Fear No Fate
Chapter Three: Into The Flames
Tommy stood with his hands in his pockets, staring down into the red and orange flames through thick plumes of smoke, heat rising as they licked over the body of Hans DeNoble.
It had taken a bit to tow the Bentley back to the house. Once the sun had set, Tommy sent the help to bed early. Then he called on Johnny Dogs for assistance, promising the gypsy that he could keep whatever was salvageable, so long as he maintained discretion. Johnny, as always, was eager to comply.
Tommy could hear him now, a cacophony of banging and sawing and yelling, working diligently with John and Arthur to disassemble the fine vehicle until it was nothing but scraps.
While they worked, he had his own job to do. Under the shadow of the garage and the glow of moonlight, Tommy dug a shallow pit in the soft grass. He filled it with firewood, damp and pitchy debris that would smoke enough to mask the stench of burning flesh, and then finally the body. He tossed enough petrol to get a car to Wales and back on the half-arsed funeral pyre, struck a match.
And lit himself a cigarette first.
Tommy rested an elbow on his shovel and stared up at the back of Arrow House as he puffed on the cigarette. Most rooms were dark, but there remained a faint glow of light on the upper level, in the farthest window to the right. There Theodora slept soundly after a proper bath and a small meal.
Should he wake her, give her a chance to say goodbye? She might want to, but maybe not. And besides, getting her down to the grounds would be a chore. Better to get it done as quickly as possible. If the Dutch bastard wanted a proper funeral, he shouldn't have tried to kill his wife.
"Fuck him," Tommy muttered, and after a final drag, tossed the burning cigarette into the pit, stepping back as the fire billowed up and made quick work of the petrol-soaked body.
It was the wee hours of the morning by the time Johnny Dogs left, with a wagon full of scrap metal and a bag of charred bones, and the promise to rid himself of both in a timely manner. John and Arthur had already helped themselves to one of the many empty rooms of Tommy's lonely estate for the night. Polly left hours ago without saying goodbye, no doubt still angry with him.
He would be more apologetic, if she wasn't already perpetually angry with him.
Exhausted and stiff, but far too wired for sleep after the day's events, Tommy made one more stop before taking himself to bed.
He only expected to check in on her for a brief moment, see that she still slept, but when he opened the door she was not in bed. Instead, he found her resting in an armchair before the fireplace, knees to her chest and staring into the flames. She lifted her head when he took a step into the room. "All right?" he asked.
Theo gave a small smile and a nod, gesturing to the chair beside her. Tommy entered the room fully, collapsing into the chair with a sigh. They returned to silently gazing at each other, as they seemed wont to do.
He was right to assume that she was normally very pretty. Theo wore a white cotton nightgown that nicely contrasted tanned skin, and her hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders. Her indigo eye was nearly black in color now in the dimness of the room, like the ocean at night. For the first time, he appreciated the plumpness in her lips as they lifted in another smile. Her cuts appeared far better after a proper cleaning, the largest one at her hairline being the worst. But the bruising…
Each mark had darkened in the time since he last saw her. Blackened splotches along her neck and left eye and jawbone. Her entire head must have ached something awful. "I have morphine, if you…" Tommy trailed off when she shook her head. No then. She wanted to feel her pain. "Tough girl," he admired, to which she scoffed, returning to rest her head on her arms.
He eyed her briefly then exhaled and bent forward. Elbows to knees, he allowed his head to hang, the weight of the decisions he made today resting heavy on his shoulders. When Tommy lifted his head again it was only in surprise, because her hand had found his. Small fingers glided over his calloused skin, gently grasping him palm to palm. He did not pull away but instead laced his fingers through hers. How long since he had felt the soft intimacy of a woman's hand in his own?
He turned his attention to the dying fire, trying to empty his mind of all but the sound of the coals popping and hissing as they cooled, and the feel of her hand in his.
And there they remained, in the quiet comfort of each other, until the first rays of the morning sun stretched over the grassy hills beyond.