26th of May 1937:
The sweet notes of relaxing jazz music were coming from downstairs filling up both floors of the small cottage house at the suburbs. Laughter, the clicks of glasses, cheers and loud men like voices that argued over politics made sure to cover the small whimpers of pain coming from the bathroom. It looked like the ideal Saturday night in the Jaworski household, only that cohabitation with Harry was more than the ideal American dream.
It was a nightmare. She was laid down inside the long marble bathtub, only with her white nightdress on, that was no longer white. Drops of fresh blood were covering the wet thin fabric that hugged her sore body perfectly. Drops of sweat were covering her wrinkled forehead, and the veins on her neck were ready to pop. She couldn't help but keep mumbling through greeted teeth. She blamed herself for being so careless.
Having a family was never part of her plan, at least that's what she kept telling herself ever since she was a teenager. She wanted to go against nature's tricks and not hem herself into society's requests for women at that time. She had been always way too focused on gaining power and money that she wouldn't allow herself to dream on and settle down when the right time came. Even when the big time arrived, she was unable to feel happy and excited about what her future life held for her.
It was forced. It was another ace Harry had been hiding in his sleeve all along in order to keep her around when she would no longer find his excessively hot headed personality attractive anymore. And he managed to do so by the time he got her pregnant. Maybe there was a point in her life back then that Rita Castillo thought that maybe motherhood could be the key to her well deserved happy ending.
But as soon as Harry noticed that sense of hope glimmer in her eyes he wanted to take that. The very thought of losing the only thing that gave her hope made her heart sink. Her dark eyes roamed her bloody nightgown in pure agony as her tears scattered all over her red cheeks. She couldn't move a muscle, the pain was immense and sizzling. And the worst part of it was that she knew that there was nothing she could do to save her child and her happy ending.
She let out a low grunt as her head leaned against the back of the tub in utter surrender. She found herself unable to watch this happen, and suddenly she felt so small and useless of saving the last ray of hope that was left in her. She could feel it in her bones that her child was in danger, and the only person who was able to protect it from it was her.
The door of the bathroom opened up allowing a thicker silhouette of a woman with dark curls and a brown long dress walk inside the spacious bathroom. Her lips parted as soon as she noticed her beloved cousin and the situation she had gotten herself in. She brought her hand up to cover her mouth and sped up her pace towards Rita. She landed on her knees by the side of the bathtub and extended her hands towards her cousin to pull her closer to her chest for an embrace.
"What happened?!"
Isabelle croaked in despair while her almond brown eyes gazed the bloody image and her fingers rushed to intertwine with Rita's for extra support. The brunette woman found herself unable to speak. Every time she tried to pronounce a single word an aggressive sob would choke her words and escape her throat instead.
"Did Harry hurt you?"
Isabelle's eyes were wide open and filled up with fear. Rita shook her head negatively and cupped her swollen abdomen with both her hands as she cried.
"This is not normal."
She exclaimed in a shaky but husky voice that struggled to sound clear and steady.
"No, no it's not."
Isabelle admitted and got up on her feet. She knew that it was too late now... But the least she could do was pray for her cousin to survive this or the outcome.
"You have to stand up Rita, we need to take you to the hospital!"
Isabelle instructed her and tried her best to hide her own worry. She forced a hopeful smile and extended her hand towards the brunette to help her up only that Rita was in no place to move. She remained still, her eyes locked on the ceiling of the bathroom and her hands wrapped around her stomach.
"It's my fault."
She panted and inhaled a shaky breath that made her body shiver. Her legs were almost numbed by now and her body was letting go.
"No it's not! Don't you dare say that, and don't you dare think that we failed, there's still hope! As soon as we get you to the hospital immediately you're gonna be just fine! Both you and your child my dear cousin!"
Isabelle's words were usually motivational to her. Maybe that was the reason why she loved her cousin so dearly. Isabelle always looked after her and made sure to put her first no matter the situation. Whenever she was upset Isabelle would be there to give her an honest and truthful advice or even just hold her hand in silence and empathise with her pain. At her darkest of moments, Isabelle was there, she was her rock that kept her steady and sane. Although, this time her cousin's hopeful words couldn't heal her pain or take away even the slightest part of it.
"If only I hadn't gotten us caught up into this madness, we wouldn't have come to that."
Rita's full lips pressed together to retain another muffled cry that almost manages to choke her this time. Her fingers trembled as she drew soft circles on her own skin to soothe herself with no luck.
"Listen to me, the only person that you should put the blame about this is Harry! There's nothing you did wrong, you tried! You tried your hardest dear cousin, but that man is a beast. As soon as you recover I'm taking you out of here."
Isabelle declared in a firm and confident tone. She was tired of this shit. She was tired of being chased of their own bad luck. She leaned in closer to Rita and placed her hand on her cousin's sweaty forehead. She got no answer. The brunette woman remained still in the bottom of the bathtub, her eyes closed as she focused on her breathing and her brows furrowed in pain.
"Hold on there, I'm gonna call an ambulance."
"He's not gonna let you."
Rita murmured weakly and held her breath as she hissed. Her body was shaking in terrible pain and her eyelids became too heavy for her to hold open.
"He's not gonna win this time."
Isabelle spoke back and exited the bathroom as fast as she could. A couple of seconds went by and she could listen to heavy footsteps walking upstairs. Her breathing hitched. It couldn't be Isabelle, she could recognise those footsteps anywhere... and unfortunately for her it was her "beloved" husband.
She could smell the odour of alcohol all the way from
the bathroom. His large figure pushed the bathroom door open and his dark eyes widened open at the sight of her pale body laying in the bathtub, covered up with blood.
"What did you?"
He arched his thick dark brow and took a step closer to her observing her current state. A small grin that indicated mischief formed on his lips.
"Rita my darling, I just asked you a question."
He continued.
"I need to get to the hospital..."
She replied as she let out an exasperated breath.
Her lips quivered in fear as he slowly crouched down next to her and grabbed her wrist.
"What did you do to our son?"
This time his voice came out with anger. He constantly insisted that they were having a boy, he wanted someone strong to take over his family business one day. Someone that could make him proud. Women in his opinion were a piece of garbage, just asinine creatures, with zero tolerance that only served the process of fornication.
"I didn't... I didn't do anything..."
She cried out in defence and chocked on her sob. There were so many things that felt the urge to blame him about. The late night drinking, all the times that he laid his filthy hands on her body and disgraced it. He had tried anything in his power to create this life within her but at the same time he was the one that destroyed it.
"You're the mother."
He announced and his face distorted with great anger and frustration while his hand landed on top of her enlarged abdomen and remained still. Their eyes met and Rita could notice the emptiness that conquered his soul that fought the sheer choler that burned inside of him. She held her breath and her pale lips drew back as a new wave of tears rolled down her rosy cheeks.
"What's — what's that supposed to mean?"
She asked and the words barely escaped her mouth to shape that sentence.
"You failed. You failed the one mission that your nature is dedicated to succeed."
He replied softly and as if it came out of nowhere his free hand landed directly on her cheek making her wince in great pain. Her lips parted but no words came out to protest.
Then he stood up. He placed both hands in the inside of his pockets. She felt small against his tall and masculine figure. He gave her an intimidating look while a small grin lifted one corner of his lips. He turned around and left the bloody bathroom, his footsteps heavy as they clip-clopped down the bleached tile hallway. A long heavy exhaled left her lips as a muffled cry that she managed to soothe with her palm tried to escape. Her eyelids became heavier this time.
Her vision blurry, and the room became spiny. She found it hard to keep her consciousness while the idea that she had just lost her one hope conquered her head and made it harder for her to seek the sheering will to live a day longer. She surrendered to the familiar darkness that sunk her back to sleep, although that kind of darkness, the unconscious state of it, felt much more familiar and safe than the living hell she had to endure.
Before her body shut down the last thing she heard were the screaming of her cousin Isabelle echoing down the hall. The woman called out her name into a loud weep but Rita was unable to help her for once again. Everything turned black and her head leaned back on the cold tiles of the bathroom wall as she fell asleep...
PRESENT:
Icy blue eyes were stuck on dark ones that examined the beautiful face of the deranged woman intensely. Harry Jaworski always had a soft spot for people in Alma's state. Lost, irritated, misunderstood… pretty much insane. He found these people easy to handle and manipulate, and when it came to Alma's case, it would be a piece of cake to thrill her small innocent brain. They shared the same goal, which meant that they were already connected. He had his motive and mastermind plan to finish a job he should have finished years ago, while Alma craved her well deserved revenge.
The woman that all these police officers and scientists entitled as a cold murderer, a lunatic or even a psychopath seemed to him as another innocent girl with a big dream to fulfil. And he was planning to help her finish the job. The woman arched her back on the wooden chair she was sat down and her blue eyes widened open at his announce.
"Rita Castillo…"
She repeated the name herself only to realise that the very reminder of the woman made her heart clench in her chest and the knot in her stomach tighten. The woman she hated the most, and preferred to declare as an enemy was still alive, which meant that none of her plans worked out as soon as Rita Castillo was still breathing.
Her fingers twirled a part of her long dress's red satin fabric.
"Remember her?"
Henry tilted his head to the side and tapped the pen his was holding on top of the empty page of his notebook impatiently.
"How could I forget?"
Her eyes glimmered with hatred as she spoke and her lips drew back in agony.
"No need to get frustrated. Like I said, you and I share one thing in common and that would be our beloved Rita. I suppose that you'd like to finish the job Miss Filcot… Alma! Can I call you Alma?"
He asked in a soothing tone only to receive a nod from the woman that seemed to be very intrigued by his words.
"Very well. Like I said, you would like to finish what you started, to get your happy ending, and conduct the retaliation that you so much crave. I'm willing to help you."
He exclaimed and cleared his throat. His voice came out confident and steady, the man truly thought that this time he would succeed, as long as he had the proper teammates to play this game with him.
"And what's for you?"
Alma asked and her thin brows narrowed skeptically.
"Is it that terrible for an ex husband to yearn to see his ex wife?"
He winked as he spoke and grin filled up with mischief and promise covered his face and darkened his facial features. Alma nibbled on her bottom lip and chuckled heavily.
"So you're the ex husband. I suppose that you didn't end things in good terms am I correct?"
"We're being honest with each other here Alma. Partners are not supposed to lie to each other, you should keep that in mind. So this is me being honest. Our nightmare of a marriage never truly ended. You see, I was considered dead all these years, my lovely wife and that rat face of a cousin initiated to kill me… but they failed successfully. I'm back to claim what's mine."
He stood up on his feet, his leather saddle shoes creaked against the floor as he slowly approached the woman. As if he was the magnet and she was the metal, she copied his movements and stood across him, only the iron bars of her cage separating their bodies from collision.
"What's the plan dreamboat?"
She asked in a serene voice that felt like tingling against his ears. At this moment he knew, he knew that Alma Filcot was willing to dedicate the last days of her existence to his devious mastermind plan.
"People trust me here and I'd like to keep that that way. I'm gonna get you out of here Alma, considering I'm a psychologist they wouldn't reject my healing process for you that easily. They would at least give it a try, but! I'm gonna need a house, a house on the suburbs, someplace far away from the city, where no citizens can grow their suspicions on us. I'm gonna keep you there, and as soon as I contact Katherine Castillo we can set our plan in motion. Can you help me?"
He asked and bit his bottom lip playfully as he looked at her from head to toes seeking for answers.
"Good lord, yes I can. My Bertram used to have a house in the suburbs. His old house, where he grew up. As far as I know the residence is now empty for years, but I could get us there."
She winked at him all confidently and twirled a stray of light brown hair around her finger.
"Perfect. Expect to hear from me soon, most of the officers will be easy to convince. Mister Vern Loomis will need some extra effort."
He nodded his head and placed his notebook inside the envelope bag he carried around. He put on his brown hat.
"Till next time beautiful."
He smirked only to receive a huge bright smile from Alma Filcot whose cheeks were now covered with a new shade of red. He nodded and made his way down the long aisle until he exited the big gate and came across Vern.
The dark skin colour man exhaled the smoke of the last bang of his cigarette towards the ceiling and threw the cigarette butt inside a metallic ashtray that was placed on top of a dusted office, where the gatekeeper was supposed to be sitting.
"How was the first impression? She's something else isn't she?"
Vern Loomis tried to joke and gave the man a small grin, but nothing changed on Harry's facial expression. It remained cold and aloof. His posture was firm and his eyes roaming the dusty entrance.
"She's exactly what I expected."
Harry replied uninterested to start a conversation and glanced over Vern. Silence conquered the room as the "psychologist" roamed Vern's face throughly until his eyes landed on the pack of cigarettes in his shirt's pocket.
"Can I have one?"
"Sure. Suit yourself."
Vern handed him the pack gracefully and nibbled on his bottom lip as he observed the other man.
"What did you mean by saying that she's exactly what you expected?"
He finally asked and his hand sunk inside the pocket of his pants until it exited and handed Harry the lighter.
The other man took his sweet time until her responded. He lit up the cigarette and inhaled the bitter taste of tobacco burning against his lips. He exhaled the hit towards the ceiling and explained.
"I've read the newspapers detective Loomis, I've conducted my research on Alma Filcot before I accepted the job. I always want to be prepared for such twisted cases where the patients are played by the power of madness."
"Patient? You consider Alma Filcot as a patient and not a murderer."
Vern noted and placed both of his hands inside his pockets, retaining a confident posture.
"I'm the psychologist, and you're the detective. We tend to refer to the same person by the use of different entitlements that reciprocate to our occupations detective."
Harry justified and inhaled another hit of the cigarette before he put it out on the ashtray.
"I'll make sure to let you know about the conclusion of my conversation with her as soon as I shape a crystal clear estimation."
"Allow me to remind you that you're running out of time. The police force in alliance with the city's court have decided to give her the death penalty. The citizens ain't gonna wait that long for justice to be served."
Vern replied and pressed his well shaped lips together. Something didn't feel right about that man, he looked like he knew exactly what he was doing and that could lead to two conclusions. Harry Jaworski was either a professional or he had a hidden motive kept to himself.
"I'm aware. I'll see you on Monday detective."
Harry responded with a nod and before Vern got the time to respond the other man had already made his way upstairs. Vern sighted and as soon as he locked up the big metallic door he made his way upstairs as well.
It was around midnight when Joan, a woman with short ginger hair and baby blue eyes unlocked the door of the hotel room she used with her lover Grace Berk as a safe space for their romantic games. She removed her white satin gloves as soon as entered the room only for her eyes to widen open in utter shock and her lips to form a perfect O at the image she witnessed.
Rita Castillo was curled up on the vast velvet cream shade couch, a bunch of dark curls covering her angelic face, and a half empty bottle of bourbon in her left hand. Her crimson lips were slightly parted while her eyes half closed. Her skin white as a sheet and the dark circles under her eyes indicated nothing but the torment she was going through lately.
"Rita?!"
The woman exclaimed with great frustration in her voice and stood across the woman with her hands firmly placed on each side of her hips. The brunette woman remained silent and still in position.
"Rita! What on earth are you doing here?"
Joan asked again, her voice almost reached a high pitched frequency. Nothing came in response. She sighted heavily and glanced over her wrist watch before she rushed towards the telephone that was placed against the crème coloured wall. She dialled the phone number of Grace's residence and waited until the familiar voice chirped from the other line.
"What are you doing? I've told you a millions of times to not call me here."
Grace protested and rubbed the bridge of her nose tiredly while her eyes roamed around the living room seeking for any appearance of her husband.
"I apologise for the call, I thought that we had a meeting… for the solitaire game we were talking about…"
Solitaire. The card games they used to conduct during Saturday nights with the rest of the ladies from the garden club had turned into a great term to call the dalliance with each other. Solitaire had become one of the many excuses they'd use to hide the obvious from their dear husbands.
"Oh! Was that today?"
Grace asked and her voice came out chirpy. She was obviously hiding, and every time she used that fake attitude and enthusiasm to respond to Joan, Joan couldn't help but feel irritated.
"Yes it was today! Are you coming? There's something that you'd like to see for yourself here."
Joan replied with a dose of annoyance creeping up her voice. The blond's blue eyes widened open as soon as she came to the realisation. Rita was there! Rita Castillo was living in the hotel room she shared with Joan, and she had totally forgotten to inform her lover. Or at least… she had tried to avoid considering that she knew that woman's reaction. She would have totally flipped.
Joan and Rita were never under the best terms. Two powerful women with such a high prestige and ego could never coexist in the same space without creating chaos and multiple arguments. Grace bit her bottom lips and silence spread between the line of the telephone as she held her breath and wrinkled her forehead in frustration. She had tried to buy herself some time before it would be officially mandatory for her to let Joan know.
"Grace?"
Joan asked in greater irritation.
"Yes! I'm… I'm on my way my dear."
"Rita Castillo is in our living room."
Joan exclaimed in utter shock.
"I… I'm on my way!"
Grace hang up the phone and rushed to grab her purse and car keys to leave the house…
Hope you enjoyed this new chapter loves! To be continued!