I opened my eyes; they saw the first lights of the day. The silvery blue beams shone through the curtains in Mark's living room. I stretched lazily, wanting to get back to sleep but knowing that if I did, I would sleep through the better part of the day. So, I got up from the couch and folded the blanket Mark lent me. I placed that and the pillow in the hall closet, tip-toeing back down the hall so as not to wake him.
Realizing how dehydrated I was, I went to the kitchen for water. I drank three cupfuls. I noted the calendar on the wall, "Holy crap…" It was Thanksgiving, and I hadn't even remembered.
I contemplated leaving before he woke up, but knew I could not take his car, and then realized I didn't know my way back to the warehouse from here, by car nor bus.
I stood in the center of the room, arms crossed; my eyes wandering. I hated television, so that was out. It had been two weeks since my last smoke, and I was intensely craving nicotine; but I didn't have any cash on me to buy cigarettes, and even if I did, I had promised John I would quit, so I was quitting. My wandering eyes traveled back across the room, to the radiant silver picture frame with Mark and his sister. I went across the room to get a better look.
As I approached the mantle, I remembered Mark kissing me for the first time. I indistinctly remembered him confessing to me that I reminded him of his sister. I wondered where she lived, if she and Mark still spoke, or were still connected at all, considering his double life. I noticed her beauty, her dark locks and exuberant eyes. And I noticed Mark; that was clearly a happier time for him. Something had broken his heart, I could swear. I reached for the frame. I held it, passing my thumb over the intricate designs engraved into the silver. And I tried to picture Mark smiling that way in real life. It was difficult.
"Good Morning." I heard from somewhere behind me.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. I spun to face him, stupidly holding the frame behind my back.
"Did you sleep well?" I tried to distract.
He raised an eyebrow in suspicion, "What are you hiding?"
I sighed, "I was looking at this photo…" I handed him the frame, his eyes dropped to it and did not stray. I wrapped my arms around myself, not fully understanding this reaction. "Mark?"
He didn't look up at me, "I don't know if John told you…"
I shook my head, approaching him, "Told me what?"
He finally tore his eyes away from the frame, "Never mind." He walked past me, placing the frame back up on the mantle. I stared him down, although he did not look at me.
"Where does she live?" I gestured to the picture.
He looked confused at first; he shook his head and huffed, incredulously.
"I'm not following you-" I confessed.
"She died."
My gaze, locked on him, fell out of focus. Too many things suddenly made sense, and I wanted…needed to sit down. I did.
"I…"
"Don't say it." He cut me off, "Don't say you're sorry." He insisted.
I pushed some hair behind my ear, looking at the floor. "I am…"
Silence followed, and Mark left the room. I sat unmoving on the couch, trying to fit that fact into everything that had happened, and it scared me how much I now understood Mark's cold demeanor, his intense stares.
A total of seven minutes passed. Mark emerged from the hall. I retained my place on the middle of the couch, staring into oblivion.
"Aren't you going to ask?" He was expectant.
"Ask what?" My voice was blank.
He assumed the answer was obvious. "Ask me how she died."
"No." I didn't want to know.
He paused for a little while. "She was murdered," Maybe he was venting. I covered my ears childishly. I could still hear his voice, despite me trying to mute him. "She had been beaten, and murdered. And when I saw her eyes, there was nothing there. She was long gone by the time we found her…"
I wasn't crying. However, my eyes stung and my breaths came in short huffs. I may as well have been, and Mark wouldn't stop talking.
"There was so much blood…" Mark's voice cracked.
"That's enough, Mark." My own voice was dry and weak. I turned my head to watch him; he was already looking at me. I wrung my hands; I couldn't bring myself to touch him. There was such a sorrow emanating from him, it was hard to be near. But I had to; because I also couldn't bring myself to leave him.
I felt him holding me, but I couldn't see him. I had shut my eyes tightly. I balled my fists, resisting the urge to embrace back. Eventually I gave in, resting my head on his shoulder. "Stay with me." He whispered into my hair. When he released me, I smiled dimly at him.
I can't.
"Happy Thanksgiving..."
He smiled, just barely. I was thankful for that.
-
"John!" I ran to him. Mark had driven me back home. We had stopped to buy dinner on the way. I was immensely pleased to see him; however the events of the previous night haunted me. I felt that I was keeping as much of a secret from him as Amanda was, and I couldn't hold back much longer.
And then I thought about the pain it would cause him. And I wanted to hold onto that for him. I would do anything in my power to make sure he would have happiness for the holidays.
I took off my jacket, sitting beside him, "How do you feel?"
"Well enough." He said. I beamed.
"You seem to be feeling even better, Rivielle." He added.
"I am, John; it's the holidays isn't it?"
"For the most part."
"I've been thinking we should… celebrate them. We should cherish our lives; it goes without saying, right?"
"Sounds like a plan." John approved.
While I cleaned in preparation, John spoke to Mark far across the room. I was eavesdropping.
"John..where is Amanda?" Mark must've read my mind.
At that moment, she walked in through the double doors. Speak of the devil, I thought as I moved a fine polished cherry wood table towards the center of the room. I then glanced up. She looked rested, can't imagine where she had been after she left the bathroom.
"I'm sorry I'm late, John. I have the pictures." She handed John an envelope of freshly developed photos that she was holding protectively under her arm.
"Thank you Amanda. You've done well."
Yeah right.
"What are those for?" John gave Mark the envelope after he looked through a few.
"They're our next subjects." John took a seat; I watched his look of contentment.
She murders Adam and then runs back to John and takes care of errands for him. You just can't get good help anymore. I thought bitterly.
"John? May I see?" I asked, receiving it from Mark. I flipped through some, and then some more. There were names written on the back of each one. Gus, Laura, Jonas, Xavier. I didn't read the rest, but there was a few more involved. "Are they all playing one game?"
"No." Amanda replied. "Two separate games."
"This is a lot of people." I retorted, "Even for two games."
"I don't make the rules." She walked off, hanging up her jacket.
Can't you admit to bending them?
-
Amanda and I set the table, four places, and paper china. Mark sat next to me, Amanda on the opposite side, next to John. I asked everyone to state what they were thankful for.
"I am thankful that we could all be here, together." I was.
"I'm thankful for strength, and dedication." Mark.
"Second chances." Amanda spoke softly.
"I am thankful for those who seek more out of life. People like yourselves." John.
We raised our paper cups in a toast, to all of these things. I made eye contact with John, relishing the fact that I was most thankful for him, and the second chances he had given us. We couldn't have made it this far without him. As I chewed my first bite of turkey, I realized how hungry I was, and couldn't fathom how I had ignored my stomach for so long.
Mark was engaged in conversation with John again, and I overlooked it this time, for I was preoccupied with trying to figure out the blank looking Amanda, who had barely touched anything in front of her. She picked at her stuffing, stabbing some with her fork and then pushing it back and forth on the plate. Her eyes meandered and glared into another dimension that we were not a part of. It seemed she only came alive when she was with John; and John alone.
I was not satisfied with that.
"Amanda."
It took her a moment to 'wake up'; she gave me eye contact and breathed out, wearily.
"Yes?"
"I don't think we ever really were introduced properly. I mean, I know you…but I don't know you, get it?" I bit off a part of my roll.
"Yeah. I get it."
I made very sure not to break my stare. "So, I'm assuming you were involved in some kind of misdeed…or else you wouldn't be here, right?"
"Yes."
"Actually, it's your business. No need in my prying." I continued, excusing myself from the table and beckoning her over to the wayside, to talk in private. Mark watched me. John didn't seem to have noticed. "But, I have to ask you something Amanda." My voice dropped to a serious, hushed tone.
She looked even more uninterested than before. It was possible she wasn't, that's just how it appeared to me.
"Why do you think you should still be here?" I folded my arms.
She perked up, becoming aggravated as well. "I don't. John needs me." She was adamant.
"I'm sure he does." I couldn't hide my sarcasm.
"Oh please. As if he doesn't know about you and Mark. You and I both know that the two of you have been screwing around. Just like old times, right?"
I literally bit my tongue. The pain was a tickle compared to the sting of her words.
How the hell does she know about me?
"You don't know shit." I said, a little too loud.
"Rivielle." I heard John warn. My heart's vengeance was immediately tamed. I forced my tone back to a barely inaudible whisper. I did this, not in fear that John might hear, but so she would listen.
"It doesn't matter what you think you know about me. What matters is… what I know about you." I replied, giving her a very grave stare.
I went back to my place next to Mark. He gave me an inquiring look; I shook my head to answer, 'nothing'. I watched as she deciphered my words and sat somewhere nearby, incensed. Shortly after, (although I didn't notice when) she left; and did not return.
-
I was clearing the table; Mark was waiting up for me. John thanked us, retiring for the night. I asked him if we might talk more tomorrow about his new plans, he agreed.
"What was that about earlier?" Mark looked up at me from his seat.
I shrugged, "It's no longer an issue. Really." I assured him. I tied the garbage bag into a knot. He followed me as I took it out. I voiced my plans to him.
"Tomorrow, I'm going to tell John everything I know." I tossed the bag into the dumpster about a half a block off. Mark and I stood closer together for warmth; speaking quietly by an alleyway, as a squirrel scurried by, frightened by the impact of the bag in the dumpster. I stared upwards, towards the pallid moon that was out early. "I only hope he takes it better than I did."
-
