Again (26 page)

She lay a few feet away. He walked slowly toward her, already knowing what he would do with her body. Already feeling the eternity of grief and shame he would feel for his lifetime. For several lifetimes.

Chicago, 2006

C
armen Carvelli ran her finger down the names listed alongside the mailboxes. This had to be the building, it had to be. Her vision couldn’t have been wrong. She had wasted enough time driving around, at one point taking a wrong turn that had cost her precious minutes. Now standing in front of the brownstone, she found the name she’d been searching for. T. Jensen. Tyne Jensen, the name of the woman David had told her about. Carmen rang the bell once, twice in quick succession, then a third time. She shivered in the cold, closed her eyes in a quick prayer as she waited for a response. And saw David brandishing a knife. The same vision she’d had twice now.

“Please, c’mon, c’mon,” she pleaded to the wind.

But was only met with silence.

He bent solemnly over Rachel’s lifeless body. Her beautiful vacant eyes stared up at him.

He heard a motion and looked up. And there she was standing in front of him. It was all confusion. Rachel was dead…and alive.

From somewhere, the sound of bells chimed. Their cheery sound mystified him. They were so incongruous to the moment.

He saw the other Rachel walk toward the door and push a button. He heard a distant voice that seemed familiar yet he couldn’t figure from where.

“Please, my name is Carmen Carvelli. My son, David, is he there with you?”

Rachel said something he couldn’t make out, pushed a button in the wall. A waspish buzz sounded and she opened the door, waiting for someone.

He stood from the lifeless Rachel, moved toward the unfamiliar Rachel who was still so beautiful, yet so different. The hair was not long, nor reddish, but dark. The lips, fuller. The eyes were still those of a doe and they sparkled as he remembered. She turned as he reached out to her and her eyes widened with fear. Fear of him.

He took another step closer, thinking to comfort her, to tell her everything would be all right. That he would never let anything happen to her again.

But she backed away, her eyes staring at his outstretched hand. “Where did that come from?”

He stopped and looked down. In his hand was the knife that had taken Rachel’s life. The same knife he’d used to avenge her death. Not his own, but the one he took from one of the bastards who sought to rape her. Strange. It was no longer bloodstained.

Another gasp. Another voice. “Oh my God, David!”

He looked up to see an older woman just in the doorway. Again, the voice and face were familiar, but he just couldn’t grasp why he knew her. She had called him David. Just as Rachel…no, not really Rachel…had done earlier. Why did they insist on calling him this name?

“David, please,” the other one, the beautiful one, pleaded. There were tears in her eyes. He felt the need to kiss those tears away. He took a few more steps, and the other woman pulled something from the reticule she clutched in her hand.

“David, please, I’m begging you!” The older woman had tears in her voice. He saw the gun in her hand. Saw that her hand was shaking. He had to get the gun away from her before she hurt herself. Before she hurt Rachel. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing Rachel again.

He approached the woman, reaching out. Then there was a loud explosion.

He felt himself falling back, felt the impact of his body hitting the floor. He shifted his head and saw Rachel lying next to him, her eyes still vacant. She was so near he could reach out to touch her. As he felt her cold flesh, he thought that this was as it should be. He should have died with her that first time.

He closed his eyes and waited for death to take him.

C
armen Carvelli stood listening to the bleeps that tracked David’s tenuous hold on life. Every pause on the monitor caused her own heart to miss a beat. She clutched the cold bed railing as she looked down at her son, still unconscious after six hours. He was too pale, as though the transfused blood refused to flow through his veins. She placed a trembling hand to his forehead, tracing a finger along his flesh. He no longer felt clammy, but he was several degrees cooler than normal. The doctor—she couldn’t remember his name—had told her that David was expected to pull through, but that the next few hours were critical. She wanted to believe everything would be OK. But there were many things that could still go wrong. She could still lose him.

And it would be her fault. She had only meant to aim at his hand to make him drop the knife. But the gun had jerked in her nervous clutch, and the bullet nicked an artery in his right forearm instead. David nearly bled to death before the paramedics got to the apartment minutes later. The doctor told her that eight pints of blood had to be pumped into him to keep his heart going during surgery.

She barely remembered all that had happened between that first horrible moment and now. She looked at the clock; it was just a little past three
A
.
M
. With the harsh fluorescent lights and the closed blinds, Carmen didn’t notice the passing of time. The room was a vacuum removed from reality. Occasionally, she heard the steps of someone passing by, otherwise the corridor was a tomb. The only reason the attending doctor had allowed her in this late (or early) was because of the circumstances. David could still die, and she needed to be by his side in case he took his last breath.

The horrible nightmare of the previous hours intermittently flashed through her mind. David, being wheeled away. The police station, dirty and cold. Tyne in a haze of shock. Yet the young woman had been alert enough to speak to the first officers at the apartment. To give Carmen an alibi she hadn’t asked for. The story offered was that Carmen and David had been visiting Tyne. At some point Carmen had reached into her purse for something, and had pulled out the gun she kept for personal safety. Somehow the gun had accidentally gone off.

A simple lie. The two officers had looked at both women skeptically and then loaded them into waiting squad cars to take them to the station. They hadn’t had time to get the story straight, so Carmen just restated the lie with a little detail when she was questioned alone. She told the officer (who reminded her a little of David) that she’d been reaching for her cigarettes, had pulled the gun out because it blocked her search. That somehow the safety had shifted and the gun had gone off.

The police held her for a couple of hours, during which she pleaded to see her son. Without any evidence, they couldn’t do anything but let her go…for now.

Everybody was waiting for David to regain consciousness to tell his side of the story. If he lived to tell it.

The only thing was, even if he came out of the coma, he probably wouldn’t remember anything.

Carmen hoped desperately that was the case.

She would rather go to jail than have David tormented with the realization of his past life, the deeds he could not undo, in this lifetime or any other. He was no longer that shadowy stranger that she’d seen standing in the middle of the apartment, his hand clutching a long knife. He was her David, her son.

She touched him again. This time he stirred. And she held her breath.

“So, what exactly did happen?” Tanya pressed, her eyes unwavering. Tyne was finding it hard to meet those eyes.

Tyne sighed, looked at both Tanya and April, who, despite her protests, had come over to the apartment anyway. They were sitting side by side on the sofa, their faces hard with a no-nonsense threat to them. She had had to field so many questions last night, first from the police, then the media who had brought vans around early in the
A
.
M
. And later that morning, she’d put in calls to her family and to Sherry to fend off another round of queries before the story hit the air, hoping to avoid this very confrontation.

Her mother and Sherry, even Tyrone, had accepted her explanation, all of them concerned but thankful that no one had died. At least not yet. But her sisters were another matter. They wanted the full details of what happened last night. And they weren’t buying her story. But what could she tell them? It was like she had been through some bad drug trip, with fantastic illusions playing her senses. Except the illusions had been real. David, no longer Joseph, lying on the floor, bleeding. Tyne shuddered as she remembered the paramedics loading a very still David onto a gurney, wheeling his nearly lifeless body from the apartment. She kept her eyes averted from the bloodstained carpet. Yes, last night had been all too real.

Her sisters sat together on the couch, April occasionally taking a peek at the carpet, then looking back at Tyne. Tanya refused to break her stare. Through some damned sixth sense, they knew she was lying. And she didn’t know what to tell them. She definitely couldn’t tell them the truth.

“I told you exactly what happened, Tanya. I’m not going to keep explaining. It was an accident.”

Tanya shook her head. “What was he doing here anyway? I thought this thing was over between you two. And what in the goddess’ name was his
mother
doing here? Tyne, it makes no sense.”

April nodded her agreement. “And his mother just happens to have a gun that just happens to go off? I’m not buying any of this, Tyne. He brought the gun over, didn’t he? He came over to hurt you.”

“No, no, he didn’t! He wasn’t trying to hurt me. He just wanted to talk. His mother…I don’t know, she just dropped by…”

“After midnight?” April countered.

“Look, I don’t know why she dropped by, she just did. And it was her gun, not David’s. She was trying to get something from her purse and the gun came out, went off…”

“And you told this to the police?” This time from Tanya.

“Yes, yes, just like I’m telling you. What do you want me to say, Tanya? That David came over here to kill me? It wasn’t like that. He didn’t lay a hand on me. The shooting was an accident, that’s all. And I don’t feel like discussing this any further. I haven’t had but a few minutes sleep since last night and I don’t feel like being questioned by the damn Gestapo! You’re both worse than the police.”

Her sisters glanced at each other, some unspoken communication passing between them. Then they stood. Tyne rose from her chair, waiting.

“We’re going, for now,” Tanya warned. “But this conversation isn’t over, Tyne. And whenever you think you feel up to telling us the truth, we’ll be ready to listen.”

Tanya walked to the door. April started to follow, but then the younger woman grabbed Tyne, planted a kiss on her sister’s cheek. “I love you Tyne, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you go through the mess I had to go through. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen, OK? Even if it means you have to hate on me for a while.”

Tyne felt tears brimming. She looked into April’s eyes, so open and full of concern. If both of her sisters were pains, it was because they loved her. And April had reasons to be hesitant about Tyne’s story; she, too, had once been on the other end of her sisters’ questioning. Had once been the one to offer excuses that just didn’t sound right.

Tyne hugged April, looked over at Tanya standing near the open door. Tanya also had tears in her eyes.

“One day, I’ll tell both of you everything,” she promised softly. “Just not today. I need time. OK?”

Tanya nodded slightly, opened the door, then turned back. “You’re not going to see him again, are you?” The question came out more like a plea.

When Tyne didn’t answer, both sisters sighed, shook their heads. They both seemed to be appendages of a single mind. But they said nothing more as April shut the door behind them.

Tyne stood there, looking at the door, wishing she could call them back, wanting to ease this burden off her heart. She needed desperately to talk with someone, someone who could understand. But she barely understood it herself.

In the last hours, she’d gone over not only last night, but all of those other nights in these past few months, the dreams, the inexplicable feelings about David, her fears, even before she knew what to be afraid of…

She had thought she was just playing along when she pretended to be Rachel.

But sometime during everything that happened last night, the truth had hit her and she could no longer run from it.

It frightened her more than anything that had occurred. Because she didn’t know if she could reconcile her life with that of a woman she didn’t know, a woman so entrapped by her circumstances and bad choices that it had cost her life. She found it hard to feel a connection, and yet there was. A connection that had nearly destroyed David and might still destroy him.

She needed to know more. About Joseph, about Rachel. And from what little she had learned in a short conversation with Mrs. Carvelli, she knew the woman might have the answers she needed. But she would have to wait.

For David.

She said a silent prayer.

Minutes later, the phone rang.

T
yne listened half-heartedly to the excited murmurings on the other end of the phone as she sat at her desk. Regina Stewart was talking so rapidly she ran out of breath at intervals, had to stop then start again. Throughout the deluge, Tyne nodded as though the other woman could see her. She did feel gratified that the story had led the city to investigate Webber Tires and that the investigators had already found several environmental violations near the surrounding areas of the plant, violations that might force the plant to close. Regina continued to thank Tyne profusely.

“I’m so glad, Regina. Really I am.” She
was
glad, but her heart just wasn’t feeling the woman’s joy. In the last few weeks, her heart had been elsewhere.

When she hung up, she closed her strained eyes. Already, her desk was strewn with the clutter from two projects Sherry had given her in the last week. Photos had to be sifted through, people had to be called, interviews arranged. Weeks ago, this phase would have excited her. Now, she only felt exhaustion.

Tyne looked up from her notes at the knock on the door and blinks in surprise. It was open and David stood in the entrance, looking like he wasn’t sure he could enter. Or that she would want him to. Almost a month in the hospital had nearly washed his skin of any healthy color. And he was thinner than ever before. Still, when he smiled, the brilliance of it masked the obvious ravages of pain and illness.

She stood up, walked to the door, her steps slow but sturdy.

“David, it’s so good to see you.” She gave him a peck on the cheek to answer any unvoiced concern about his welcome. He held her eyes for only a few seconds before looking away, as though he was afraid of what he might see there.

She led him to one of the chairs fronting her desk. Instead of returning to the other side, she took the seat next to his. She peered at his face, searching for a vestige of the man who had possessed him, who had stood in her living room that night. But he was just David now, no signs of Joseph anywhere in his features. Although there were new lines visible around his eyes and his mouth. But these would probably disappear once he was fully mended. She was glad to see life in those green, sometimes hazel, eyes. He was on the way back. And hopefully, Joseph was gone forever.

“I just wanted to come by to…” he paused, searched for a word. “…to thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for, David. I was glad to help, especially with you being wounded.”

“No, not that, although I do owe you for that, too. But I wanted to thank you for the other…”

She leaned forward, reached out to touch his hand. Could he know?

“I remember everything.” He looked down, unable to meet her gaze. “Everything. About you—about her.” He didn’t need to say her name. They both knew whom he meant.

“David, don’t force yourself to think about it.”

“But I have to think about it. I tried not to believe for so long, that this thing was coming over me, that something was taking control. It wasn’t until that night that everything became so clear. And so horrible. I was that man, a man who killed the woman he supposedly loved, a woman who had to die because of his lust, his selfishness.”

Tyne didn’t know what to say to assuage his guilt. She had hoped he wouldn’t remember anything about that night. Still, maybe it was good that he did. Maybe, they could talk openly about it now.

She rose, walked behind her desk and retrieved the microfilm printout from the middle drawer. She’d had it for nearly a week now, ever since she’d met with Mrs. Carvelli at a small café downtown. Initially, when Tyne had called Mrs. Carvelli with questions, she’d resisted the woman’s suggestion that they meet face to face again, but Mrs. Carvelli had been insistent that there were things Tyne needed to know. Things that were best said in person and not over a phone. They had met for coffee, quietly going over that horrible evening and everything that had occurred before the shooting. Even verbalizing what she had seen and heard had not made it truly real to Tyne. The whole evening had begun to take on the dimensions of an illusion that would fade away with time. But then Mrs. Carvelli had handed Tyne the newspaper printout she’d found in the library archives. And a parcel of faded letters. And suddenly the whole thing became very real.

Tyne sat next to David again and handed him the printout and the letters. He opened up the article that had run in the January 10, 1880 edition of the
New York Times.
His ashen skin seemed to pale even more as he looked at the picture of the man next to the headline.

Joseph Luce, Sole Heir of Luce Fortune, Dead at 29.

The photo was grainy after so many years, but the impression was indelible—handsome in the smug way that men used to wealth seemed to emanate without effort. Dark hair, dark eyes that reflected a brilliant smile. A congeniality that masked a dark soul. The face of the man David had once been.

Tyne had memorized nearly every word of the article, knew every angle of that face. The story would have been a scandal in its day. Son of an elite New York family killed in a common alley fight. The other man had been named Charles Rhodes, 42, a stevedore, residence unknown.

Still holding the printout, David unfolded one of the age-weathered letters, began reading Rachel’s words. His hand was trembling.

“Your mother gave me those. She got them from a college student who’d been researching about Rachel. There were so many things I needed to know and the letters helped me understand a little about Rachel…about who I’d once been.”

David’s head shook slowly as he continued reading. “I still don’t understand how or why—and, the knife…”

“I don’t know. Even your mother couldn’t explain that. Maybe Joseph’s guilt was strong enough to bring the past into the present. To make things as they were. Which could explain your physical change, and the knife.”

He looked up at her, his eyes brimming with tears. “Tyne, I would never have hurt you…at least I don’t think I would have.”

He sounded so uncertain, her heart quavered.

“My dreams were always leading me to you,” he said quietly.

Tyne thought about her own dreams, their strangeness and yet how real they had been. Especially the knife that had terrified her. Yes, the dreams had been leading both of them, warning them.

He stopped reading as though he couldn’t bear it anymore. Closed his eyes. He leaned back his head and it seemed that the last of his strength left him at that moment.

He still needed something from her. Something only she could give.

“David, your mother told me that you…that Joseph…was probably seeking absolution from Rachel that night. Well, it may be too late for Joseph, but it’s not too late for you. If I were still Rachel, and you were still Joseph, this is what I would say: I forgive you. And I understand. That night, you were about to do the right thing and release me, except everything went wrong after that. In the end, you did what you thought was best for her—for me. Joseph saved Rachel from something horrible and he avenged her death. So, from my point of view, there’s nothing more to feel guilty about. You need to live David’s life and let go of Joseph’s. He’s long dead. And so is Rachel. Because I’m no longer her. I’m Tyne. A flesh and blood woman who cares deeply about the man sitting next to her, and who has no qualms about giving her heart.”

She reached over, kissed him softly, carefully. His lips were salty with tears freely flowing down his face. She touched his cheek, then pulled away, and let him weep.

After a few minutes, the sobs waned. She caressed his hair, dark and curly. There were a few strands of gray that hadn’t been there before.

He drew a deep breath, smiled. He seemed stronger somehow, as though the tears had expunged the last of his former life, the vestige of Joseph’s remorse.

“So how should we do this?” he asked. “Let’s say we start over.”

Tyne smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

He reached out a hand. She gave him hers and he enclosed it in a warm grip.

“Guess introductions are in order, then. My name’s David Carvelli.”

Her smile broadened as she shook his hand. “And mine is Tyne, Tyne Jensen.”

As they held hands, Tyne said a silent prayer in her heart for Rachel and Joseph, and hoped that finally they were going to have a happy ending.

Only time would tell.