Hello everyone! I hope you are all fantastic! Thank you as always for reading and reviewing! I wanted to use this chapter to show you different sides of these characters. Please enjoy!
Chapter 9-
Tap...Tap...Tap...Tap...
The sound of Jeannie's bouncing right foot was the only sound on the upper floor of the Chicago Ballet Studio. She bit her nails, played with her hair, and drummed her fingers along the arm of the large, leather chair she sat in. Anything to keep her from jumping out of her skin. With each passing second, her heart rate rose and her mind raced.
What could he possibly want with her?
Johannes Sabbert was not someone that the dancers liked to encounter. He was the creative and casting director for the Chicago Ballet, and he could hire and fire you within the same breath. He was a debonair man in his early forties. Very distinguished and accomplished, but ruthless. He was only seen when a dancer signed their contract before being spit out to the lead ballet coach, Prudence Callaway. Then, Johannes would disappear, like some mythological creature, only to reaper on opening night. Although his presence was not visible, the dancers always felt his eyes on them. It was like trying to sleep while there was a spider in the room- there was no relaxing or letting down their guard. His office on the top floor was like a chamber of horrors. It was avoided at all costs and if one was called there then their time with the Chicago Ballet was over.
And that is exactly what happened to Jeannie...
She was standing in the shower when it happened. She was so exhausted that she could barely keep her eyes open. Sometime after she had rinsed the last sud of soap from her body she had closed her eyes and had almost fallen asleep on her feet. She'd been standing there so long that the skin on the tips of her fingers had begun to shrivel. "Jeannie, is that you in there?" She barely heard the tiny voice coming from the next shower stall, and at first shrugged it off as something coming from her fatigued mind.
"Jeannie? You okay?"
Her eyes opened tentatively and squinted as she took a step back out of the hot stream of water. She felt uneasy and disoriented, as if she had woken from a long nap. She recognized the meek voice calling out to her to be from Paige Monroe, a classically pretty woman that she was sharing a small apartment with, that overlooked the lake and always smelled of takeout curry and vacuum cleaning. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. After a few empty gargles, her voice finally shoved its way from her lungs, and she called out shakily, "Uhh...yeah...yeah I'm fine."
"You've been in here forever," Paige spoke over the sudden burst of water from her shower head. "Johannes is looking for you."
Jeannie's heart sank at the words. She quickly reached forward and snapped the water off then pressed her forehead against the cool, marble wall. She felt the sting of tears begin to rim her eyes as she tried to come up with any reason...any reason at all... that he could want to see her other than the obvious. But, no matter how hard she tried, nothing surfaced.
It didn't make any sense though. Yes, she had been a little off her game lately, but it was just the adjustment. She had also been sick from the moment she left Gotham, but she was certain it would soon pass, and be nothing to worry about... at least nothing to be cut over. Dancers that were cut were slackers. Nothing could be more untrue of Jeannie Dupree. She was not one to be out done, showed up or over shined. She always felt that she was in competition and had something to prove.
And it was that call to battle that brought her to the amount pain that she was filling in her body now. The moment she walked through the glass doors of the Chicago Ballet Studio, she knew that she had jumped head first into a war. At the Midtown Ballet, she was in terms of skill, head and shoulders above the rest. She hated to admit it, but Jack had been right- it was just a hobby for most of the dancers in Gotham. Something for bored, Ivy League girls to do on their summer vacations. But, in Chicago the competition was stiff. Everyone was just as serious and talented as she was- some even more. Most of these girls had a grit that Jeannie lacked. They had struggled throughout their lives, growing up amongst crime in inner city apartments, fighting for their place. Not in antebellum mansions getting private dance lessons. They appreciated it more. They realized that they were no more special than the one standing next to them.
"Everyone is exchangeable." Those were Johannes' exact words when she signed her contract, then he followed with, "Don't get too comfortable...most don't make it."
So Jeannie worked. She put every bit of energy and passion and fire into every step she took. She wanted it and this was her chance... a once in a lifetime chance. She spent extra time in the studio, she watched her competition, she pushed herself to the very limits. Her muscles were screaming in pain and every movement took considerable effort. Large, black bruises formed on her ankles and the tendons in her thighs and calves felt as if they were going to snap with her next step. She was exhausted...completely and fully exhausted.
Tap...Tap... Tap..
There was a large, mahogany desk in front of her. It would have been impressive had it not been so cluttered. Papers and heavy folders were scattered everywhere. Names of each of the dancers written at the top of each paper with audition scores and lists of strengths and weaknesses. She wondered what was written about her, what flaws had been pointed out. It would have been easy to forget that Johannes was merely a man and not some heartless machine had there not been pictures of his family placed amongst the rubble. There were two pictures of a little boy and a little girl held lovingly in their father's embrace and a picture of a lovely woman with black hair, smiling in the sunlight. It was humanizing and temporarily calming.
It made her think of the rows of mirrors in the basement of the building that the dancers sat at to fix their hair and makeup, and the very last one against the wall that belonged to her. Few mementos made the trip from Gotham along with her: a pressed flower given to her by her high school best friend, a key chain the held the keys to her first car, a worthless teddy bear that Jack won for her at the Bonus Brother's Carnival and Amusement Park, and four pictures.
The pictures were taped to the bottom edge of the mirror. Their corners were worn and a few stray dabbles of stage makeup spotted their colors. But, each of them were loved, admired, and occasionally cried over during pangs of homesickness. There was one of her and her father when she was around six. He sat on the front steps of their home in New Orleans, and she sat on his knee with her head lazily laid back on his shoulder. Then there was a picture of Jack when he was barely eighteen years old. It was a standard picture of all Marines taken before boot camp graduation with American and Marine Corps flags draped in the background. He wore his dress blue uniform and his cheek bones stuck out from thirteen weeks of chow hall grub and rigorous physical training. His lips were pulled into a tight line of false bravery and his eyes were fixed into a, "what the hell did I sign up for?" stare. He looked like a child- not old enough to buy a drink, but old enough to be sent to his death. He looked... afraid.
Next there was a picture of Jack and two of his boot camp buddies at their first duty station in Hawaii, before being deployed. The three men were in a beach bar with stupid Hawaiian shirts on, Jack's being green and blue with little pink palm trees across the chest, with aviator sunglasses and bright, flower leis around their necks. Jack had both arms draped around the shoulders of two big breasted, Navy nurses and a disgustingly young, horny smile stretched across his face. Even though the two women putting their hands on him would make a surge of jealousy rush through her, she loved the way he looked. So happy, so carefree- she wished she had known him back then. He probably didn't walk with a limp when he became overly tired, back then. And, she would wager to bet that back then he wouldn't wake up in a cold sweat, or startle at the slightest unwarned touch. She had found the pictures from boot camp and Hawaii stuffed in a box at the back of his closet. Somehow they found their way into her bags as she packed for Chicago. She wanted to remember him happy, like in the picture with the nurses, instead of angry and heartbroken.
The picture that gave her the most grief though was taken of her a few weeks after they started dating at a charity gala. He was decked out in a tux and her in an evening gown. It was taken while they were both off guard. He was leaned in close, whispering something in her ear and she was in the beginnings of a huge laugh. He looked handsome, and she looked happy. It was a reminder of everything she gave up. At times she wanted to rip it down and tear it into pieces. She felt like the girl in the picture was just a caricature, mocking her for her choices. Stupid, stupid girl.
And now as she was certain that she was about to be dismissed from the fleeting hobby that was so much more important than the handsome man in the pictures, she realized that she had nothing to go back to. If this didn't work out, all of the bridges behind her were burnt and she would do exactly what Jack had said she would do. Look around herself and be alone.
Tap...Tap...Tap... Crack...
The sound of the door opening made Jeannie jump to her feet so hard that she almost tripped into the desk in front of her. She wobbled back and forth and tightly clasped her clammy hands behind her back as she watched Johannes shuffle through the door. As he looked up to her and a bright smile crossed his face, she thought to herself, "he doesn't look so scary." In fact he looked as pleasant and as approachable as he did the night that he offered her a spot in his ballet company. There was no way he was going to let her go...no way.
"I'm sorry, Jeannie," he said, as he crossed the room. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting."
"Oh... no...no... Mr. Sabbert," Jeannie began unstably then her eyes widened and her words began to spew forth with such urgency that she sounded as if she were about to scream. "I am sorry if I haven't been meetin' your expectations. I can work harder. I can put in more hours. Whatever you need me to do..."
"Sit...sit...sit," he chirped as he put his hand up to stop her then stepped in front of her and rested against his desk. "That is not why you are here."
She hesitated for a moment then felt her shoulders drop as she followed his instructions. There was a very big part of her that wanted to shout at him for calling her up to his office without any hint to why. He must have known that going to see him was like being led to the gallows. Why would he purposely put one of his dancers through that stress? Maybe he was an idiot; maybe just an asshole. But, just as those words were about to fall out of her mouth, she crossed her arms and bit down on her bottom lip. "Then why am I here?"
He pursed his lips then looked at her under his brow. "You have been with us for six weeks?"
"Yes."
"You show real promise. Naturally talented, effortless, perfect lines." He raised his eyebrows. "Impressive"
"Thank you." Jeannie gave her most gracious smile.
He then crossed his arms and lowered his voice. "Abigail has fractured her ankle. She will be out for the rest of the season."
She began to rub her palms over the arms of the chair. Abigail was the Prima Ballerina and the title character in the upcoming performance that they were practicing so tirelessly for. If she was out, that meant someone was in. Someone had to fill that spot. "How terrible for Abigail. I hate to hear that," She did her best to hide the hint of excitement that tickled at the end of each word.
"Oh, bullshit," Johannes laughed. "I can see it in your eyes. We can't put on a ballet called "Giselle", without a Giselle. Who better to take that role, than you?"
Her bottom jaw fell forward as she straightened her back. "A-are you offerin' me the role?"
"No." His voice was sharp and to the point. "I'm not."
Idiot or asshole?
Asshole...
"Giselle is a very challenging part," he continued, "she requires someone with follow through and heart. I feel like, since coming here, you act almost bored with the part you have been given."
She looked down at her bruised ankles and felt her cheeks become hot with anger. "I have been workin' very hard. I'm not at all bored."
"You're not completing moves. Your turns are sloppy. Know it or not, you have become complacent.
"I...I..I'm sorry." She kept her eyes turned down. "I've just been on my heels lately. I have been fightin' the flu since comin' here. I feel like I have given my all, but if you think I am not up to standard then I will work harder."
He began to nod. "You will, because as I said, I am not offering you Giselle. You are Giselle. You have no option."
She slowly began to lift her eyes to him. "Really? But... but you just said..."
"I think you are bored, because you are better. I expect more of you, so I am challenging you," he spoke over her. "I want to see a new Jeannie Dupree. I want you to wash away whatever is holding you back. All of those pictures you keep on your mirror- get rid of them. Take them home, throw them away, burn them for all I care. That was your old life. This is your new." He then paused and took a heavy breath. "I and everyone else in the company will be putting our faith in you...don't disappoint."
She released a deeply held breath before standing. "I won't. I promise I won't."
"Thank you, Miss Dupree," Johannes said, as he motioned to the door.
Jeannie held her composure until she heard the door click behind her. A squeal of excitement rushed out of her as she slapped her hand over her mouth and began to jog down the hallway. There had never been a happier moment in her life. All of the work, all of the sacrifice- it finally paid off. And in the moment of complete joy, she realized there was no one she wanted talk to more than Jack.
Since meeting him, Jack had been her go to guy to celebrate the triumphs and grieve the tragedies with. Yes, she would be able to share the news with the friends she had made in Chicago, but there would be deep-seated jealousy behind every congratulation.
He picked her... she's new and he picked her... her rich daddy must have paid him off...she must be sleeping her way to the top.
Her roommate, Paige, would possibly be happy for her. She knew how hard Jeannie worked. But, there was no one in this world that would have been prouder of her, than Jack...or at least that's how he would have felt in the past. She was sure he hated her now. Wished her nothing, but bad things. But, she couldn't help, but wonder where he was, who he was with, what he was doing? And above all...was he happy?
As she bounced into the dressing room, she found it empty with the exception of Paige sitting at her mirror. Her expression was one of worry, as she looked up at Jeannie. "Are you leaving us?"
Jeannie walked down the row of mirrors about to burst with exhilaration. "No...no." She squared her shoulders and hoped for the best. "Abigail is out. He put me in her spot."
Paige's brow pushed downward as she turned in her seat. "You've been here a few weeks?"
"That's right," Jeannie said, as she stood staring down at the pictures taped to her mirror.
"Well congratulations, I guess." Paige dredged up her sweetest voice. She was minimally happy for Jeannie, but couldn't help, but ask herself, why it wasn't her.
"It's okay." Jeannie popped the first picture from its bonds. "You can be mad at me. I would be mad at me too. I really didn't have a choice, though. He said I was Giselle and that I didn't have an option. I think if I had said no, he would have dismissed me," She shrugged and bemusedly shook her head. "Why would I say no anyway?"
"I wouldn't say no either. And, I'm not mad at you." Paige's tone was convincing. "I just think you are stupid."
Jeannie's head snapped in Paige's direction. "Yeah... why so?"
Paige slapped her hands down atop her knees "Look at you. Here you are taking down pictures of this guy you love and cry over at night- don't try to deny it, I know you do. You talk about him all the time and always say how great he is. You are giving him up." She looked around the stark dressing room. "For this?"
"You're here, too."
"When I signed on, Johannes told me the same thing that I am sure he told you, 'That was your old life, this is your new,' so I broke up with my boyfriend- who was very good to me. Quit my job, sold everything I had and immersed myself in this place. I was certain, this was a stepping stone. But, look at me, I'm in my late twenties, my career is almost over, and I'm all alone. I'm here because it is all I have. It's not all you have."
As Jeannie took down the last photo and carefully placed it in a neat pile with the rest, she gave herself a long look in the mirror. "You don't know me very well Paige...and that's not your fault. But, I don't make friends easily." She looked down and began to chew on the inside of her lip. "Since you think I'm stupid and you're my roommate, I guess you should know more about me. This is all I have. It's solid and it's here and it's now." She sheepishly turned to Paige. "My mother is a lunatic... a complete lunatic. She has Bipolar disorder and Schizophrenia and none of it showed up before she had me. When I was three, she tried to kill herself because she thought that she heard voices tellin' her to kill me, and she wanted to stop herself before she went through with it. She spent two years in a mental institution, and then when she came home she completely iced me out and has treated me like shit ever since. I watched my father spend his good years cryin' over her and allowin' her to suck the life out of him. She destroyed everything she touched- her friends, my dad...me." She paused to re-center herself. "I keep people out because I don't want to destroy the people I love. I love Jack and I want him to be happy and it isn't goin' to happen with me. I know this is a lot to unload on you, but you are the one person here I am closest to and I need you to understand."
Paige's face smoothed in sympathy. "Just because your mother is that way, doesn't mean you will be."
"But, what if I am? It's not worth it. I'm fine right here. And, I'm not stupid. I don't think this will last forever. When I am done, I will teach or maybe be like Johannes and run a studio, but I'm not takin' other people down with me. Especially my family... especially Jack"
Paige cocked her head to the side then began to smile. She could see that the cold exterior that her roommate displayed to the world was a protective shell for both herself and the people around her. Jeannie didn't need a pep talk, but rather a supportive ear and for someone to act as if everything was normal. "You know everyone is going to hate you, right?"
Jeannie returned an appreciative grin and chuckled out, "Who cares? I'm the star."
Paige turned back to her mirror and began to pack up for the evening. "That you are princess...lets go home."
Jeannie nodded then picked up the stack of pictures and took a nostalgic look at one of the happier times in her life. A time that was over...
Where is he? Who is he with? What is he doing? And above all...is he happy?
The crack of the stock of Jack's pistol connecting with a skull echoed through the dock house. It was like watching a car wreck. No matter how disgusting or disturbing, you couldn't take your eyes away. This fury in Jack was new. Something that was unleashed since Jeannie's departure. The weeks since she had gone, were bad...very bad. Jack had become angry and violent. It all started immediately after having his heart handed to him, in the backstage of the Midtown Ballet. He promptly found his way to the Bowery Tavern, drank so much that he could barely stand, then broke a pool cue over a drunks head. Then he began chomping at the bit for any gory job he could get his hands on. Jack was usually not one to relish those parts of his job, or draw them out like a cat playing with its prey before killing it. He was never one to shy away from sending a message by breaking an arm or leg...occasionally a jaw. But, when it came to actually killing someone, he was usually more humane. He would be fast and clean, not like this night. Not beating up and taunting of things to come.
"I haven't decided what I am going to do with you yet," Jack said, circling his victim. "Maybe I will put a bullet cleanly in your head, maybe in your heart... or maybe I will give ya a pair of cement shoes and dump you off the side of the dock while you're still alive...decisions...decisions."
The poor, unfortunate soul who had fallen into Jack's clutches this night was named David, an up and coming hitman for a rival mob that was ever encroaching on Sal Valestra's territory. Sal dealt with all vices: drugs, alcohol, sex, gambling. He profited from inflaming man's lowest instincts, and he knew he would be losing business if there was another means that the same services could be provided cheaper. He needed to send a message and David was the best way to do it. He was a favorite of the boss and very young. A high school drop just cusping on eighteen. Targeting him would show no mercy. And Sal knew exactly how to bring forth Jack's best performance. "He is the one who shot that Dupree girl...you remember her right?" Sal was not ignorant of Jack and Jeannie's past and, he had noticed that his favorite trigger man had been like a lion pacing in front of bars since her departure. Picking the right words was like opening the cage door. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn't- either way, it got the job done.
"You think you are just going to come into this part of town and take our business?" Jack shouted as he once again made a blow with his pistol across David's face.
A low guttural groan followed by spitting out a mouth full of blood was all David could muster at the moment. Young, naïve stupidity brought him to his present state. Earlier that night he felt on top of the world, as if nothing could touch him. He should have noticed the slow moving car sooner, but it didn't even perk his interest until he was being dragged inside of it and being stripped of two pistols and a knife. Inexperience made him an easy target for two seasoned killers like Jack and Frankie.
Jack laid a well-placed kick into the young man's stomach then bent down in front of him and grabbed a hand full of his hair, then slowly lifted his head off the ground. "You answer me when I ask you a question."
"I don't even know who you are." It was barely audible and seemed very honest, but for some reason, it enraged Jack.
Jack slammed David's head down on the concrete floor and began to dig into his back pocket for his wallet. He opened it up and dug out a folded up, creased picture. A copy of the same one that used to hang from Jeannie's mirror, taken of them a few weeks into their ill-fated relationship. He opened it up and shoved it into David's line of vision. "You want to know who I am? You remember this girl?" Jack had convinced himself that the real culprit of Jeannie's unceremonious departure was fear. Fear caused by the asshole lying on the floor in front of him. Maybe she would come back if he was gone. He may have been grasping at straws, but it was the only hope of keeping what little sanity he had left. Shit had been piled on Jack's back since childhood, but losing Jeannie was the snapping point.
"I've never seen her before," David said through gasping breaths.
Jack gritted his teeth then barked out, "Let me remind you. You took a shot at her on Seventh Street... lucky for you, you're a shitty shot. Believe me this would be much worse, had you hit what you were aiming for."
David stared up at Jack and could see the rage behind his eyes. He had no doubt that his capture was not only insane, but had every intention on killing him... and more than likely, in a very painful way. "A...a...look man. I don't take jobs that deal with women...you got the wrong guy." It all came out in one pleading gasp.
"I bet you got a girl in your back pocket too," Jack hissed, as he reached for David's wallet and began to thumb through it, throwing cash, little pieces of paper, and one lone condom to the ground. "Well, look at that," he said, as he pulled out what looked like a yearbook photo from a leather fold. He turned it quickly to Frankie who stood in a darkened corner, then began inspecting the little picture of a strawberry blond cheerleader with dimples, and a tiny gap between her front teeth. "She's cute...real cute. I bet her name is Brittany or Amy...something sweet like that. You know, Frankie over there is a real ladies man... maybe now that she is a single gal he will give her a call." He then tossed the picture over his shoulder and stuck the barrel of his pistol against David's temple. "Or better yet, since I had to watch the girl in my wallet lying on the ground bleeding, maybe you should too. She doesn't have a very big smile, maybe I will fix that by carving her ear to ear and letting you watch."
"Come on Jack," Frankie said through a disgusted sneer. He didn't like this side of Jack. He thought he knew him. Jack, at his heart was a good guy. Frankie never thought he would be capable of being so sadistic and blatantly evil. It was worrisome. In their line of business, tragedy often struck. If being broken up with by his girlfriend, would cause this kind of transformation...what would happen if something particularly heinous ever occurred.
What was sleeping inside of Jack Napier?
Jack glanced back to Frankie then stood straight. "Nah, no need to add insult to injury. Who knows what her future has in store for her, but I can promise you, that your days of finger bangin' Miss Rah Rah Rah... are over." He then took one final kick squarely into David's face then pointed his pistol at David's forehead.
David placed a trembling hand in front of his face. "P-please...w-when you kill me, just let my family know... the address is on my driver's license. I-I just don't want my Ma to wonder what happened to me."
The side of Jack's mouth pulled into a half smile. Was this guy kidding? He was about to have a bullet placed in his skull and he wanted Jack to let his Ma know what happened. "Fuck your Ma," Jack said as he pulled the trigger. Immediately the dock house filled with the sickening mixture of the metallic smell of blood and the salty air. Jack took a moment to allow the ringing echo of his fired pistol subside, then he bent down and picked up the tossed aside picture of the cheerleader and David's driver's license and stuck them in his pocket.
Frankie peaked out the door to make sure the coast was clear. A gunshot would hardly be heard amongst the constant clanking and banging of cranes loading cargo onto ships, but a body being dragged to the water was far less inconspicuous. He walked forward and silently put his hands under the arms of David's still twitching body, and began to pull him towards the door.
"What the hell are you doing?" Jack snapped.
"What do you think? We can't just leave him here." Frankie's voice was full of disgust.
"Sal wanted us to send a message; this poor fucker wanted us to let his family know what happened. We can kill two birds with one stone."
"What does that mean?" Frankie dropped the body and backed up.
"We have his address. Let's just dump the body on his doorstep," Jack laughed. "We can stick a cigarette in his mouth for comic relief."
Frankie shook his head and felt his stomach twist. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You use to have some scruples, but now you're like some vicious animal. I may have stood back and watched you torture this guy, but I'm not going to let you pour salt in the wound of innocent people. He paid his debt to us."
A cynical smirk stretched across Jack's mouth as he took a quick glance at his bloodied hands. "Let me ask ya something Frankie...is it lonely up on your pedestal? I mean, since when did you become some compass of morality?"
"You know what I always liked about you, Jack.? Despite your choice of career path, you kept your humanity." He stopped and his eyes narrowed. "She was just a girl. The world is filled with girls just like her. Don't let her turn you into some kind of monster."
Jack clenched his jaw then grabbed a handful of Frankie's shirt. "Because we are friends, I will let that one slide. BUT, if you ever bring her up again I will knock your goddamn teeth out." He then pushed Frankie backwards with on swift shove. "Clean this up...do whatever the hell you want with it. I'll be in the car."
"Yeah, we wouldn't want you to get your hands dirty," Frankie scoffed as he righted himself.
"Don't push me," Jack shouted over his shoulder as he slammed his way out of the dock house.
When Jack had guessed that the girl in the picture was named something like Brittany or Amy, he had guessed wrong. While waiting for Frankie, he took the picture out and got a better look at. On the back the words, "David, I love you. Heather," were scribbled in big, bubbly letters in pink ink. Jack seldom felt guilt after a hit, and that night as he was beating a man's face in and then blowing his brains out, Jack didn't feel a smidgen of it. But, as he looked at the curls framing the pretty girls face, the remorse of his actions began to curdle in his stomach. This girl was no more than sixteen years old and undoubtedly she would be crying into her pillow when her boyfriend, that she cared enough about to confess her innocent, teenage love to on the back of a yearbook photo, didn't call her that night...or the next. She would think that she had been used and thus would begin a distrust that would cause strife in every relationship she would ever have. There would be stories about what an asshole David was. Jack had a girl like that once...and plenty of stories circulating about his antics. He thought of throwing the picture away, but then he decided to hold on to it. He would tuck it away in the back of his wallet and keep it as a reminder of just what he was capable of.
The force he had used was unnecessary and cruel. It wasn't him... whatever he was becoming was not him. David was just a kid.
As always, Frankie didn't take long to dispose of the body. It was weighed down and sunk to the bottom in minutes. Within a week the currents, crabs, and fish would tear it apart and there would be nothing left, but the memory of some punk kid that went missing. His family would contact the police when he wasn't heard from within a few days and eventually, after no clues to his whereabouts turned up, his case would be closed and he would just be another poor soul who was eaten by Gotham City.
Jack pushed the door of his apartment open and was greeted with nothing but darkness. The only illumination was the blinking, red light of his answering machine signaling that most likely his Aunt had called to inquire, once again, about his engagement and when the wedding would be. Those calls had become far too frequent. So far he had been a coward, and avoided the awkward conversation. He didn't want to hear the sympathy in her voice or the following pep talk of, "there's plenty of fish in the sea."
He hit the rhythmically, blinking button, then stood back with crossed arms. The first two messages were from bill collectors. "Mr. Napier, your blah blah blah bill is past due." Then as the third one clicked on, Jack's shoulders fell as he heard a woman's voice. It wasn't his Aunts aging, shaky voice, but rather that of his sister. Always condescending...always with an upswing of annoyance at the end of each word.
"Jack, since you are refusing to answer or return any of our Aunt's calls, I'm assuming that you are either dead or no longer in a state of loving bliss, and too much of a little girl to own up to it. I can only hope you're not hanging by the neck from your shower rod. Surely, someone in your building would be smelling you by now. But, knowing you, you are probably living in a cesspool where the smell of a dead body wouldn't even be noticed.
By the way, it's me, Molly...your sister, just in case you have forgotten. I love you ...please call me."
Jack rolled his eyes as a small laugh escaped his lips. Molly was the equivalent of pulling out, "the big guns," when it came to his Aunt Helen. If she wasn't getting the response she wanted, she would call in Molly. Molly had somehow gotten stuck in Jack's head as his quivering, kid sister, peaking around his shoulder at their mother's casket. At times he found it startling to think that not only had she become an adult, but also a wife and mother. She had a way with Jack. She could get anything she wanted from him. It was her manipulative hold on him that made him avoid her at almost any cost. But, somewhere in the, I'm better than you, connotation of his annoying little sister's voice, he found a familiarity that he suddenly needed more than anything. And against his better judgment, he began to feverishly search through the pile of papers that surrounded his phone for the tiny slip that held her number.
After three rings he fought the urge to slam down to phone. After the fourth ring he felt relief that maybe she wasn't home. And as the fifth and final ring began to jingle in his ear, to his immediate terror, he heard the phone connect.
"Hello." Her voice was irritated and there was the loud cry of a baby in the background that was probably woken by the phone.
"It's me," he said in barely a whisper. "I just thought you should know that I'm not dead."
"You do realize its midnight?"
"Yeah and I'm sorry. Did I wake the baby?"
"Yes, you did, and if you had any idea how hard she is to get to bed, you would realize that I could kill you right now."
"Again, I'm sorry. I will just say goodnight then."
"No...no..." There was a pause and then a little sigh. "She is up now anyway. So how you been, Jack?"
"Uhh...okay I guess," he lied.
"How is the girl? Jeannie? Jenny?"
"Jeannie," Jack answered.
"Have you two set a date yet? Aunt Helen says she comes from money so I assume there will probably be a big wedding?"
Jack remained silent and seriously considered hanging up the phone.
"Jack?" His silence told her everything she needed to know. "What happened?"
The mixture of guilt from his actions earlier that night and his built up grief, swelled inside of him. He didn't even have a chance to attempt to choke it back. Tears began to fall and his voice cracked like a teenager going through puberty. "She left...she left me..."
There was another pause, as if she were trying to find something supportive to say, but she could only come up with, "I'm sorry." Then her protective instincts for her big brother kicked in. "She just left? Just like that?"
"I didn't even get a chance to ask," he managed to croak out. "She told me she was moving to Chicago and that was it."
"Chicago? What's in Chicago?"
Jack smiled through his tears. "Don't laugh, but she is a ballerina and she was signed to a ballet company there."
"She is a what? You were seriously going to marry this girl?"
He covered his face with his free hand and tried to rein his emotions back in. "I loved her, Molly."
Her own voice became shaky at the sound of her brother so heartbroken. He had always been a rock. Her rock. "I know you did."
"I feel like I'm going crazy. Even though she is gone, she is everywhere. I can't even walk into my apartment without having to remind myself that she isn't going to be here. I have to get out of this city."
"Go home."
He smirked. "That is worse than here. Can you imagine me having to explain this to all of the church ladies that Helen has undoubtedly spread the news of my upcoming engagement to? No thank you."
"I'll meet you there. We haven't seen each other since you left for boot camp. It will give you a chance to meet your niece."
"Won't your husband mind?"
She laughed. "Oh please...there are advantages to being married to someone who has more money than they do sense."
"Okay then," he said without really thinking to what he was agreeing to.
"Okay then," she repeated.
He took the phone away from his ear and covered the receiver with his hand.
"I really must be going crazy."
Thanks for reading!