Chapter 13

I unlocked the door to my place and swung it open. The dusk of the sun spilled orange and pink light through the floor to ceiling windows that were from wall to wall in the front room. Making this part of the apartment a fish bowl. Everything was neat and in its place. No sign of a struggle. I walked slowly to the light gray couches, where I hold my last memory. I was eating a scone, drinking coffee while watching tv. The tv was off, no scone, no crumbs, no cup of coffee.

I went into the kitchen. No dishes in the sink, my coffee cup in its rightful place in the cabinet. I felt weird. Like I was being watched. I slowly went from room to room in my apartment until I ended up in front of my bed. I kept looking out of the corner of my eyes. Something wasn’t right but everything seemed in its place. I figured I must be paranoid since the last time I was here I was captured.

A sense of panic came over me and I slowly walked over to the nightstand on the right side of my bed. I opened the second drawer and was relieved to see my gun metal gray Glock 19 Gen4. I grabbed it in my hand and pushed the magazine catch, seeing the magazine full. I was comforted that it was still loaded.

I kept the pistol in my hand while I walked over to the left side of my bed to a huge acrylic painting on the wall and pushed the small button on the bottom of the frame and the piece of artwork ascended into the ceiling, revealing the rest of my arsenal. I quickly took inventory; my AR 15, my shotgun, and my other Glock 19 were in their holds. I took a deep breath and relaxed a little. I pushed the button for the painting to descend and disguise my armory.

I looked around my room, expecting the eyes I felt on me to reveal themselves, yet nothing. I went into my wardrobe and I felt torn. I was glad that I was surrounded by MY clothes, however, it reminded me of the wardrobe *she’s* probably in right now, with *him*. The hurricane threatened my peace once more and anger flooded my eyes. I clenched my teeth and took a deep breath, resetting my expression.

Gun still in my hand, I grabbed my box of pre rolled joints off the counter and went to the bathroom on the other side of my room. I set the box down on the bathroom counter and turned the shower to hot. The bathroom filled with steam and I started to undress. Once naked, I opened the box of joints, put one in my mouth and lit it as I walked into the shower, still holding my gun.

The hot water scalded my sunburnt skin, but I chose to ignore it. Wanting to scorch the bullshit off my body. I tilted my head up to get my hair wet as I puffed on the cigarette, letting the pharmaceutical effects defuse the anxiety whirling inside me. I finished the whole joint sitting under the water. The cannabis numbed the pain of my sunburnt skin smoldering in the hot shower.

I didn’t want to put my gun down but the thought of lathering in my own soaps and shampoos liberated me. I wanted to be free of *her*. I set my glock down on a shelf in the shower, where I can easily grab it, and focussed on cleaning my body. Being aware of the soaps and how they removed any memory of *her* scent.

I got out and quickly wrapped myself in my towel, grabbed the box and the gun and we went back into the wardrobe. I set the box and the gun down on the island in the middle of the closet, and was quickly looking for something to wear. I decided on black briefs and a black sports bra and put it on. I grabbed my gun and a joint and left the wardrobe. I grabbed my laptop with my freehand from the top drawer in my nightstand by my bed and went out into my living room.

I sat down on the floor in front of the coffee table and opened the two envelopes and my laptop, lighting a joint. Theía was right, these two were civilians. A counterfeit suicide, and an arranged auto accident should do the trick- relatively easy. The rest of the night I researched my targets and plotted their terminations.

Two weeks went by and I was driving home from an assignment when I got a call from my brother and I answered in greek,

“Ambrosio, agápi mou, ti ofeílo aftí tin efcharístisi?”

*“Ambrosio, darling, what do I owe this pleasure?”*

“Páo sto gámo aftó to Savvatokýriako. Den boroúsa na vro éna korítsi na páei mazí mou, opóte tha páro tin aderfí mou...”

*“I’m going to the wedding this weekend and I thought since I can’t find a date, I’d take my sister…”*

“Akoúgetai diaskedastikó, se poion gámo tha páme?”

*“Dressing up does sound like fun, who’s wedding?”*

“O gámos gia to Vicario?”

*“The Vicario wedding?”*

Ambrosio asked as if I knew and forgot. My heart sank into my stomach and the hurricane I thought I tamed started thrashing her waves inside me. Breathing became difficult again.

“Íra, eísai ekeí?”

*“Hera, are you there?”*

I took a deep breath and quickly said,

“Nai eímai kalá, xéreis, aftó to Savvatokýriako eímai polý apascholiménos. Écho pollés ergasíes pou prépei na olokliróso.”

*“Yeah I’m fine, you know, this weekend I’m really busy. I have a lot of assignments I need to get done.”*

Ambrosio groaned,

“O Theé mou, Íra, to káneis pragmatiká xaná?”

*“Oh God Hera, are you really doing that again?”*

I could feel the tears building up behind my eyes as I replied,

“Nai Ambrosio, kai lypámai allá eímai apascholiménos kai prépei na fýgo tóra.”

*“Yes Ambrosio, and I’m sorry but I’m busy and I have to go now.”*

I hung up the phone right as the first tear broke out of my eye and down my face. I immediately got a text from my brother,

[Ta synaisthímata deíchnoun adynamía, Íra]

*(Emotions show weakness, Hera)*

I tightened my jaw and texted back,

[Skatá, Ambrosio]

*(Fuck off, Ambrosio)*

He had a point though. I pulled into the garage of my apartment and parked my white Jeep Saharra.

Two days later, I was sitting on the floor again, researching more of my targets when my phone rang with an unfamiliar number. Area code Sicily. I clenched my teeth and took a deep breath and answered in English,

“Hello?”

The other end was silent,

“Helloooo??”

I asked… I moved the phone away from my face to check if the call was connected; it was. I closed my eyes tight and said,

“Say SOMETHING, Emiliano!”

“Hera?”

When Emiliano said my name, I forgot how to breathe,

“What do you want?”

The other end was silent for a moment then I heard Emiliano whisper,

“I’m getting married tomorrow..”

I started to hear the thunder of the hurricane rumble in my ears and the waves inside me start to agitate in the pit of my stomach,

“I know.”

We were both quiet when Emiliano whispered again,

“I miss you…”

The waves started swelling up in my lungs now.

“What the fuck do you want, Emiliano?!”

I growled.

“I don’t WANT to marry her, Hera!”

The hurricane turned violent and started flooding my throat. I calmed it enough to ask,

“*She’s* pregnant, right?”

I could hear Emiliano groan before replying,

“Yes.”

I wanted to yell. I wanted to scream! I wanted to breathe fire! But I stayed mute.

“Say SOMETHING!”

Emiliano pleaded.

“Sounds like you don’t have a choice.”

I waited for Emiliano to reply, but after a few seconds of silence, I whispered,

“Have a good life, Emiliano.”

I hung up the phone and threw it across my living room into the steel lining of the colossal window. I got up and went down the hall to my home gym. It was a large square with floor to ceiling windows on one wall, matted flooring, weights on the wall to the left, treadmill and stair climber to the right. I turned the speakers on to shuffle and Superstition by Stevie Wonder blasted out at full volume.

I stood in the middle of the room and started stretching. Bending my head side to side, pulling on my arms, bending my legs and stretching out my calves, bouncing to the beat. I started on the treadmill and after an hour I still felt the angst in my stomach and decided to try to run myself tired on the stairmaster. My legs gave out after almost an hour and I was ready to get in the shower.