Page 213 of Dark Romeo

I clutched at my skirt as Roman began to tell his story, publicly for the first time, of how he watched his mother die. I was crying quietly into a handkerchief by the end of it. There was not a dry eye on the jury either. I could see something loosen from inside Roman now that he had told the truth he’d kept inside for so long. Hopefully, it would be enough.

At the end of the trial, I stood with Roman at the back of the courtroom, our hands twisted together, as the judge brought the jury back in. The foreman stood, a piece of paper in his shaking hands, ready to read out their verdict.

“Whatever happens…” I said. I wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence.

“Whatever happens,” Roman said, his voice low and menacing, “my mother will get justice.”

Our eyes met. I nodded.

“We the jury find the defendant, Abel Montero…”

I squeezed his hand. He squeezed mine in return.

“…guilty of murder in the first degree.”

The courtroom erupted. I let out a cry, tears forming as a palpable wave of relief crashed over me. Roman slid down onto the bench, his eyes unfocused, his Adam’s apple working.

It was over. It was finally over.

JULIANNA

____________

Later that night, we were back in our hotel room. Roman had been quiet all evening. I knew he was thinking of his mother and what his father said in his confession about her leaving their family.

Nora had just been to visit earlier. She brought with her a small box which I asked her to find among my things stored in her spare room.

Roman sat in a chair by the window, staring out over the city lights. The sky was an inky black. Not even the moon was out tonight. I slid my hand on Roman’s shoulder, getting his attention. He lifted his face up to me; his eyes were darkened underneath and weary.

“I need you to listen to something.” I slid the USB into the tablet, found the file I wanted and pressed play.

A crackling came over the speakers before the voice of my mother came on.

Abigail: “You don’t have to tell me your name. Let’s call you…Joan. After Joan of Arc. She was a strong woman, just like you.”

Maria: “I’m scared.”

Roman sat up, his lips parting as he sucked in a breath. His eyes found mine, wide with question, raw with emotion. Is this her? Is this my mother speaking?

I nodded, because I feared that nothing would come out if I tried to speak.

Abigail: “I know. I’d be scared too. Just take a deep breath. Remember why you want to do this.”

Maria: “Are you a mother?”

Abigail: “I am. I have a beautiful little girl. She’s eight. I would do anything for her. Anything. Be strong for your children, Joan. Be strong for them.”

Maria: “Okay…”

We listened to the whole recording. I stood at Roman’s side, a hand on his shoulder, ready to be there if he needed me.

Maria: “My husband…he didn’t always used to be a bad man. He didn’t used to… My boys…my poor boys. He’s going to turn them into monsters.”

Maria began to cry. Roman flinched as her pain crackled through the air.

Abigail: “I promise you, I will get you out of there. I will.”

Maria: “I won’t leave them behind. I won’t.”

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