Page 4 of Fall
With the soft cord threaded through his fingers, he bows his face so fury tipped shoulders, frosted with sorrow, bring feathery whiskers close to my cheek. I pray the violence unravelling within him calms. An edgy snarl follows a second of uncertain silence. “Open your lying mouth.” The command holds no room for bargaining. His tone blasts like a bomb filled with nails, casting deadly shrapnel with the sole purpose of causing harm.
“Dante.” The name catches in the air. “I can explain.”
I flinch when the hand wrapping around my neck jumps to my jaw, locking my face before him. “You don’t know me. Never call me by that name again. There isn’t anything you can say to fix this. I should have put you down the night we found each other in the forest.”
Dante is gone.
El Fantasma dominates.
Hot tears stream from the corners of my eyes. I want to ask what stopped him from killing me back then. Why did he stay with me while I was battling the fever? Why did he welcome me into his kingdom? Yet, covered fingertips bite into my cheeks to keep me silent. No matter how hard I thrash, I’m imprisoned by brute strength. Where untold passion once bloomed between us, haunting despair vibrates with a promise of pain.
He releases me and roughly shoves the cotton belt past my front teeth. The ruthless knot behind my head tugs and traps woven strands of hair. I’m gagged and muted, kneeling before him as he rises to a predatory stand.
“If you try to remove it… I’ll…” His jaw locks, and he stares at me with a wild gaze. His breathing slows from uncontrolled to shallow. Swallowing hard, he shields his eyes once again and swears in a tyrannical rumble.
“Sir?” A man with a walnut complexion, broad nose and a neat goatee stops abruptly, locking eyes on the bloodied scene. He reaches for his weapon, meeting Dante’s explosive aura. “What happened?”
“My gun, Luiz.” Dante crooks his fingers. “I need my piece, now.”
Luiz lowers his firearm and reaches behind his hip, retrieving yet another gun. “Is there something I can help with, sir?”
Metal meets leather. Dante’s features remain void of emotion. Chin low. Eyes to the broken man. A hair-raising calmness blankets his turbulence. “Yeah, get the chopper ready.” As the order snaps out, he straightens his arm and points the loaded gun to the beaten man.
With a twitch of his finger on the trigger, a bullet competes with the crack of a thunderbolt. An intermittent explosion of electricity highlights the cartridge’s supersonic journey where lead tunnels on a mission to terminate.
My veins run ice cold. I hunch over, gripping my stomach as it heaves. The reality of his actions bleed out before us. There’s no doubt the man is dead. The mushrooming puddle of sanguine fluid around his skull confirms it.
Terror racks my bones. Fear barbs over my skin. El Fantasma. The monster. He’s my enemy, and now I’ve betrayed him.
“Get up.” He doesn’t touch me, only stares at the doorway without looking back to address me.
Uncontrollable teardrops sting my eyes. I swallow and do as he asks. The aroma of citrus combines with a metallic waft of death. Dante’s fingers tighten around his weapon when he steals a glance, checking to see if I’m on my feet. At that second, I’m not even sure if I am standing because the break of sickness crashing through every cell in my body makes me lightheaded.
A rise of horror within me distorts the replica suite, making the world around us so much darker than it should be. The ache spearing the chambers of my heart spreads to my stomach when he marches from the cabin, expecting me to obediently follow. I can’t physically bring myself to slide a foot forward. Everything inside me shakes.
“Now!” His voice booms.
I try to move once more, but I stumble and trip over my unsteady feet. Leaving ventilated air to the oppressive heat of the outdoors, I collapse to the worn planks and hunker on my hands and knees. Every fast breath welcomes fuzzy tingles of panic. There has to be another way. Whatever he has planned for me undoubtedly involves destruction. Ghostly chains of unbearable worry for my future keeps me locked to the planks, huddled and silently pleading for mercy.
“Iris.” Dante’s boots appear. “Get up.” I risk a look, noting his unfriendly grimace. My head sways, and I hum out a plea of forgiveness. Instinctively, my hands raise to the material, silencing my voice. He squeezes the bridge of his nose, then stoops over and snares my wrist. “I said, get up.” White teeth bared, ready to bite back at my muffled protest.
He thinks I’ve betrayed him.
Once upon a time, we shared parts of ourselves under the stars. He rewarded me with an understanding of peace and respect. Now it’s gone. Any glimmer of hope he offered is ruined.
I wish for three single grains of time. A grain of the present to tell him the truth. A grain of the past to unwrite the note. A grain of the future to know what punishment he deems fit for the woman who unintentionally shattered his trust.
Together, we cover the walkways at speed. Him forcing me to keep up with his determined strides and me trotting helplessly by his side, overpowered by masculine seething rage. Faraway thunder growls, now miles away from the Oasis. Palms sway in the aftermath of the raging storm, oblivious to the blizzard icing me out of Dante’s life forever.
A helicopter comes into view on the clearing ahead. Luiz is in the cockpit preparing for takeoff. Dante’s grip squeezes harder when the wind whips my hair into a frenzy. Apprehension spikes my heart rate out of control. Boarding an aircraft with a man slipping from humanity only makes me more determined to speak. With one hand, I blindly pluck at the tight loops.
“Don’t take it off,” he warns, refusing to look at me. “I have zero interest in what you have to say. It’s too late for that shit.”
I continue to struggle with the cord, oblivious to the steps leading to a fern fringed helipad. On a quest to be judged by the truth and not an assumption, I lose my balance and topple. In a heartbeat, before thought or consideration of his actions, he catches me. My muscles had braced for impact. Now they quake in his disconcerting embrace. We are chest to chest. Breath to breath. Hatred to hatred.
Blades gather momentum and cut through the sultry atmosphere. Playful parrots take to the sky, startled by the mechanical whirlwind. His jaw works as he tries to stop whatever emotions are running riot within him. Citrus surrounds me, and then evaporates, when he bumps me backwards. He grits his teeth and angles his head away. “Get in the helicopter.”
I stagger a few paces, then pivot to face him. My teary gaze pleads with his hidden assessment. There has to be a drop of compassion left. I know it lives inside him. I’ve seen it. I’ve welcomed it. Amity exists within the hostile savage grappling with violent tendencies.
