband's bear-like snores could be heard from the next room, and Angelica feebly reached for the remote to turn up the TV's volume. She loved him in the beginning, once, but time and years of abuse had worn down her heart, and now she was sick of him. He made lots of money at his 'job', he said, and she and their children should be grateful because they weren't going hungry. But despite all the money he was supposedly making, they were still poor, and when they did get money he would use it for gambling and drinking. 'Grateful' wasn't at all the word Angelica would use to describe how she felt.

She could take a beating, she was no stranger to the blows of someone larger than herself. Yet her children were not, and she never wanted them to experience being hurt by someone they should trust, never in a million years. But here she was now, comforting her poor youngest boys after their father went ballistic quite literally over spilled milk. Angelica knew that no Prince Charming on a white horse would save her and her seven children, so she had to do it herself. Somehow…

Over the loud snoring in the next room and the buzz of the television, Angelica's ears caught the sound of feet. They were light, nearly silent, and Angelica wondered if it was perhaps one of her older boys. But when she sat up to look out into the hallway, she could see the shape of someone tall and thin, and the glint of a weapon in their hand.

Angelica's heart dropped into her stomach, and with shaking hands, she retrieved a knife from the drawer of the bedside table and clutched it in her soft hands, glancing back at her sons to make sure they were sleeping soundly before rising and padding to the hallway, slowly and quiet as a mouse.

Her shaky hands gripped the knife's handle tighter as she followed the intruder soundlessly, watching as he paused by one of the kids' bedrooms in the darkness. Slowly, the intruder pushed the door open to peek inside, and this was when Angelica struck.

She grabbed the man's shoulder, wrapping her arm around to hold the knife against his neck, and she hissed into his ear, "You messed with the wrong ma, you fuckin' creep. I'm gonna fuckin' kill you if you don't leave,"

The man froze, and he put his hands up, saying in a calm voice, "Madame, I am not here for you or your children," he spoke in a foreign accent, one which Angelica recognized as French. "I'm only here to see your husband. Is he here?"

Angelica's grip loosened slightly. "Why?"

"Well, if you must know," he sighed, holding up the gun in his hand. "I've come to speak to him about his crimes. Just allow me to do this, and you and your children will be spared,"

There was a long pause. Angelica finally broke away from the man, her eyes trying to make out his face in the darkness. "Are you…?" She began, and then swallowed. "Are you gonna kill my husband?"

"I am, Madame," he nodded. "However, you will be fine as long as you do not call the police, it's nothing personal,"

"No," Angelica grabbed his wrist. There was another silence, and Angelica inhaled deeply. "He…he sleeps with a gun under his pillow. If you're gonna kill him, do it fast so he won't get you first,"

The man pulled his hand away, and although Angelica couldn't see his expression in the dark, she could tell he was smiling. "Why, Madame: are you allowing me to kill your spouse?"

"Please," Angelica nearly begged. "You gotta…he's beatin' me and my kids. If he dies, we're free,"

The man nodded, understanding. "Of course, Madame. Now please: which room is his?"

Angelica pointed to the door on the right, and the man turned accordingly. He pushed open the already ajar door, stepping in quietly and making his way to the bed where Joe slept. She watched silently, unable to move as the man moved above her sleeping husband, the only light in the darkness the streetlights from outside. She could vaguely see the man's gloved hands as they slipped the gun into his pocket and effortlessly replaced it with a knife, one which he lowered down swiftly.

Angelica did not see her husband die, but she heard the surprised gagging sounds once his throat was slit and the gurgling noises as he struggled to breathe through the gushing blood. The man stabbed him repeatedly, holding him still until the retching noises stopped and no more air left his body.

There was a long silence, and then the man slowly rose up from the lifeless body on the bed. "He's dead," He called, turning on his heel and approaching Angelica. "What would you like to do with the body?"

"I…" Angelica swallowed, feeling numb yet…free. "Um…p-put him in the incinerator. It's in the basement— here, let me help you,"

She helped the man, the hit man who had murdered her husband, take the body from the bed and down to the basement, where they shoved him into the incinerator with all the garbage and slammed the door. Once this was done, Angelica took the bloodied sheets from the bed and cleaned up all the mess, wiping down every surface to leave no evidence.

It was 2 AM once they'd finished disposing of everything, and they sat at the table while Angelica poured some wine for them both.

"Well, Miss Angelica," he took the wine glass, sipping from it. "You certainly are not what I was expecting, but I am pleasantly surprised. You're a strong woman,"

Angelica just smiled, taking a sip of the wine. "Thank you. I don't always feel strong," she swirled the liquid around in her glass, looking away. "I just…I just wish I could have done this shit sooner, I guess,"

"Do not worry about that, it's all over now," he assured her, and his voice was like honey to her. She could see him in the light, now, and he was gorgeous.

She stared at him for a moment, and then asked, "What's your name?"

He was silent for a while. Finally, he answered, "Call me 'Spy' for now,"

Angelica raised an eyebrow, a little amused. "For now?"

"Once we get to know each other better, I'll trust you with that information," he explained, setting the wine glass down. "Now: with your husband gone, how will you be finiacially?"

"Well…" Angelica thought for a moment. "I'm unemployed, I guess I'll have to get a job. And fast, too,"

"Don't worry," he assured her, touching her hand gently. "I will take care of you and your children in the meantime. Take your time, search for a job, all will be well,"

Angelica almost wept from it all. "Oh, God…you— you're an absolute angel,"

Spy could only chuckle. "Why, that's a first. Normally I'm a devil, to some,"

"No, you're an angel," she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying into him and holding him close. "Thank you— thank you for everything,"

There was a long pause, and he held her back, firmly yet comfortingly. "You're the strongest woman I know," he whispered to her, and she held him tighter.

"Please don't leave tonight," she begged, her voice soft as she pressed close. "Please: I need you,"

Spy pulled away, and he took her hand. "Of course, Miss Angelica, l'll stay the night. But I will need to leave the next morning, to speak to my higher ups,"

"Will you come back?"

"If you want me to,"

Angelica squeezed his hand, leading him upstairs. "Yeah. Yeah, I do,"