Revenge
Chapter 54
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"How you doing? You need to stop and rest?" Trisha asked him as she noticed the grimace on his face and a fine film of sweat along his brow.
"Just for a minute, okay?" he asked, out of breath. She helped him to sit on the step outside of her apartment and sat alongside him, a hand gently rubbing his back.
"Take as long as you need," she told him, catching her breath as well.
"I didn't realize how out of shape I was," he told her, embarrassed.
"You are not out of shape, Maurice. You've been through a lot and your body needs to rejuvenate," she assured him, catching site of that look he had that always got to her. He never even knew it got to her and she couldn't really describe it. It was just a quick glance of vulnerability and it took her breath away every time. She looked at him and hoped that their baby would look just like him.
"Hey," he repeated, breaking her out of her daydream. "You okay?"
"What? Yeah. I'm fine. Ready to try again?" she said, flustered. She started to stand up, but he took hold of her arm and pulled her back down.
"What?" she said, fearing that he'd done too much and shouldn't have left the hospital this soon.
"Are you okay?" he asked her, concern all over his face.
"Me? I'm fine," she assured him, laughing off his concern.
"What happened the other day? When you passed out. You haven't looked good for the last few days. I'm worried about you," he told her, putting a hand on her cheek and preventing her from looking away from him.
"Maurice," she said, covering his hand with hers. "I'm fine. I told you what the doctor said. I'm just run down. As a matter of fact, they did blood work when I was in the ER and told me I'm anemic," she said, telling him only part of the truth. "In fact, I have a prescription for vitamins and I have to eat things with more iron." He leaned over and kissed her.
"You're sure?" he asked.
"I'm sure. Now, c'mon. Let's get you upstairs," she said. "I'll even let you use the elevator this time," she teased, helping him to his feet and into the front door.
"Geez, you're all heart," he said, trying not to lean on her too much.
As they made their way down the hallway after getting off the elevator, she pulled her keys out of her pocket. Opening the door, they paused in the doorway. "Okay, bed or couch?" she asked him.
"Couch. I'm sick of beds," he told her. They took a few steps and he flopped down on the couch as he lost his balance. He landed hard and drew in a sharp breath.
"Maurice! Are you alright?" Trisha asked him.
"I'm fine. I just moved too fast," he told her, pulling her down alongside him. They both sat for a few minutes, regrouping.
"I missed you," he said, putting his hand on her thigh.
"Why, Maurice Boscorelli. Are you getting ornery?" Trisha said as he moved his hand higher on her leg.
"Must be the antibiotics," he said, pulling her closer to him.
"More like the lack of oxygen to your brain after that hike from the car," she teased him, making him laugh.
"Could be," he sighed. "Could be."
"Tired?" she asked as he leaned his head back against the couch.
"A little," he answered and looked over at her. "Okay. A lot," he confessed.
"Well, why don't you let me get you into the bedroom and while your taking a nap I can go to the pharmacy and get your prescriptions filled," she suggested.
"Nah. You go ahead, but I'm gonna hang here on the couch, maybe catch a game. Those television stations in the hospital suck!" he noted.
"Okay, but don't move off the couch. I don't want to have to worry about you falling or anything. You want me to call someone and have them come over?" she added as an afterthought as she stood up.
"What, like a babysitter? No thanks," he said. "I promise I'll be good. Don't forget to get your vitamins too," he reminded her. He thought for a moment as he watched her go to the front door and open it.
"Vitamins and more iron, eh? Faith had to do that when she was pregnant with Charlie," he told her. Just as she closed the door, he noticed a funny look on her face and his stomach jumped.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
"I'd like to see Mr. Jarvis," Trisha requested to the man that had greeted her at the front door of the funeral home.
"Is he expecting you, Ma'am?" the man asked.
"Not really, but he knew I'd be stopping in at some point. My name is Linda Watkins. I'm here about the Peterson burial," she said, sadness once again enveloping her.
"Very well, have a seatt right in here," he said, showing her to an office. "I'll tell Mr. Jarvis that you're here. It may take a couple of minutes. I think he's on the phone with another family."
"That's fine. Thank you," Trisha said.
She looked around the room, noticing the framed certificates and licenses. Finally, settling into a leather chair across the desk from where she assumed Mr. Jarvis sat, she waited only another couple of minutes when an elderly, white-haired man came in.
"So sorry to keep you waiting Ms. Watkins," Mr. Jarvis said, taking her hand and giving her his look of sympathy at her loss.
"No problem. Thanks for seeing me. Have you retrieved my..., friend's remains yet?" she asked him.
"Yes, just this morning. Now, I understand that you don't wish any wake or funeral services, just the burial arrangements. Is that correct?" he asked, pulling out a notepad to write down any requests she may have.
"Yes. I don't think that, under the circumstances of his death, anyone would want to attend any services. He doesn't have any surviving family anyway," she added.
"Very well. Then, do you have a cemetery and plot chosen for him, or do you need me to take care of that as well?" the man asked.
"Um, I guess I'd need you to take care of that as well," she said. "I was wondering, Mr. Jarvis, if it would be possible to have a moment with him - you know, to say good-bye?" she asked.
"Well, of course. But, I'm afraid that he's down in our preparatory room right now. If you'd like to come back, I'm sure that we can have him brought upstairs in more appropriate surroundings. You know, I'm sure, that he was burned very badly in the fire, so you probably won't want to view him," he said, trying to be as delicate as possible.
Trisha's breath caught. She'd never really thought about that before - that he was burned alive - even though he may have been unconscious - he was still alive.
"Are you alright, Ms. Watkins?" Mr. Jarvis asked, noticing the paleness of her face.
She swallowed hard. "Yes. I understand. You don't need to prepare him, or bring him upstairs. The room you have him in is fine. I don't need to see him, just to say 'good-bye.' You understand," she said, gripping her pocketbook strap more tightly.
"Absolutely," he answered. "Would you like to take care of the paperwork and such first, or should I take you to him now?"
"Um, we can finish up here first," she answered, opening her pocketbook and taking out the envelope of money she'd withdrawn from her bank on the way over.
"Very well. Just let me get the prices and total this up for you," he said, standing up and taking a folder out of the file cabinet behind him. "I'm assuming that you want just the standard casket? Or would you like him cremated and put in a standard urn?" he asked, turning around with the folder and taking his seat again.
"Um, whatever you think is best," she said, swallowing hard again as she tried to keep her emotions in check.
"Very well, then," he said, using his adding machine. He gave her the total and was slightly taken aback when she produced the full amount in cash.
"I hope that's alright. I went to my bank on the way over," she said, noticing the look she'd received. "And, I trust, as I said, that this will remain confidential? I just don't want the publicity. You understand," she said.
"Absolutely, Ms. Watkins. I understand completely," he said, remembering the stories in the paper surrounding the deceased's crimes. "Now that we've completed this, are you ready to go downstairs?" he asked, standing up.
"Yes, I suppose I am," Trisha answered, standing and feeling her legs shake. She took a moment and then, offering up a false smile said, "I'm ready."
She followed Mr. Jarvis to the stairs and down into the basement area of the funeral home. "Okay, he's just in here. Let me just check to make sure that everything's all set and then I'll come back out and get you, alright?"
Trisha nodded and watched Mr. Jarvis disappear behind a door. A moment later, he came back out. "Ready?" he said, taking her arm at the elbow and guiding her in.
Her nose was assaulted by the odor first and then she took in the tools and cabinets in her surroundings. She looked at the covered body that lay on the steel table and reached out to steady herself on Mr. Jarvis' arm.
"Okay?" he asked after a moment, ready to get her out of the building before she passed out right there.
"Could I..., um..., have just a moment?" she managed to get out.
"You're sure?" he asked with concern. She nodded. "Alright. I'll be just outside when you're ready," he said, leaving her and closing the door behind him.
Trisha stood for a moment and then gradually took a few steps toward the table where her stepbrother lay. Tears escaped down her cheeks as she drew in a ragged breath, trying to hold on to the last of her emotions. Unsuccessful, her tears continued to escape and soft sobs shook her shoulders. "Paul," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that I wasn't able to help you. Sorry that I let everything go so far. I've fallen in love with him, Paul. I'm sorry, but I can't help it. He makes me happy and we're going to have a baby," she said through her tears. She leaned forward, supporting herself on the edge of the table. Against her better judgement, she was unable to fight the urge to look at him one last time and thank him for taking care of her as she grew up.
She pulled the cover back from his face and drew in a sharp breath. There was some soot on his face, but overall, it remained untouched by the flames and she was thankful for that. She could tell that just below his shoulders was where the burned tissue was and she didn't pull the cover back any further. She put a hand on his cold cheek and leaned down to give him a kiss good-bye. "I love you, Paul. I'm so sorry," she said, putting the cover back and turning to leave the room.
Mr. Jarvis was waiting on the other side of the door and was immediately concerned by the look on her face and lack of color in her cheeks. "Ms. Watkins, are you alright?" he asked, taking hold of her at the elbow again.
"Yes. I'm sorry. It just got to me. I'm sorry," she apologized, trying to gather herself.
"Quite understandable, dear," he said. "Let me show you back upstairs." He led her back up the stairs and walked out with her to the Bosco's car. After helping her into the car, he said, "I'll be in touch with you when everything's been completed and let you know where he is buried. You'll be okay to get home?"
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Jarvis. You're very kind," Trish said, shaking the man's hand.
"I'll be in touch," he said, releasing her hand and watching her drive away.
Trisha drove to the corner, out of sight of the old man, and pulled to the curb. There, she let the rest of her sobs out and, when she was finished, she drove to the pharmacy to get Bosco's prescriptions, as well as her own, filled.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
She walked into the apartment and looked at the couch, expecting to see Maurice asleep with the remote in his hand. She was startled when she saw that he wasn't there.
She rushed to the back of the apartment to see if he'd gone into the bedroom and he wasn't there either. She rushed back up the hallway, checking in the bathroom to see if he was in there, but he wasn't.
She came out of the hallway and stopped in her tracks when she saw him sitting at the table near the bookshelves just staring back at her with a sad and shocked look on his face. Her eyes moved from his face to the book he was looking at and her stomach flipped as she realized that the photo album with her stepbrother that she'd been looking through a few days ago was still on the table. Paul's face was staring up at Maurice.
"What the hell is this?" came the question from Bosco in almost a whisper.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TBC...
Chapter 54
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"How you doing? You need to stop and rest?" Trisha asked him as she noticed the grimace on his face and a fine film of sweat along his brow.
"Just for a minute, okay?" he asked, out of breath. She helped him to sit on the step outside of her apartment and sat alongside him, a hand gently rubbing his back.
"Take as long as you need," she told him, catching her breath as well.
"I didn't realize how out of shape I was," he told her, embarrassed.
"You are not out of shape, Maurice. You've been through a lot and your body needs to rejuvenate," she assured him, catching site of that look he had that always got to her. He never even knew it got to her and she couldn't really describe it. It was just a quick glance of vulnerability and it took her breath away every time. She looked at him and hoped that their baby would look just like him.
"Hey," he repeated, breaking her out of her daydream. "You okay?"
"What? Yeah. I'm fine. Ready to try again?" she said, flustered. She started to stand up, but he took hold of her arm and pulled her back down.
"What?" she said, fearing that he'd done too much and shouldn't have left the hospital this soon.
"Are you okay?" he asked her, concern all over his face.
"Me? I'm fine," she assured him, laughing off his concern.
"What happened the other day? When you passed out. You haven't looked good for the last few days. I'm worried about you," he told her, putting a hand on her cheek and preventing her from looking away from him.
"Maurice," she said, covering his hand with hers. "I'm fine. I told you what the doctor said. I'm just run down. As a matter of fact, they did blood work when I was in the ER and told me I'm anemic," she said, telling him only part of the truth. "In fact, I have a prescription for vitamins and I have to eat things with more iron." He leaned over and kissed her.
"You're sure?" he asked.
"I'm sure. Now, c'mon. Let's get you upstairs," she said. "I'll even let you use the elevator this time," she teased, helping him to his feet and into the front door.
"Geez, you're all heart," he said, trying not to lean on her too much.
As they made their way down the hallway after getting off the elevator, she pulled her keys out of her pocket. Opening the door, they paused in the doorway. "Okay, bed or couch?" she asked him.
"Couch. I'm sick of beds," he told her. They took a few steps and he flopped down on the couch as he lost his balance. He landed hard and drew in a sharp breath.
"Maurice! Are you alright?" Trisha asked him.
"I'm fine. I just moved too fast," he told her, pulling her down alongside him. They both sat for a few minutes, regrouping.
"I missed you," he said, putting his hand on her thigh.
"Why, Maurice Boscorelli. Are you getting ornery?" Trisha said as he moved his hand higher on her leg.
"Must be the antibiotics," he said, pulling her closer to him.
"More like the lack of oxygen to your brain after that hike from the car," she teased him, making him laugh.
"Could be," he sighed. "Could be."
"Tired?" she asked as he leaned his head back against the couch.
"A little," he answered and looked over at her. "Okay. A lot," he confessed.
"Well, why don't you let me get you into the bedroom and while your taking a nap I can go to the pharmacy and get your prescriptions filled," she suggested.
"Nah. You go ahead, but I'm gonna hang here on the couch, maybe catch a game. Those television stations in the hospital suck!" he noted.
"Okay, but don't move off the couch. I don't want to have to worry about you falling or anything. You want me to call someone and have them come over?" she added as an afterthought as she stood up.
"What, like a babysitter? No thanks," he said. "I promise I'll be good. Don't forget to get your vitamins too," he reminded her. He thought for a moment as he watched her go to the front door and open it.
"Vitamins and more iron, eh? Faith had to do that when she was pregnant with Charlie," he told her. Just as she closed the door, he noticed a funny look on her face and his stomach jumped.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
"I'd like to see Mr. Jarvis," Trisha requested to the man that had greeted her at the front door of the funeral home.
"Is he expecting you, Ma'am?" the man asked.
"Not really, but he knew I'd be stopping in at some point. My name is Linda Watkins. I'm here about the Peterson burial," she said, sadness once again enveloping her.
"Very well, have a seatt right in here," he said, showing her to an office. "I'll tell Mr. Jarvis that you're here. It may take a couple of minutes. I think he's on the phone with another family."
"That's fine. Thank you," Trisha said.
She looked around the room, noticing the framed certificates and licenses. Finally, settling into a leather chair across the desk from where she assumed Mr. Jarvis sat, she waited only another couple of minutes when an elderly, white-haired man came in.
"So sorry to keep you waiting Ms. Watkins," Mr. Jarvis said, taking her hand and giving her his look of sympathy at her loss.
"No problem. Thanks for seeing me. Have you retrieved my..., friend's remains yet?" she asked him.
"Yes, just this morning. Now, I understand that you don't wish any wake or funeral services, just the burial arrangements. Is that correct?" he asked, pulling out a notepad to write down any requests she may have.
"Yes. I don't think that, under the circumstances of his death, anyone would want to attend any services. He doesn't have any surviving family anyway," she added.
"Very well. Then, do you have a cemetery and plot chosen for him, or do you need me to take care of that as well?" the man asked.
"Um, I guess I'd need you to take care of that as well," she said. "I was wondering, Mr. Jarvis, if it would be possible to have a moment with him - you know, to say good-bye?" she asked.
"Well, of course. But, I'm afraid that he's down in our preparatory room right now. If you'd like to come back, I'm sure that we can have him brought upstairs in more appropriate surroundings. You know, I'm sure, that he was burned very badly in the fire, so you probably won't want to view him," he said, trying to be as delicate as possible.
Trisha's breath caught. She'd never really thought about that before - that he was burned alive - even though he may have been unconscious - he was still alive.
"Are you alright, Ms. Watkins?" Mr. Jarvis asked, noticing the paleness of her face.
She swallowed hard. "Yes. I understand. You don't need to prepare him, or bring him upstairs. The room you have him in is fine. I don't need to see him, just to say 'good-bye.' You understand," she said, gripping her pocketbook strap more tightly.
"Absolutely," he answered. "Would you like to take care of the paperwork and such first, or should I take you to him now?"
"Um, we can finish up here first," she answered, opening her pocketbook and taking out the envelope of money she'd withdrawn from her bank on the way over.
"Very well. Just let me get the prices and total this up for you," he said, standing up and taking a folder out of the file cabinet behind him. "I'm assuming that you want just the standard casket? Or would you like him cremated and put in a standard urn?" he asked, turning around with the folder and taking his seat again.
"Um, whatever you think is best," she said, swallowing hard again as she tried to keep her emotions in check.
"Very well, then," he said, using his adding machine. He gave her the total and was slightly taken aback when she produced the full amount in cash.
"I hope that's alright. I went to my bank on the way over," she said, noticing the look she'd received. "And, I trust, as I said, that this will remain confidential? I just don't want the publicity. You understand," she said.
"Absolutely, Ms. Watkins. I understand completely," he said, remembering the stories in the paper surrounding the deceased's crimes. "Now that we've completed this, are you ready to go downstairs?" he asked, standing up.
"Yes, I suppose I am," Trisha answered, standing and feeling her legs shake. She took a moment and then, offering up a false smile said, "I'm ready."
She followed Mr. Jarvis to the stairs and down into the basement area of the funeral home. "Okay, he's just in here. Let me just check to make sure that everything's all set and then I'll come back out and get you, alright?"
Trisha nodded and watched Mr. Jarvis disappear behind a door. A moment later, he came back out. "Ready?" he said, taking her arm at the elbow and guiding her in.
Her nose was assaulted by the odor first and then she took in the tools and cabinets in her surroundings. She looked at the covered body that lay on the steel table and reached out to steady herself on Mr. Jarvis' arm.
"Okay?" he asked after a moment, ready to get her out of the building before she passed out right there.
"Could I..., um..., have just a moment?" she managed to get out.
"You're sure?" he asked with concern. She nodded. "Alright. I'll be just outside when you're ready," he said, leaving her and closing the door behind him.
Trisha stood for a moment and then gradually took a few steps toward the table where her stepbrother lay. Tears escaped down her cheeks as she drew in a ragged breath, trying to hold on to the last of her emotions. Unsuccessful, her tears continued to escape and soft sobs shook her shoulders. "Paul," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that I wasn't able to help you. Sorry that I let everything go so far. I've fallen in love with him, Paul. I'm sorry, but I can't help it. He makes me happy and we're going to have a baby," she said through her tears. She leaned forward, supporting herself on the edge of the table. Against her better judgement, she was unable to fight the urge to look at him one last time and thank him for taking care of her as she grew up.
She pulled the cover back from his face and drew in a sharp breath. There was some soot on his face, but overall, it remained untouched by the flames and she was thankful for that. She could tell that just below his shoulders was where the burned tissue was and she didn't pull the cover back any further. She put a hand on his cold cheek and leaned down to give him a kiss good-bye. "I love you, Paul. I'm so sorry," she said, putting the cover back and turning to leave the room.
Mr. Jarvis was waiting on the other side of the door and was immediately concerned by the look on her face and lack of color in her cheeks. "Ms. Watkins, are you alright?" he asked, taking hold of her at the elbow again.
"Yes. I'm sorry. It just got to me. I'm sorry," she apologized, trying to gather herself.
"Quite understandable, dear," he said. "Let me show you back upstairs." He led her back up the stairs and walked out with her to the Bosco's car. After helping her into the car, he said, "I'll be in touch with you when everything's been completed and let you know where he is buried. You'll be okay to get home?"
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Jarvis. You're very kind," Trish said, shaking the man's hand.
"I'll be in touch," he said, releasing her hand and watching her drive away.
Trisha drove to the corner, out of sight of the old man, and pulled to the curb. There, she let the rest of her sobs out and, when she was finished, she drove to the pharmacy to get Bosco's prescriptions, as well as her own, filled.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
She walked into the apartment and looked at the couch, expecting to see Maurice asleep with the remote in his hand. She was startled when she saw that he wasn't there.
She rushed to the back of the apartment to see if he'd gone into the bedroom and he wasn't there either. She rushed back up the hallway, checking in the bathroom to see if he was in there, but he wasn't.
She came out of the hallway and stopped in her tracks when she saw him sitting at the table near the bookshelves just staring back at her with a sad and shocked look on his face. Her eyes moved from his face to the book he was looking at and her stomach flipped as she realized that the photo album with her stepbrother that she'd been looking through a few days ago was still on the table. Paul's face was staring up at Maurice.
"What the hell is this?" came the question from Bosco in almost a whisper.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TBC...