Ten years ago, on a cold dark night, someone was killed beneath the town hall lights….
That time is mostly a blur to me now, like shadows. It’s an enigma really how only light can bring to life such dark shapelessness. And contrary to all the fears and insecurities that I know he harbored, John was always light. At his heart, there was always goodness and purity. Selfless, so selfless that sometimes I even think I hate him. As if that were possible. Still there are things about that night that are emblazoned in my brain. I can remember how my body ached as I stumbled through our front door, Roman’s and mine, the smell of his body lingering; the taste of his flesh mingling with the salty tears still fresh upon my lips, but I don’t recall at just what point Roman arrived home. I remember the eerie calm that loomed throughout the house…my only companionship in the pre-dawn darkness a dim blue light radiating off the television and the muffled voice of a rather bubble-headed bleached blonde newscaster talking about a local murder with a gleam in her eye, but I don’t remember the phone ringing the last time we ever spoke. I guess it’s funny in a rather pathetic sort of way that I was so preoccupied with my own moral preoccupations that Victor’s name didn’t register in my head much less the details of his brutal murder, gunned down outside city hall. If it had, if I’d somehow paid more attention, maybe things would have ended differently. I know they would have because in retrospect the pieces seem to come together in such an obvious way that sometimes it almost haunts me, my own stupidity.
I have this recurring dream. Or maybe it’s a nightmare? Like Jimmy Stewart in “It’s a Wonderful Life” only without the happy ending. But at least he’s there. At least in these visions that come and go John gets to see his son and daughter grow up. My dear sweet, sweet Belle…that she should never know her daddy, that he should never know her. Is there any injustice greater than that? If there is, I can’t fathom it. I try to keep his memory alive for them, but it’s hard sometimes. And just why the memories I cherish most always carry the greatest pain, I may never understand. They always sting the worst. Here in this cold, empty loft that somehow came to be in my possession after all his assets were divvied up. I can’t bring myself to call it home anymore than I can bring myself to leave and start anew. There have been times when it’s been so bad that I’m not sure how to go on…long, lonely nights when I lie awake in his bed and cry, a bottle of wine and memories my solace.
I’ve tried meditating, levitating, psychotherapy, aromatherapy, hypnotherapy, reflexology, yoga and Buddhism. I’ve tried getting in touch with my fears and regrets. I’ve work-shopped them…such lovely new age crap. I got in touch with my guilt. Big stretch. I could write a book on guilt…. Boy, could I write a book on guilt. I’ve embraced my anger. In the end it didn’t really solve anything but was definitely cathartic. Money well spent. Hell, once after a particularly wild margarita fueled girl’s night out with Laura, we even went to see Madam Zelda, Salem’s finest palm reader and psychic extraordinaire. If asked on the street, I would never admit it of course, but many thousands of dollars later…I can safely say I’ve given up such frivolities. Not money well spent. I guess it goes without saying that I went a little insane. But who hasn’t at some point in time? And I would love to say that it’s all behind me now but won’t. That’s the one delusion I’ve conquered…the idea of perfect mental health. It’s all an illusion. Unfortunately all the weight I’ve gained and lost is not…well over a hundred pounds. Nor is my isolation. I’ve allowed my self to loose touch with friends who mean the world to me. I’ve wallowed in my own self-reproach until my skin turned pruney. And when the truth about what really did go on that faithless night finally did come out, I walked away. I walked away from my husband and the family we’d built…I walked away from the very thing that John sacrificed his life trying to preserve.
~~~
Roman had been away at a law enforcement conference for almost a week and the odd part is that in his absence I actually found it easier to stay away from John. Even now that’s something I don’t fully understand. It certainly doesn’t make logical sense that the temptation should actually lessen as the threat of being found out decreased, but there it was. For the better part of a week, I was able to almost forget the weight of Roman’s love and the burden of my own guilt and shame. Somehow it seemed so much easier to lose myself in my work and my children. I suppose it’s twisted, but I almost felt like a widower again. Had I not already been so exhausted, I’m sure I could have conjured up some guilt about this too but honestly the thought never entered my mind. Truthfully there wasn’t much in the way of cohesive thought in my head at the time. I was just trying to get by; just trying to get through the day without going completely crazy.
As Friday rolled around though, I found myself standing outside his loft. My fist poised to knock when John wrenched the door open before my hand even had chance to fall. A look of madness and lust etched across his handsome face. He didn’t ask me why I’d come. He didn’t ask me anything at all. Why bother? We’d always had that sort of inexplicable psychic connection. He already knew. Knew me better than I knew myself. I used to loathe that trait…that self-satisfied smirk, testament to his intimate knowledge of my most whimsical whim and my most kinky desire. There were times I thought to smack the expression right off his face, though I never did. Not really. I came close once. But he’d read the lines of my book once too many times…caught my open palm in mid-flight, brought it to his lips to devour with his insatiable kisses…one minute desperate and hungry, the next feathery and light. I needed a chiropractor after that row. We both did…should’ve thought to ask for a group rate…
I think I miss that knowing smirk most of all.
This was different though. No longer married. More than friends, more than lovers…adulterers, partners in our own damnation. Yes, very different. Quiet. No words spoken, no secrets kept. The cool night air smelt of ozone and thunder…a dangerous, heady combination. My whole body trembled and burned as he pulled me crashing into his side. The door wasn’t even closed yet when his lips sought out the delicate hollow of my throat. My hands, desperate claws, tore at the taut fabric of his t-shirt. My entire reality, all existence that I could bring to the forefront of my muddled mind slowly turned to liquid. Like the lightening illuminating the darkened sky just outside his window, as unexpected as it was inevitable, I dissolved into his desperate caress. There was something almost violent in our reactions to one another. Primal. My control snapped. I would say his control snapped too, if he ever had any control to begin with, but that’s a fallacy…never, not where I was concerned. A paralyzing self-doubt from time to time…an overwhelming fear of dragging us all down into the dark abyss that he’d come to believe was his curse. But never any control. It was only after John was gone that I would truly understand the depth of my power over him, and that is one thing I that I don’t think I will ever be able to forgive him for. I was so lost in him that I could no longer even take care of myself. How could I be expected to take care of him? The yen and the yang I suppose. He watched over me, always. I should have been the one to watch over him, if only he would have let me.
~~~
As had become my habit, I left him. Even as I waited for that invisible tie that bound us together to draw me back into his arms. It always did. In the wee hours of Saturday morning as I carefully extracted myself from his embrace…picked my way through the scattered clothes and blankets that littered his bedroom floor. All I needed was space. Just a little distance to get my head back together…to analyze and re-analyze the mockery I’d made of my life. Maybe it’s just human nature to want what you don’t have. Or maybe it was nothing more than the fruits of a good old-fashioned mid-life crisis. All I know is that in my whole life I never wanted so badly to be someone else as I did at that moment. So tired of being responsible, of always considering everyone’s feelings but my own…and John’s. Why did I have to do what was “right?” Who even knew what right was anymore? I sure as hell didn’t…not when lost within the endless blue depths of John’s eyes and more and more not on those rare occasions that I could actually bring myself to look in the mirror. After a while it got to where I didn’t even recognize my own reflection anymore. It was like looking at a ghost…ravaged by a lifetime of rational thought and mountains of guilt and all the lies I perpetuated in the name of some grand self-delusion. I wanted John…not this damned empty house. But nothing is ever easy…nothing worth saving anyway.
The shrill ringing of the phone never registered in head and yet somehow I found myself torn from the heated contemplation of John’s unique musk still alive upon my skin. “Please, don’t hang up!” I still shiver at the memory of the desperation in his voice. Although I think I’m just now beginning to finally comprehend all the layers of complexity buried deep within. A favor…just someone to watch Brady while he tried to answer questions about Victor’s death. Such meticulously chosen words…they should have been a clue to me. The only behavior John was ever meticulous in was his care for my bodily worship. His heart was always just a raw, gaping wound spilling forth the deep timbre of intensely impassioned pleas. Numbly I agreed of course. All too happy to be off the phone…all too happy to swoop into the hallowed walls of Victor’s home and rescue Brady. A welcome distraction, a few hours lost in his childish innocence or so I thought.
It was right at dusk when he knocked on the door. The final rays of a fading fiery light poured through the French doors as I sat cradling a dozing Brady in my lap with Roman milling mindlessly round about the house. Even before Roman could let him in an air of foreboding threatened to suffocate me, and I was genuinely tempted to tell him to ignore it. From where I sat on the sofa, I couldn’t see…heard only the door moan. As soon as I saw Abe’s face though I knew I didn’t want to hear what he’d come to say. Settling of the edge of the coffee table just in front of me, he leveled his bloodshot eyes on mine. “No. Whatever it is, it’s not true. You’re wrong.” His voice buzzed like a swarm of fruit flies all around me.
~~~
We gathered on a Tuesday at the Brady Pub to say goodbye and reminisce because that was what John wanted. Kayla made the trip home just to be there. The Alamains, Vivian and Lawrence, made an appearance but didn’t have much to say and so didn’t stay long. Shane flew all the way from England. An endless stream of cops he’d worked with through the years filtered through. And Diana, of whom I’d only seen and heard a few scattered pictures and stories, surprised us all…swooping in and out before any of us even had the chance to find out how she even knew where to come.
Very much a casual affair…no suits and ties, no pall dresses. The stories came with an uncustomary ease that, in truth, had rarely been a part of John’s life and certainly had not marked his existence since he’d learned that he wasn’t really Roman Augustus Brady. Of course there were tales of his generosity. Never comfortable with his newfound wealth, John made his peace by playing the role of generous benefactor. Most everyone knew about his help in building the pub. The plaque on the wall a testament to all he’d done. I don’t know if Shawn and Caroline ever knew just what that plaque meant to him. But the extent of John’s generosity was somewhat shocking. Tom and Alice started the trend, and it continued from there. Gifts no one knew about brought to light…to the hospital and the Horton Center and at least a half a dozen different churches and shelters down by the riverfront. And everyone seemed to have some kind story about his quirky sense of humor. The kids and Bo took particular relish in sharing his most embarrassing moments. The one through thread always seemed to be his fiercely loyal friendship. As Shane said, “Once you had a friend in John, you knew you had a friend for life.” Mostly though, there were stories of the gifts he gave that were far more valuable than money could ever buy…gifts of time and love and a shoulder to cry on and when absolutely necessary a good swift kick in the butt. There were moments of bittersweet and throughout the evening I couldn’t help but feel eyes upon me as if they were just waiting for me to share some side of John that no one else knew. I couldn’t bring myself to though. For the most part the mood was, as John would have liked, light. Not an easy task given all the pain he’d suffered.
I left in a rush…abandoning my husband and my children. I hadn’t meant to run out, but when Abe began to speak and I saw the look in his eyes, remembered all he’d admitted to me in private just a few short days earlier, felt Roman bristle at my side…I knew I had to. I left on foot. Crazy I suppose given the harshness of the weather that night. But somehow it seemed right and what started out as aimless walking, soon found purpose. Something I could cling to and return to time and time again…a place to be free.
~~~
Our daughter was born in the fall of the year with her eyes wide open. The hospital was cold and imbibed with a sense of sterility that left me feeling strange and out of place as if this life were happening all wrong. It wasn’t until the doctor held her up for me to see her ten perfect little fingers and ten perfect little toes that I understood why. Lost within the ancient oceans of her intense blue eyes, so familiar, locking onto mine. Every now and then there is still a part of me that thinks surely it must have been a dream, those first few moments together, an exhausted, drug-induced, postpartum hallucination because even now the moment seems almost too surreal. But then I wake up to the sound of Roman’s anguished gasp echoing in my head, and I can’t deny the truth. I don’t want to deny the truth. From the moment Dr. Bader told me I was pregnant, somewhere deep inside I knew…even if I wouldn’t allow myself to entertain the notion. I knew the baby I carried was John’s. The feeling of him there with me swelled in direct proportion with my ever-expanding waistline. Sometimes I think that’s why my weight has been on a constant yo-yo these last ten years…just another irrational and unhealthy attempt to feel him close beside me, to feel myself swell with the very essence of his being. It was strange though how as my certainty grew so too did my guilt and my hope. Living on saltines and weak herbal tea. Set up a churning in the pit of my stomach that lasted long after my first trimester and the beatitudes of morning sickness.
In private I cried and thought about the path my life had taken only to fall into the trap of pitiless dreams of what might have been. Withdrawn few understood the link between my joy and my sorrow. Indeed most were quite content to chalk the volatility of my moodiness up to pregnancy hormones. Even now I can’t bring myself to believe that Salem is so simple-minded. No, it’s a tale as old as time. People more content to live in denial than face unpleasant truths. Reality’s sting is sharp and true though, and a hypocrite such as me can say such things.
~~~
I used to wonder why I never recognized the end of anything until after it was already past. When Don and I split, even though I was the one who asked for the divorce I was genuinely shocked on the day I realized that I was single again. Now, though, I’ve come to believe that a certain degree of unexpectedness is just part of the natural progression of any conclusion. I guess it was around Belle’s fourth year. It was cold, the coldest winter on record. And I was cold and growing more frozen by the day. Tired of living a lie. A dark starless night and late…too late the kids should still be up. With no more stakeouts to occupy his time, Roman’s exhausted form slunk through the front door without a word passing between us. I moved my feet to make ample space for him on the sofa. Curled up, veiled beneath a pink cashmere blanket that John had given me once upon a time, my reading glasses poised perilously on the end of my nose I continued to make notes in a patient file. Why this night should be different from a thousand different nights that started out just the same way, I don’t know. But something a longtime in unraveling finally reached its final fraying end…the last vestige of the love we once shared. My memories of that night are vague except for a marvelous sense of rebirth after a long and deadly frost. Bitter grunts and exasperated sighs and condescending rolling eyes. Before we could even catch ourselves the night spun disastrously out of control. Why this night of all nights, I don’t know. But there is a certain poetic justice to the timing. Besides there was nothing left worth saving in our marriage. Only pride and face, and both had depressed me beyond my own worst imaginings. Still I don’t know who spoke first that night or who spoke worst. All I remember is the low incessant hiss of vicious words straining between gritted teeth as they ricocheted all around the room like a cavalcade of deadly gunfire that finally once and for all shredded this paper union…putting us both out of our misery.
I left him standing by the fireplace with a face burnished with rage. Feeling his black eyes bore through me as I ascended the stairs, but the futility in the air was a palpable force that neither of us would again disturb. Even as my eyes burned with unshed tears, I disappeared into the darkness without so much as looking back. I’d cried enough for that bastard to last a lifetime. Never again. True I’d vowed this many times before and many times before given into the temptation of tears and guilt. But this time was different. And there’s only one salve for such a lost and loathsome feeling, my children. All too often caught in the crosshairs, especially Brady. Belle was a bitter pill for Roman to swallow, but Brady…. There aren’t even words to express Roman’s resentment. The selfish asshole actually tried to get me to let Shawn and Caroline have custody. What he thought that would solve I don’t know. Even after all this time, the images are still fresh in my mind. The creek of the door as I quietly slipped into Brady’s room. Lost in a little cocoon of blankets and bent limbs, he seemed so tiny asleep in his bed. The teddy bear John had gotten him when he was born suffocating in his crushing little boy grip and Daddy’s Yankee baseball cap hanging beside his headboard. A perfect picture if not for one missing ingredient. Just across the hall, I wasn’t prepared for Belle’s blue eyes shining back at me…a kind of unmentionable strength within the teeming depths of her vulnerability that was so much like John’s it took my breath away. Only then did I recognize the end for what it was. I couldn’t see for the tears in my eyes as they began a steady trail down my cheeks, but as her pudgy little hands rose to wipe away the tears I knew. Tucking her fine blonde hair neatly behind her ears…my damnation would be my salvation.
The next morning I gathered the children and left with only what I could fit in the car. Maybe happy isn’t the word, maybe it was just a profound sense of relief. And I guess Roman felt it too because he didn’t fight the divorce. A couple calls to Mickey and few signatures later and finally the lie was obliterated.
~~~
In times of loneliness and weakness I sometimes wished that Roman and I could find our way back…that we could bridge the gap and somehow start again. Find a way to talk, really talk. We shared two beautiful children together and so much joy through the years. I did love him once. I don’t know what was wrong with me that I couldn’t love him again. We lost him too. I don’t recall the day, or the weather, or even where I was when I heard the news…a routine traffic stop gone horribly wrong. It was a tasteful funeral with a police core and honors, though I suspect Roman would have been a little embarrassed by all the pomp. Carrie was philosophical in her grief; so many times she’s been through this already in her relatively young life. Truly my child, Eric was stoic. Blank as a stone. Sami, bless her heart, was emotional in an inexplicable Scarlet O’Hara kind of way…melodramatic but strong. A steel magnolia. Oddly enough it was Brady who seemed to take the news the hardest. Until that day I don’t think I’d ever realized the depth of his need for Roman’s love and approval. Until that day I don’t think I’d ever fully realized just what microcosm of John’s personality these children were…each had somehow absorbed his finest and oft times most infuriating traits. I grieved too…for the senselessness of Roman’s death. And I worried over my children with a kind of paternal intensity that I’d thought I’d forgotten. In the end I knew I’d hovered a bit too much when Carrie told me “with all due love and respect…enough!” I still laugh at that. Odd how Roman’s death should become such a turning point in rebuilding my relationships with my children. It seems wrong that it should have happened that way.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to give my heart away again. I do miss that intimacy. And a couple of times I thought to try. In fits of insanity allowed Maggie and Laura to play matchmaker. Bad blind dates for the annals of all time though I’m sure the fault is at least equally mine. I’m not good company…just a shrouded heart lost in black.
~~~
I spoke to Abe today for the first time in almost five years. He didn’t look well, but then I would imagine he probably thought as much about me too. I had gone to the pub to meet my girls for a day of Mother-Daughter bonding. They said it was to make plans for Carrie’s wedding and so I could give Sami a check for her last semester of college, though I have my suspicions that the timing was much more for my benefit than that. I was scanning the room for them when I saw him. Sitting alone near the back in a dark corner booth nursing a cold cup of coffee. Marble gray streaks in his hair to match the deep lines etched into his face. Without saying a word, I slid into the booth across from him and waited. I’m not sure why I did it, maybe because he looked like he needed a friend. Or maybe there wasn’t a reason just a strange sense of déjà vu that followed me throughout the day. Through the years, I’d probably replayed the story in mind a million times. Tried every way I could imagine to find another ending or to at least make sense of this ending. I guess I’ll never understand. Finally, Abe looked at me. “He did it for you, you know. The decisions he made. He thought it would all be so simple…a little cooperation, a good lawyer and some ballistics tests and then the police could focus on really finding Victor’s killer.” His gaze fell away. It always did since that night. Abe could never again look me in the eye for more than a few seconds. If it weren’t so pathetic, it might even be funny…how we’d become unwitting partners of guilt. Everyone knew John was innocent…Abe above all others. The very idea of John murdering anyone, much less killing Victor… Ridiculous! I can still hear the silverware jump as Abe pounded his fist on the table. “It should have worked. He was right…the ballistics tests cleared him.” As perverse as it sounds, I almost laughed. Instead I smiled and took Abe’s hand. For the first time in ten years, I wasn’t angry. How could I be? Not sitting there, seeing him so racked with guilt over something that wasn’t even his fault. And for a moment I cringed at the thought of all the times I’d accused him. I knew better. I always knew better. He loved John like a brother. How could he have known that a brawl would break out in the holding cell? Had he known he would have broken every police protocol known to man to change John’s fate. I don’t know how long we talked before the girls swept me away, but I left him with a hug.
Seeing their reflections in the windowpane, damn but I felt old…and proud. My children who’ve done so well for themselves often times even in spite of the circumstances life’s handed them. As the day slowly faded into darkness, I left them to their movie…Belle’s turn to choose. Disney. Standing out in front of the theatre with hugs and kisses all around, I surrendered myself to the hills.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
I’ve lost count of all the times she’s visited me in these ten years. She thinks no one sees, that no one knows just how often she comes to me. She’s wrong. I know. I’ve always known. We’ve shared many emotions in these years. I’ve wept with her and laughed…a kind of delicious laugh right on the edge of sanity. We’ve shared burdens. I readily admit to an early time of selfishness when I took a certain pride in all she risked in coming to see me. But it was a short-lived vanity as her eyes were lost more and more into dark shadows of restlessness. Initially my favorite visits were day trips when she would bring the children with her for me to see…so beautiful. Words can’t express what it’s like to see her in them and them in her. Now though I think I most cherish the nights. I know I shouldn’t. I know I should wish her free of me. But as hard as I try I can’t bring myself to. There always was a degree of greed and possessiveness between Doc and I. Death doesn’t change that. Death doesn’t change one damn thing. Not in matters of the heart. I can see her in the distance. Her hair is a little lighter and maybe a bit longer than when last I saw her. Stopping to say a word with DJ and then to my surprise Roman. The night winds wail and moan. Kneeling beside me, I wait for her to speak, but am contented in her silence. Her fingers run over my gravestone. Slowly she retraces the lines of my death.
Ten years ago, on a cold dark night, someone was killed beneath the town hall lights…
The Jarlena Journal 