A/N: I'll get back to 'Ghosts' next. These chapters were just begging to be written. Thanks again for reading. Any and all comments are welcome.
Part 2: The Figurehead
Chapter 6
Friday, March 8th, 2002
As she entered the diner, over the speakers Sara heard "Heroes" by David Bowie playing. Grissom sat in the same chair at the counter as yesterday with the same pile of papers beside his plate of breakfast. In his right hand a pen, in his left his cup of coffee.
She sat at the opposite end of the counter once again and ordered the same breakfast. She watched and waited as she finished her meal. At a quarter past six, the door chimed open and a tall man in a business suit walked in, looked around, and headed towards Grissom.
The man looked like money. Everything well-tailored, expensive and flashy, like the Rolex on his wrist and the polished leather shoes. Even the tie clip looked fancy. Must have been a lawyer. The man stopped next to Grissom, who, without taking his eyes off the crossword, picked it up and out from under the paper removed a manila envelope. The manila envelope was exchanged for a letter envelope stuffed with what she could only assume was cash. With no words spoken, the man turned around and left the diner.
Grissom went back to drinking his coffee. She finished her plate, grabbed her cup, and moved down the counter to sit beside him. He barely moved. Focused on the words he was writing down and across the puzzle.
She knew he was deaf, but she couldn't let that out of the bag just yet. She didn't know the guy. "Can you hand me the sugar?" she asked.
Nothing. She was expecting nothing.
The woman behind the counter walked over and said, "He's deaf, honey. You have to be forceful with him." A moment later, her hand pounded the counter. Grissom's head snapped up. The woman, Nancy, leaned on the counter and said very loudly, "There's a beautiful woman sitting next to you wanting the sugar."
Grissom appeared mildly offended before he turned his head and saw her sitting there. His eyes widened in surprise before he reached over and slid the sugar container across the counter. He signed something. A fist circling his chest. She knew some sign language, having learned it in school, and that was 'sorry'. She also knew 'Thank you' and signed it back.
He caught it and smirked before returning to his crossword and coffee. So much for conversation. Anticipating this very moment, she pulled out a notepad from her pocket and pen. She wrote 'What's your name?' She tore out the piece of paper and slid it over for him to read.
He seemed confused as he glanced her way. She wasn't sure why he would be. Grissom was a relatively handsome man. If she was being perfectly honest, she was attracted to the guy. A shame he was their suspect and could not only be a rapist pedophile but a murderer. She really hoped that wasn't the case, but so far, he was the only suspect they had.
'Call me Gil', he wrote and slid the paper back over.
She wrote, 'Call me Ishmael. Kidding. It's Sara.'
Gil eyed the paper as she saw a flicker of something appear across his face. A momentary smirk before a flinch as he let out a breath. He gathered up the papers he'd collected and left.
"Was it something I said?"
"Strong, beautiful women often scare away small men."
She balled up the paper as she turned in the chair and saw her partner sitting beside her. Warrick Brown took a sip of coffee without so much as a glance her way. "When did you get here?"
"Oh, I arrived when you were making googly-eyes with our murder suspect."
"I wasn't making googly-eyes."
"Yeah, and I'm Prince."
"I don't think he paid." She got Nancy's attention and asked, "The deaf guy, Gil, did he pay?"
"He has a running tab," she told her before helping another customer.
She asked Warrick, "Who has a running tab at a diner?"
"Someone who knows the owner would be my guess." Warrick took another drink and said, "This coffee is fantastic. We need to come here more often."
"Did the Lieutenant send you after me?"
Warrick sat the cup down and finally turned towards her. The man's been her partner since transferring from Las Vegas to Los Angeles. Like her, he worked in the crime lab first before switching over to detective. She wasn't sure what it was that sent him out to L.A., all she knew were the rumors. Gambling debts and someone almost lost their life due to negligence. He needed a clean break, and he took it when there was an opening in the police department.
He said, "I heard you were here and thought you might need a wingman. Plus, I owe you." He removed his wallet and tossed cash down to cover both their checks, plus tip. "Ready?"
"As I'll ever be," she said as she stood.
"Hold up," he said as he waved Nancy down. "Can I get a cup to-go? This is the best coffee I've had in months."
"You like the coffee?" Nancy asked. "It's his."
"His who?" she asked.
"Gil." Nancy reached back behind her to a shelf and grabbed a package of it. Handing it to her, she said, "Monarch Coffee. That's why I'm not chasing after the guy every time he forgets to pay. One way or another, it'll work itself out. Besides, he's here every day."
The coffee came in a black bag with a printed orange butterfly on the front. There was also a local address of the distribution warehouse. She kept the bag and asked, "How much?"
"Fifteen dollars, plus tax."
After she paid, they left the diner and stood outside on the sidewalk by her car. Warrick had parked next to her. "He has three jobs."
"Three?" Warrick asked as he slid on his sunglasses.
"Yeah. He's the personal driver of some businesswoman. The residence he'd picked her up at belongs to Edward and Catherine Willows. He also moonlights as a photographer taking pictures of people in scandalous, intimate affairs. Probably for some P.I. or the lawyer he passed his latest developments off to. And now, coffee owner."
"Man's making the big bucks with a lucrative coffee company yet has a side hustle of being a freelance photographer, and driving around Miss Daisy? He lives, what is it? Four minutes from here?"
"Yeah, right down the street."
Warrick glanced around and said, "Lives south of Inglewood, near the airport, instead of up in the hills."
"Airport doesn't bother him; he's deaf."
"You got a point," Warrick said before opening his car door and dropping down into the seat. "I'll meet you at the department."
Minutes later, they arrived at the police department. She parked in the police carpool lot and set the alarm on the sedan. Warrick was already waiting at the door, holding it open for her. Neither saw the Mercedes Benz idling across the street with the window rolled down as a long-range camera lens followed their movements. The snap of a flash as pictures were taken.
As Warrick made his way up to the second floor, she headed to the forensics lab. First was latent prints. Hard at work was a man named Cody Fletcher.
Cody saw her coming and shook his head. "No hits in AFIS. Sorry."
"Where were the prints found?"
"On the trash bag."
"And where's the trash bag?"
Cody pointed to a wall. On the other side of the wall was Trace. "Ask Hodges."
She asked Trace tech David Hodges. He said, "Stokes matched the extrusion lines in the trash bags from both cases. They came from the same source. Now I'm analyzing it for any trace—"
"I used to work here, David. You don't need to explain the procedure. Did you find anything?"
"I found dirt, a liquid that smelt like beer, and hair. I sent the hair to Sanders in DNA."
She left Trace and maneuvered around the hallways until she entered the DNA lab. Greg Sanders wasn't bent over a microscope, instead he was reading a magazine. "Shouldn't you be working?"
"I am," he said as he spun in the chair. His spiky hair was rather tame today. He must've had a date last night. Oh, wait, he did.
"How'd it go with Morgan?"
He blushed, shrugged, and tried not to act like it meant something when it did. "Oh, you know, with being a gentleman, I don't kiss and tell."
She was trying not to smile but failing miserably.
"Oh," he sat up as his eyes lit up. "Did you bring me coffee?"
She glanced down at the package of coffee in her arms and said, "No. It's evidence."
"A package of the best coffee in all of California, is evidence? That stuff should be a hundred bucks a scoop. It's criminally underpriced for its value. That," he said as he pointed to the bag, "is liquid gold."
"How much longer until you're done running the analysis on the hair Hodges found in the trash bag, Greg?"
Greg glanced at the clock on the wall. "Another hour. So…are we going to brew a pot?"
"I told you; it's evidence."
He then held up the magazine and said, "Have you met Pink?"
She eyed the rock star on the cover of Mu$ic magazine and rolled her eyes. "I'm not in the mood, Greg."
"Well, I think you should meet her. Did you know she jogs through the hills every day? I've been trying to casually bump into her but have yet to do so."
"Greg Sanders, 'Stalker of the Stars'."
"Let's make a trade. Magazine for the coffee." He opened the magazine to a page that was marked with a post-it note. Turning it around, he showed it to her.
She saw a picture and almost gasped as she grabbed it out of his hands. "That's my suspect."
"Who? Pink?"
On one side of the page was Pink, on the other was a photo of the businesswoman and Gil Grissom. The column was in celebration of 10 years in the music business. The picture in the magazine showed the woman, Catherine Willows, lounging over a chaise in her office at Capital Records. Behind her were windows with linen curtains that were open to show the Los Angeles skyline. Sitting on the carpeted floor in front of the lounge chair, and who Catherine held the arm of, was Gil Grissom. The caption below the picture read: 'Catherine Willows, CEO of EC Records, with her personal chauffeur Gil Grissom. More than boss/employee? You be the judge.'
Greg stood and peered over her shoulder at the picture. He said, "Catherine and her husband, Eddie Willows, own EC Records. They're both big time producers and managers of some of the best bands and female solo singers of the last decade."
"I can read, Greg." She folded up the magazine and went to leave the lab, "Thanks."
"Hey! Where're you going with that?! It's mine!"
As she walked down the hallway, she shot back, "Mine now!"
Going up to the second floor, she entered the Homicide Division and saw, waiting at her desk, her mom. Captain Annie Kramer appeared business as usual with her stern lips and arms crossed over her chest. Warrick was over by the fax machine, sipping the coffee he'd brought from the diner, hiding most likely.
"When I told dad that I wanted to have brunch, this wasn't what I had in mind," she said as she sat the package of coffee down on her desk. She kept the magazine in her hand.
Annie almost cracked a smile. "Lieutenants' office. Now."
She followed her to Lieutenant Billings office. Her Lieu was already seated at the desk, waiting. Jane Billings was a veteran on the force, just like her mother. They were also friends. They came up in ranks together.
"Jane," Annie said as she shut the door. "Tell me where you are?"
Billings eyed her and smirked, saying, "Annie that's a very good question. Sara, would you like to fill us in?"
Sara almost rolled her eyes at the two women. Their sarcasm nearly rubbed off on her as she said, "Everything happened so fast the night before that I didn't get a chance—"
"Cut the shit, Sara," Annie said as she sat down in the chair. "I talked to your dad—"
"And if you had come by my place with him, you would've been caught up."
"You went over your commanding officer's head—"
"I wasn't trying to," she defended herself as she turned to Billings. "I submitted my report last night."
Billings picked up the file folder and handed it off to Annie. "Before you then decided to approach the suspect on your own and with no backup. I had to call in Warrick. He had no idea."
"He deserved his time off." She let out a breath and opened Mu$ic magazine to the marked page. Handing it to Billings, she told her, "Gil Grissom in a photo with Catherine Willows. He's her driver. According to the article, he's been her personal chauffeur for the last decade, ever since she got into the music business. He's also working, I think, either with a P.I. firm or lawyer. Don't know yet, but what I do know is he passed the photos he took of Mr. Gleason and Mrs. Michaels off to a guy who reeked of new money and courtrooms. Lastly, did you know he owns Monarch Coffee?"
Annie shook her head, saying, "I had no idea. It's good coffee."
She asked her mom, "The original case, was there any male DNA found?"
"There's DNA evidence, yes. Grissom's DNA was never acquired solely due to the fact that we had no way of testing for it back then. We had no evidence. The Judge dropped the case and Grissom walked."
"So, if we get his DNA sample, we can compare it to the sample you got twenty years ago. Was it semen or—"
"Yeah," Annie said. "Bastard didn't use a condom when he raped—" She caught herself before saying, "The woman he killed."
"But our suspect now did use one, or an object was used. Maybe he learned from his previous mistake." Sara had one question on her mind as to what led them to Gil Grissom in the first place. "What led you to him?"
"A library book. Jaws, I believe. It was one of four books checked out from a nearby public library. All four were under his name. The others were Moby Dick, and two books on photography." Annie stood. She hesitated for a moment as she shoved her hands into her pockets. "When I questioned him in '82, he told me that on Monday, the day after a girl was abducted, that he searched for his missing father with his friend Catherine."
"Willows?"
Annie held up the magazine, saying, "Same woman. They're friends, lovers at the time. I don't know if they still are."
"They do seem friendly."
"She verified his account. Sara, we had no proof. All I had was a murder of—…of a woman in a motel room by a serial the press dubbed the 'Motel Butcher'. His M.O. was killing the mothers and taking the daughters. He kept the girls for years before he killed them by chopping them up and discarding them along a highway."
"And you believed Grissom when he said he'd been searching for his missing father? Was he ever found?"
Annie shook her head. "No. Arthur Grissom's never been found, and no, I didn't believe him. I knew he was lying about certain things. He hid a lot of details. He knows something, I know that much. If you're going after him, be careful. Don't let his timidness fool you. Make no mistake, he's smart. He's quiet. Shy. He's polite. He's nice. That persona he portrays hides the truth."
She noticed that she wasn't using any names other than Grissom. Her mom was hiding details about the case from her. The names of the victims. Was that why the casefile was redacted? To protect the identities of the victims? "And what's that?"
Annie leveled her with her eyes as she told her, "He's a very dangerous man. He can't be trusted."
Monday, March 8th, 1982
~"Sharp and open, leave me alone
And sleeping less every night…"~
We lit out for Las Vegas late Tuesday evening, early Monday morning. It was around midnight. "We don't want to catch him early in the night," Catherine had said. "Believe me, later is best. We'll get there around two, two-thirty, and by three he'll be ready to talk."
As we crossed into Las Vegas, with the neon lights and smell of dissolution filling my nose, I tried not to let the fear settle inside. I knew this was a risk, but I had to take it. Quite frankly, I didn't know what else to do. The moment I found out who her father was, I thought of a way forward. A way out. Sam Braun, if anything, could help bridge a path towards my future. As of now, I didn't have one. Whatever it had been before was now gone.
~"As the days become heavier and weighted
Waiting in the cold light…"~
Sin City had a way of making you believe in the impurity. Like that was something to strive for: sinfulness. I was full of sin, and I had only a few options: accept it or try to rid myself of it. Did I want to continue down the same path in life, or did I want to break free from all the things my father had taught me.
All the mistrust, the lies, and the thought that this was all there was. This was all I could be. I felt a thumping in my chest. My heart beating like a thousand drums as I marched off to war. The fight I was running head on into was the fight for my very life, my soul.
~"A noise, a scream tears my clothes as the figurines tighten
With spiders inside them and dust on the lips of a vision of hell
I laughed in the mirror for the first time in a year…"~
Red neon mixed with dark shadows as we walked through the doors of a night club below a casino of the Las Vegas strip. It was a demon's lair. At least that was what it appeared to be in my eyes. Chinese dragons painted the red walls in black. Red dark lights were overhead and blue neon wrapped around the floors like snakes.
Black tables and booths littered the floor around the dance floor. Bodies moved in a dirty seduction of temptation in time with the thumping in my chest. In my head, I saw blood on my hands and bodies dropping to the floor. Up on the stage at the far end of the room, women moved. They were mostly naked as they slid and slithered around poles and across the floor.
~"A hundred other words blind me with your purity
Like an old painted doll in the throes of dance…"~
Sitting the middle of all the damnation was a man in a white suit with grey hair. He was smoking a cigar, and he threw his head back in laughter. On the table in front of him were glasses of various alcoholic drinks. Beer, whiskey, gin and tonics, and champagne. There was a woman wearing a G-string sitting on his knee. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and his hand was on her thigh.
She'd been the one who'd told the joke, but I saw nothing funny. Just as my eyes scanned the interior of the nightclub, the lights were a steady stream of color over the interior; never blinking. This was where people went when they died. According to Dante's Inferno, the seventh circle of Hell was dedicated to those who've committed acts of violence. They were immersed in boiling blood, torn apart by thorny trees, and burned in sand. Las Vegas was in the desert, and this place…I could smell the blood money in the air.
This was the seventh circle of Hell. A shiver rippled throughout my body as I knew my fate, why I was sent here. In order to get out, I had to go through. I had to shake hands with the Devil.
~"I think about tomorrow, please let me sleep
As I slip down the window…"~
Catherine was talking to the Man in Charge. Mr. White Suit. The man's eyes landed on me. I stiffened under my leather jacket. His eyes were as black as coal. His palm was sweaty, greasy, as I shook it.
"Gil," Catherine said with a wide mouth. "This is my father. Sam Braun," she overly enunciated. It made her words hard to read, but with context, and already knowing her father's name, I understood. "Sam, this is Gil Grissom."
I realized that the music must have been loud. She was yelling.
Sam shooed the woman off his knee. He pulled out a pen and grabbed a napkin. On it he wrote 'Your father's Arthur?' He didn't need to be told that I was deaf, he already knew.
~"Freshly squashed fly
You mean nothing…"~
I nodded. It was all I could do. Any words I had to say to him I had to write down. In private. There were two men standing intimately close to Mr. Braun. One had a gun under his black cotton jacket and a dragon tattoo on his neck. The other had dulled blue eyes, and his gun was tucked in the pants at the small of his back. That made it harder to reach.
They both eyed me with death stares before one of them, Mr. Dull Eyes spoke very closely to Dragon Tattoos' ear. He'd said with less facial animation, "Once Mr. Braun sees this guy to the sign yard, we'll make our move." He was whispering. "We tell everyone he got the jump on us, and he killed Sam before we were able to put a bullet in his head."
Dragon Tattoo didn't speak, he just nodded.
~"You mean nothing…"~
Mr. Braun wrote another message. 'Let's talk in private, without Catherine.'
Leaving Catherine alone made me nervous, but I knew she'd be okay. This was her home turf; I was the one out of my depth. The stranger in a strange land. Despite being in the same country, it felt foreign. I was shown to an office behind the bar. It had red and gold floral walls, dim lights, and a burgundy desk and chair. Sitting in the chair opposite the nightclub owner, I wiped the sweat off my palms onto my jeans. It wasn't nerves, but anticipation. A boiling in my blood.
I knew how to regulate my emotions quite well, having learned I had an even-keel temperament compared to my father, and keeping on his good side had become a skill. That didn't mean I didn't get angry, or didn't feel compassion or love. I could love. I could…
~"I can lose myself in Chinese art and American girls
All the time, lose me in the dark
Please do it right…"~
I could understand men like Sam Braun. Remember when I said I was a ghost and had learned that it was the best place to be? Being hidden in the dark was how I liked to run things. And I've been secretly running my father's business for the past five years. Arthur was an alcoholic who spent more time at the bar than he did at his own warehouse. My old man couldn't balance a checkbook anymore yet alone run a business.
Mr. Braun asked, "Where's your father?"
Grabbing a gold pen off his desk, I pulled out my notepad and flipped it open. I wrote, 'Missing.' With every answer I gave him, I turned the notepad around and held it out for him to read. I never tore a page out and never handed it over to him. Fingerprints stayed on paper.
Thinking about my father once again, I felt the pain in my chest.
~"Run into the night
I will lose myself tomorrow
Crimson pain, my heart explodes…"~
Our strained relationship, our shared pains and joys, had forged a bond that I knew I could never replace. He was my dad. The legacy he left for me was nothing but violence and lies. When I dreamt of my future, it never consisted of the world I currently lived within. A world of men like my father and Sam Braun.
~"My memory in a fire, and someone will listen
At least for a short while…"~
Braun smoked the cigar as his eyes squinted against the smoke. Trust was a hard thing to come by in this business. "What'd you want, Mr. Grissom?"
'It's Gil,' I told him before I wrote what it was that I wanted. 'I want to sell you my business.' Straight to the point. I no longer wanted to be in that room, in that club, and around all this circling damnation that threatened to reach up and pull me back down into the pits of it.
Mr. Dull Eyes and Dragon Tattoo threatened my life. They also threatened Catherine's father's life as well. It was either kill or be killed.
~"I can never say no to anyone but you…"~
Braun laughed. At least, I thought he did. Again, this wasn't anything funny. This was life or death. "Why'd you want to do a thing like that? You have a lot of money in that business. Besides, I'm here in Vegas taking full advantage of only being a buyer."
~"Too many secrets, too many lies
Writhing with hatred…"~
Sweat coated my back, my neck and hands, as I wrote, 'Now, you can be the owner. 'For the love of money is a root of all things evil.' I don't care about money. I'm not asking for a dime in payment.'
Braun played with the cigar, he spun it in between his fingers. "You must want something. Nothing's for free."
'I want out.'
"Is that it?" Braun asked.
No, that wasn't it. I knew what it was about me that was different, so special if there ever was a thing. I had information he needed. I knew I'd have to prove myself to him. It was the only way he would see how serious I was.
I quoted Louis L'Amour. ''Knowledge is like money: to be of value it must circulate, and in circulating it can increase in quantity and, hopefully, in value.' That's what you can pay me with. One day, I'll need information, I expect it to be given freely. No questions asked.'
Knowledge was my currency. I lived on knowledge. It's what made the world go round. The more you knew, the more you could offer someone who had all the money they could stand. We spoke the same language. Braun was also a man who appreciated the secrets people held, either for him or to use against him.
Braun read my offer and shook his head. "No."
Having anticipated his response, I already wrote what I knew down. He read my words. The cigar stopped spinning.
~"Too many secrets, please make it good tonight…"~
I had written: 'Mr. Dull Eyes and Dragon Tattoo are conspiring to murder you and make it look like I did it. They think you're going to take me out to the sign yard."
Circulating knowledge. I was buying my freedom by giving it to him. Saving his life meant saving mine. It was a fair trade.
Braun wasn't one to take someone's word for anything. He said, "We'll see about that," as he stood.
From his top desk drawer, he removed a gun.
There was a backdoor out of the club. Braun had his men push me into the back of a limousine. I lowered the window next to me to get fresh air, and to memorize the route from the nightclub to the sign yard. Mr. Dull Eyes was driving. Dragon Tattoo was seated beside me as Braun sat across from us with his back to the driver. Through the rearview, I saw the dull eyes of the driver meet the brown eyes of the bodyguard with the neck tattoo.
The sign yard was where old Las Vegas casino signs went to die. It was a graveyard lit up by bright fluorescent neon bulbs and tall overhanging lamps. Broken bulbs, twisted metal, and grotesque letters and numbers stuck up out of the sand as the limo weaved around the signs like they were mines in a field. The limo stopped and Dragon Tattoo got out. His scarred hand grabbed the collar of my leather jacket and yanked me out of the car. Braun exited but kept the door wide open.
Mr. Dull Eyes got out of the driver's seat upon Braun's request. And there we all stood, in a graveyard, burning in sand. As my hot blood boiled inside, I saw the sweat roll down the driver's forehead as Braun made an accusation. One of conspiracy to commit violence against his employer. Dragon Tattoo's hand flexed, his jaw tensed as his eyes widened.
The driver tried to deny it. His blazing eyes of fire landed on the bodyguard. He was pleading for help. His fiery blue eyes screamed out the words: Kill him now!
In my mind, I saw the hand gesture. A stabbing down motion with the right index finger across the palm of the left hand.
~"But the same image haunts me, in sequence, despair of time…"~
I blinked and everything happened at once. Dragon Tattoo pulled his gun as I pulled mine. Braun jumped back as the driver mouthed words of desperation.
My hand never shook, aim never wavered, as I squeezed the trigger and watched as Dragon Tattoo's head jerk sidewards along with his body as blood sprayed out the side of his skull all over the giant broken metal sign. Aiming the barrel towards Dull Eyes, I squeezed the trigger. The bullet ripped through his skull, right between his scared fiery eyes, making them dull again. He dropped where he stood.
As red blood spread out over the brown sand under the sharp blue, yellow, and green neon lights, I handed the gun back to Mr. Braun. It was the gun he'd taken out of his desk. He'd given it to me to use. Men like Braun never got their hands bloody, they always made someone else do it. They called it a 'show of loyalty'. My father made me show him the same form of loyalty years ago.
Removing the gold pen and notepad, I asked, 'What did your driver say?'
Braun answered, "He said, 'kill them both'." He stepped over the dead body to the open door of the limo. "He's not my driver anymore. You are. At least for tonight."
~"I will never be clean again…"~
Getting into the driver's seat of the limousine, with Sam Braun in the back, I drove us to the nightclub. The bright lights of the city of Las Vegas flashed through my vision as my heart thumped inside my chest. My fate once again revibrated through my hands as I felt them tense on the steering wheel.
This was all I knew. How could I possibly break free from something that was birthed inside of me the day I arrived on my father's front porch steps? I still remember the day he shoved a gun into my hands in the office at his warehouse. My hands shook so bad I nearly dropped it. There I was, fourteen years old, holding a gun as my father stood over me with one directive.
He told me then something I could never forget. The hand gesture was a stabbing down motion across the palm of the left hand using your right index finger.
Kill, he said. Kill, or be killed.
We arrived back at the nightclub. I got out and opened the limo door for Mr. Braun the same way I had opened the Jaguar's car door for my father. I knew my place. A ghost behind the Man in Charge. However, the one who was really running the show, the most dangerous, wasn't the Man in Charge at all.
It was the silent deaf man who stood behind him and did his bidding.
~"Touched her eyes, pressed my stained face
I will never be clean again…"~
We got a room in the hotel and casino above the nightclub. The key given to Catherine was to the Penthouse Suite. I took my overnight bag to the master bathroom and took a shower. I had to rid myself of the sand and blood. I could feel it all over my body, on my hands, and in my fingernails. It was on my back, mixed within the sweat.
As the hot spray pounded over my head, I closed my eyes against the all the loud. The world disappeared when I shut my eyes. A darkness washed over me like the water that ran over my body, prickling my skin and making me shiver.
~"Touched her eyes, pressed my stained face…"~
I got out of the shower and saw through the open door, Catherine. She was undressed, sprawled on the bed under the veil of red and orange neon lights. I'd never felt more welcomed, or comfortable, in the presence of another person in all my life. I thought I could tell her everything. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.
~"I will never be clean again…"~
Leaning over her, her hands touched my skin. They soothed up my chest, rubbed my shoulders, and forced me to face her. She was innocent in all this. A dandelion breaking through the creaks, going her own way as she forged her own path in life away from her father's business. I envied her.
We kissed under the red and blue lights that broke through the curtains.
~"I will never be clean again…"~
In Braun's office, after we returned from the sign yard, I made a promise. He wanted me to stay in the business, until he could get everything worked out in Los Angeles. It was my company; I had already been running it behind the scenes all this time anyway and now wasn't the time to walk away.
One day, he told me. Today wasn't that day.
But I made a promise after he told me to stay with Catherine. That I could trust her. He told me to watch after her. To protect her out in Los Angeles. She was his only daughter. Eddie Willows, her boyfriend, worried him.
~"I will never be clean again…"~
I promised. There wasn't anything else I could do. She was a friend, and I saw the way Ed's been treating her. The violent tendencies that coursed through my blood would never reach out to touch Catherine, that I promised.
And if she wanted me to spend a night with her, offer the comfort of a warm body and tender arms, I could give her that.
~"I will never be clean again."~
I was startled awake by my own breathing. My chest pounded as I choked back a sob. And then another. Lights flashed across the ceiling, reds, blues, and greens as the world kept turning outside the window. On the inside, my world was far from the one that existed. It felt like I was adrift into the vast openness of space. Sucked into the vacuum and jettisoned out towards the edge of existence. All alone, tumbling, never to stop.
"All is not lost, the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and the courage never to submit or yield." Those words were from "Paradise Lost" by John Milton. I used to lie in bed at night, thinking of the true meaning of those words. They had haunted me then, just as they were now.
The lights blurred. Tears spilled from my eyes as I felt her hand on my chest. Pushing out a breath, I rolled out of bed. After I finished in the bathroom, I pulled on a pair of boxers and stepped out onto the balcony. Down below was a pool. Across from the pool, in a big open lot, was the Ferris wheel. Its lights were what kept turning and twisting through the open curtains of the hotel room. At the moment, the colorful lights and dark shadows twisted across my face.
I knew what I was, and what I wasn't. I wasn't a cold-blooded killer. I wasn't a psychopath either. What I was, was stuck like that Ferris wheel, destined to spin forever in the same spot. Over and over unless I changed it. That's what I was trying to do, change it. In trying to change things, I ended up right back at the beginning again. At the bottom, with no family or friends this time to help me get unstuck. All I needed was a way to prove to myself and anyone who cared to see me that I wasn't this. I wasn't a killer.
It was hard to concentrate. I couldn't keep my mind focused as my vision darkened as the fatigue from the day pressed heavily upon my shoulders. Exhaustion wasn't anything new but somehow this was different. Not only was my body tired, but my mind, my emotions, even my spirit. Everything seemed to have sucked the very life right out of my body. The effort it took to keep my eyes open started to wean as they drooped.
A nudge in my ribs jerked my head around to see Father Dave giving me a worried look. I sat up straighter in the hard uncomfortable pew. A woman's face filtered through the rumble in my head. Her blue eyes sparkled as her crimson red lips moved while she signed her words. It was a quote from 'Paradise Lost'. Tears streamed down her face as the pain became too much.
I tried to remember her smile, but all I saw were her tears. The pleas as she fought to the very end, until she took her last breath. She had signed, /'All is not lost, the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and the courage never to submit or yield.' Never yield, Gil. You're going to have to be strong. Your father…he'll try to break you down. Don't let him./
I didn't know what she meant by that. I haven't seen my father in years, not since he left after the divorce. He was a man in a picture frame who never held me. A man who stood off from his wife, and who never touched his son. A man who seemed to never want a family but got sucked into it because she'd gotten pregnant. A man who wanted nothing to do with his deaf son.
The room was silent, and still, as more than a few people looked my way. Father Dave's anticipating eyes landed on me once again. I didn't feel like talking. However, maybe that was why I should. Normally I would've been positive, optimistic, and genuinely happy to share whatever knowledge I'd acquired. I would sit and talk to my mother for hours.
Tears welled as I thought that tonight, tonight I felt like sinking down in the chair and wallowing. I was never going to be able to talk to my mother again.
I quickly wiped the tears away. I didn't know any of these people. They were all my mother's friends, her clients and colleagues. They weren't there for me. They were there for her, and themselves. I was alone. Was my father even here?
Resisting the urge to get up and leave, I sat forward in the chair and rubbed my chest as I felt the pendant through the fabric of my shirt. My mother had given it to me. Saint Francis de Sales. The patron saint of the deaf.
I stood and made my way to the front of the church. Standing on the stage, I reached out and touched the casket. I could do this because I had to do this. Without lifting my eyes from the floor, I started signing.
/I'm Gil, Betty's son, and…/ I stopped as I lifted my head to face the gathered mourners. There was a man in the back of the church. He was tall. Wavy hair slicked back. He wore a trench coat over his suit and tie. His blue eyes were sad. It was the man in the photograph. My father. /And I'm going to miss my mother very much./
A hand was on my shoulder, startling me out of my memory. Catherine stood beside me on the balcony. Her hand rubbed my shoulder as she smiled softly. Her other hand rubbed the tears off my face. I'd been crying, and didn't even know it.
She took my hand and pulled me back inside. I lifted the sheets up so she could get back in bed. I kissed her before grabbing the pen and notepad.
As the blue glow of lights swirled across the room as the Ferris wheel turned, I showed her a note I'd written. 'I don't want anyone to know that we were in Vegas today.'
Her hand rubbed my chest as she asked, "Where were we supposed to be if not here?"
'Los Angeles, looking for my father. He's missing.'
"Well…shouldn't we be looking for him?"
I shook my head and wrote, 'He's not missing from me.'
"You know where he is."
I nodded.
Her eyes never left mine as she gave a nod. "Okay."
Just like that. No questions asked. It felt pretty good to have a friend. It was either that, or she knew from experience to not ask questions. I wondered if she was just tolerating me now because I knew her father.
I wrote the words that hopefully told her that I was nothing like him. 'You can ask.'
She balled up the piece of paper and tossed it into the trash can. Sitting up, the sheets pooled in her lap as she told me, "I don't want to know," before she kissed me.
True friend, indeed.
TBC…
Disclaimer songs mentioned/used: "Heroes" by David Bowie and "The Figurehead" by The Cure.