Coming to Terms
Dante was completely skeptical. Trinity had died thirty- three years ago tragically-at the edge of the sword by a Nero Angelo. How could she be asking for him? Still, he was cynical of his own skepticism-and it was this skepticism that compelled him from the house that he turned into a sanctuary to seek refuge from the outside world.
It was utterly impossible for Trinity to be alive.
By the time he'd fastened the buttons on his jacket, he'd convinced himself that he was leaving the house solely to find out who this imposter was, not because there was an inkling of hope in him that Trinity might be still alive.
Alerting Trish to his whereabouts would do nothing but waste his time- despite her thinking there was a need to accompany him. Though he'd never ventured far from the property more than a few times, he was no invalid: he may have been psychologically touched, but he was not geographically stupid.
The echoing drags of the weather-swelled front doors moaned throughout the home as he slipped through like a shadow in the night. A gust of chilly late-afternoon wind caught him by surprise and he squinted at the setting sun in the distance. With a slight bit of awkwardness, he started down the front steps in such a hurry his staff barely managed to get a grip of the steps beneath him and he stumbled down a few before safely reaching the head of the driveway.
He didn't know why, but his heart pounded in his chest like a distant drum, each beat coinciding with the constant clicking of his staff that barely grazed the ground. He thought himself naïve by the time he'd reached the front gate, tugging in his ignorance before realizing that he had to thrust out to open it. He was just that unfamiliar.
As his first time in months to completely leave his property and officially be in the street among the public, he glanced around him anxiously at the polite strangers that bid him good evening or tipped their hats at him. Never the least bit courteous, he ignored most greetings simply because his mind was racing. He couldn't get to the south side of Orléans fast enough. What if 'Trinity' had gone? What if it was not whom he thought it to be?
Another disadvantage was that he was not fluent in French-thus it was near impossible for him to read the street signs and avenues. He noted a few city workers upon ladders lighting the kerosene lamps in the streets and storeowners closing shop for the day. As foreign as the customs were, he was in no mood to be culturally educated. He was a while yet from the south side of Orléans and dusk would be upon him soon.
Just as he'd stepped from the curb into the street, a careless taxi nearly knocked him over. Irate, he looked up fiercely at the driver and swung his staff violently against the side of the car to get his attention. Frightened, the driver jumped.
The driver immediately started to babble off in French but Dante interrupted him quickly.
"English!"
"Monsieur, I am sorry! Où est-il que vous voudrait aller?"
Thinking that perhaps his unpleasant encounter with the taxi was suddenly best, he climbed aboard ignoring the hand of assistance that the driver offered him. Dante thought hard, and in his best-broken French, requested that the man take him to the south side of Orléans. Then he added contrary of what was expected of him, "s' il vous plait." A bit disgusted at Dante's rudeness, the driver drove off with a solemn expression on his mustached face.
Dante stood lazily leaning against a building corner, staring with fierce eyes at the cluttered mass of homeless denizens across the street. None of the faces belonged to Trinity. Obviously he had wasted his time on a whim. Considering all things tended to halt short of dusk, he figured he'd better leave now before he'd have to foot it home.
He stepped out from the corner and flicked the butt of a cigarette into a nearby puddle of water, jutting his arm into the street to flag down an approaching taxi. The only thing he liked about Orléans was the extra long cigarettes. The driver slowed to the curb.
"Excusez-moi, monsieur. Avez-vous un moment??" Came a feminine voice from behind him. In his agitation, he didn't even turn around to face the voice. Instead, he waved the person away.
"English."
"In that case, would you mind if I caught this ride with you?" It came to Dante as a true surprise that the person behind him spoke English so fluently. He turned around to have a look at the woman and almost immediately she locked eyes with him.
Those eyes, coal black, had been defeated long ago by elements and situations unbeknownst to him. She was a fallen Angel, discarded and depressed by time and scarred emotionally by loneliness. Yet it could not be her, a face he'd seen so many times before in his dreams, a face that had faded so much these past years.
But no one could match those eyes. It had to be her.
Cautious, hopeful, he reached a hand out to touch the possible illusion. When he felt his hand make a physical connection with her face, he could not help but sigh in relief that for once his sanity had not failed him. His eyes danced about excitedly.
"Dante?!" She exclaimed, seemingly skeptical herself. Her voice was quite questioning but Dante's was not.
"Trinity…!"
Now he was almost completely certain. She'd recognized him and he'd felt her. There was no question now she would un- doubtfully follow him. And he would un-doubtfully take her home.
"Trish!" Dante exclaimed, gently beckoning Trinity into the door before him. He pushed in the door behind him and called again loudly, waiting for her to respond.
"What, Dante?" Her voice was coming from the library (and where is the library?). In his excitement, he started to hurry toward the library as she was exiting and the two nearly collided.
"What's the matter?"
"Trish, Trinity is here, in the foyer…"
Trish felt her face fall. So many years living with his illness she supposed he knew better but here he was coming to her with an unsuspecting ramble about Trinity. She sighed deeply.
"Dante," she started sternly, a lot more so than she expected to sound. "You know that's not true-" Her voice got lost when a tattered figure popped up behind Dante and glared at her. Trish raised her brows in surprise, feeling her bottom jaw loose.
"Dante-who is that?!"
Dante could not hide the excitement in his face as he turned to gently grip Trinity's elbow and urge her forward. "It's Trinity…"
Trinity came forward slowly, as if she were a child and Trish was a stranger, but when she neared, she found Trish retreating as if she were watching a ghost. And in a sense, it was a ghost that she was looking at; Trinity had been alive only in memory for the last 8 years.
"T-Trinity…" Trish greeted, slacked jawed and wide-eyed. And still she could not believe that an angel stood before her, seemingly aged by her less than attractive get up, a beggar, a pauper, a directionless traveler. True to her angelic nature, Trinity nodded humbly before Trish and a pleased smile escaped her. Trish was even more surprised to see that Dante too, that devil, had been smiling the entire time.
"Marvelous home…" She turned to face Dante, reached an arm out to him and he took it greedily, trying to mask his trembling hands with a tight grip. "Constantino Beniot."
Dante nodded. "Trish…take her upstairs…settle her in…feed her. For God's sake. Our angel has returned to us…"
The last out of character statement went unheard to the ears of Trinity, but it did not pass Trish without notice and it displeased her in someway. She saw Trinity upstairs, in silence, neither making an attempt to speak to the other for they were both speechless and uneasy, and time had withered the tolerable relationship they'd had so many years before.
Dante found himself anchored below the grand staircase, watching Trish and Trinity make their way up the stairs and disappear to the right somewhere, and it was not until he heard the groan of the pipes running that he turned away and started for his study. He could not nearly contain his amazement, and he thought to pinch himself or splash water in his face but if he was dreaming, if he was hallucinating, he didn't want to be remembered of what was real. Trish had never before been in his dreams, and they never did last this long. At last God had to have been blessing him. He hobbled into his office to look for his record book, hoping that he could find an address or number to reach Mr. Holland and thank that young man for talking entirely too much. But before he could flip though the pages, Trish rapped on his open door and stepped in, discontent look on her face.
"Dante…"
He looked up.
"I don't know how I feel right now, honestly…"
"I know," he interjected.
"It's like she's a ghost…" She leaned in against the doorframe for support and shook the thought from her head. "If I hadn't of seen her for myself I would think that you--"
Dante shot her a look that quieted her at once. She apologized softly.
"It's never been this real to me before. Where is she?"
"Upstairs…" she replied softly, standing up straight again. Dante nodded.
"Dante, if I could, I just—"
Before she could continue, he threw her the house keys and started to her at the door. "Close up business today, will you? Call that old butler and have him come by and cook."
Trish started at his back as he started up the stairs as steadily as he could. "Mr. Agnew?"
Dante waved her off. "Whatever his name is."
Trish was silent for most of dinner, she was listening, mostly, of Trinity's travels, her amazing and almost fictional tale of heaven and hell, purgatorio and paradisio, but nonetheless true for she was cursed with the inability to lie. She did not find herself eating much either, but Trinity compensated mightily, contributing to the consumption of almost half of what was present. After Mr. Agnew, the aging and French- speaking old gentleman came by at this witching hour for Orléans, she had only been in the background of her and Dante's conversations. She had to admit, by dim chandelier light, Trinity, all washed and dressed, was presently the most fair and beautiful creature the world had come to know. She was never as haunting a beauty as Trish , but Trinity was so very striking and attractive, agreeably stealing the best features from both of her opposing worlds. And it was evident tonight, that Dante was conscious of this, the way her subtle touches make him wither, they way her eyes stole the light of the candles burning and in turn scorched Dante so much it weakened him, and most envied of all, was the way she made him smile. Never laugh, Dante could not laugh—complete joyfulness had been taken from him by years and years of his devilish work, but a smile was the next best thing.
Immediately feeling discarded, and innocently jealous and yet, so thankful for Trinity's return because she had already such a medicinal effect on Dante, she felt it best to steal away to bed. Although she doubted they would notice her absence.
"Goodnight." She said softly, rising to leave. Mr. Agnew took to her plate instantly and nodded her off. "Bonne nuit."
Dante looked up at her finally, but only momentarily as he bid her goodnight and Trinity stole his attention again.
"Goodnight, Trish." Trinity blessed.
It was not until Trish's footsteps faded upstairs that they resumed conversation, an inquisitive Trinity dying to get caught up again. She leaned over to Dante who sat, with his bad leg outstretched and facing her, and patted his knee gently. He flinched slightly at her touch, not because it pained him but because she had such a romantic effect on him she would never know. He tensed up.
"What's happened to your leg, Ace?" She seemed almost concerned, as if the accident had happened just now. He appreciated the tender concern in her gentle face, and shrugged his shoulders.
"You've missed a lot." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and did not read the displeasure on her face. Then, he remembered, beneath the surface of happiness, a puzzle piece was missing. Although he did not wish to disrupt the euphoria of just sitting with her, his ignorance troubled him.
"Do you remember?" He asked, leaning forward on his knees. He knew she would catch his drift.
"Of course I do." Her face was a little pained. "I always wonder what's happened to him."
Dante sat silent momentarily, puffing away on his cigarette, a hand resting on each knee. "Show me where they cut you."
Without haste, eager to comply with her Ace's wishes, she lifted the bottom of her top and exposed the warm flesh beneath. There was a diagonal scar from top right rib cage to left hip, an incision so precise only a thin scar kept the history of her assault. Dante stared at it in astonishment, remembering the day he had his vengeance and his brows furrowed in recollection.
"Tell me what happened, Trinity," he said softly, taking her hand. "What were you doing? Where were you going?"
She dropped her shirt and lapped her legs comfortably. "I was going to church to pray you out of purgatory." Her innocence struck him again. Dante frowned greatly and gently squeezed her hand. He did not know how to show much more compassion, though he wished to physically comfort her. She, oblivious to the hidden emotional magnetism he felt for her, squeezed his calloused hand in gratitude.
"I often wonder what he would have looked like," she started sadly.
Dante blew out a cloud of smoke and smiled crookedly, deciding to keep her in the dark about what he knew. He felt it too soon to possibly burden her with facts, so he approached it indirectly.
"Like me, I suppose. With your hair and eyes."
"Maybe your eyes."
"Maybe both," he suggested.
"Do you suppose he would be tall?"
"Impressive in stature. Quick, nimble…dangerous." Dante was simply pulling the least hinting qualities of Adoni.
"Noble?" She added in a questioning tone, pulling the cigarette out from between his lips. She caught his gaze and he nodded slowly to appease her, never opposing to her extinguishing his cigarette.
"Perhaps."
