Page 11 of Rotten Men

Selene

My feet meet the wet snow, and I curse myself for not wearing warmer boots. Chicago in January is notorious for its snowfalls and I should have expected as much. Last time I was here, it was a gloomy autumn day and the first forlorn showers of the season had made themselves known; a fact I appreciated at the time, making my nun’s habit and umbrella that much more effective in hiding my presence and camouflaging my existence altogether.

Of course, I made sure to wait for the expensive, window-tinted SUV’s to leave the premises before I took a step inside the Rosehill Cemetery gates. Secretly though, I wished I had been braver and attempted to walk amongst the grieving crowd.

Maybe, for just a few minutes at least, I would have seenthem.

But common sense told me it was a risk far too great to take, even if my aching heart begged for just a quick glimpse. If anyone had recognized me then, they would need to bury another body next to my dear mother, and I couldn’t let that happen.

Once, I might have wished for death.

But that was before a life was given to me.

Today though, no such extreme caution is called for. Aside from my ball cap and hood, I don’t think a more elaborate disguise is needed.Made menaren’t exactly the kind who come willingly to a cemetery and pay their respects. Aside from the obligatory funeral ceremony, their affair with the dead isn’t that considerate. So running into acapoon this crisp morning is highly unlikely.

I walk slowly but surely to the grave I have memorized by heart. An overwhelming sadness coats the air around me, but I try to remind myself of all the glorious times I was able to spend with my mother away from such a deplorable place. I wish we had made more memories. Over the years I’ve come to realize how precious simple, joyous moments are. Sometimes those mundane recollections are the only things that keep you going. A wisdom my mother tried to impart on me when life still felt cruelly predictable and bleak.

As I walk closer to the tombstone, I see a white rose carefully placed on the granite. The sight of the delicate flower is a small comfort, at least. I know my mother touched so many lives, but in this fast-paced, uncaring world, I’m grateful someone still cares enough to remember her. I have no misguided notions in thinking it was my father who had come to visit her and left such tenderness at her feet. I’m sure he forgot about her the minute dirt hit her coffin.

I just wish he was as aloof with my disappearance from his life, as he must be with my mother’s departure from this world. Though I’m sure if I gave him the chance to be rid of me, I’d get my wish. He’d forget about me too, once he made certain I shared the same grim fate as my mother.

Unfortunately for him, he’ll never get the opportunity to have power over my life again.

Or anyone else’s, for that matter.

“Hi,Mammà. I’ve missed you,” I whisper, picking up the thornless white rose.

My eyes start to prickle with the wave of loss hitting my hollowed chest, and I bite my inner cheek to prevent any such waterworks from occurring.

“I know you said no tears, and I’m trying really hard, but I miss you so much. We both do,” I proclaim, cleaning the snow away from the gravesite, placing the fragile rose back on its original spot.

“You’re probably up there worried about me. And I know I promised not to come here anymore, but I had to,Mammà,” I hush out, hoping she understands why I would put myself at risk in this way.

“Things have changed since the last time we spoke, and I can’t just stand back and watch anymore. I need to do this. I hope you understand. I’m definitely going to need you to watch over and protect us as best you can. I’m in dire need of an angel,Mammà—and if God ever had one here on Earth, it was you.” I silently cry out, anxious to have her hold me as she used to.

Even on my worst days, I could always count on her comfort to ease the pain somewhat. With her gone and unable to offer me any reassurance, I turned to distant recollections of days long gone to keep me steady.

A rebellious, silent tear hits the snow, and I wipe away the remaining sorrowful evidence from my face. I hear distant footsteps, and with my cap still hiding my features, I see a caretaker start his morning routine. The clock is ticking, and even if I’d preferred to have a few more moments to sit here and just talk to the only parent who loved me unconditionally, I know I need to be mindful and keep this visit short. Soon this cemetery’s visitors will start to arrive, and although I don’t believe any of them could be a danger to me, I’d rather not tempt fate. My presence in Chicago will be limited, and aside from the drop-ins I intend to make, no one else should even fathom I’ve returned—especially the forces that made me flee this city in the first place.

“Mammà, I’m going to have to do something. I know you won’t approve, but I just need you to understand and guide me. Guide me and help me maneuver whatever obstacles are put in my way. I need your strength,Mammà. This is bound to get ugly, and I’m far too exhausted from so much ugliness in my life already.”

Ilook up at the pale blue sky hoping she hears my plea. It’s as close to an actual prayer as I’m capable of doing. The heavens have never been kind to me, but with my mother’s watchful eye and grace, I’m hoping that’s about to change. And Lord knows I need it to. The next few days will be excruciating to live through. But for him, I’ll need to gather all of my wits and do what needs to be done.

It will hurt.

God, it will hurt.

But there is no turning back now. Chicago has always been my home but I’m returning to it a stranger—a traitorous outsider that most would love nothing more than to eliminate. I just hope the love that once bloomed here is enough to sway the ones that matter most to me, not only to spare my life but also help with my cause.

It really is an undeserving favor to ask of them, especially when I’ve caused so much destruction in their lives. Still, lies and truths will be said in the days to come. I have to make sure I remember which ones are which. I can’t be fooled by my own words, and more importantly, by theirs.

These past few days, an infinite amount of questions have consumed my every thought. Too many to count. How will it be to see them all again? How will they react? Who should I approach first? Should I go for safe and comforting or go to the one that will undoubtedly usher me away? Or should I go directly to the love that has the final word in all things and has cause to hate me most?

The last isn’t really a question. I already know the answer.

There is only one man I have to find true courage to face. He’ll be the one with ice in his veins and a glare of disapproval in his hazel eyes. The last person I want to face is the very one I’ll have to initiate the first encounter with. With the other lost pieces of my heart, it won’t be as difficult to omit certain things. With Vincent though, I will have to lie every second that I’m in his presence.

Yes, he’s the one who will cause my soul the most damage, and as such, he’s who I will need to face head-on.

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