Beautiful Disaster || Gerry & Nick
The hours fluttered by as Nick sat in his old sedan. He barely stirred from his position, stiff against the old and torn leather seating that belonged more in his youth than the much more slick future they lived in. He had long since tossed his burner out of the car, having no point texting a woman who had clearly tired of his company. He couldn’t deny he didn’t expect it, people tended to tire of him. His wife, a slew of women since, and it wouldn’t surprise him if Gerry was next. They had the years but even that loyal hound would eventually grow tired. After all, how could one care for half a man?
As he stared at his reflection in the clean glass of his front windscreen, he didn’t see a person but a husk. His blue eyes seemed to always lack any true colour, and he could never buy his own expressions. Even if he smiled like everyone else or felt something close to joy, it always seemed to fall against his skin like play dough, never quite right. People didn’t seem to notice, but Nick always had. He could follow each line of his face, look across his lips and the crinkles that were beginning to engrave across his face and struggle to see a sense of humanity. He didn’t think himself without a heart, but even when he was angry, sad or happy, it was never quite right. His emotions always followed by a bitter aftertaste, like a wine left too long uncorked. Everything had turned to vinegar and no amount of tasting would change that he was off.
Eventually the warm autumn sun began to disappear and the moon reared it’s beautiful shine over the church and graveyard. He didn’t always come all the way here, but today was different, it was the ten year anniversary and his revenge was finally in motion, and he always came to them at times like this. The only other person who knew about this day was Gerry and Alessa, the latter only because she was there on the day. Her grizzled father grabbing Nick’s sobbing form from the corner of the room covered in his family’s blood and forcing him to leave. If it hadn’t been for Mario, Nick would have probably just withered away to dust in that room, the Luciano’s not caring a jolt what happened. The moon had been like this night’s, hanging over the horizon, ashamed and only half there, hanging a limp light over the darkness.
His fingers curled over the steering wheel, so tight it looked as if the leather was threatening to meld into a whole new shape under his palms and another hour ticked by before he finally ventured out, grabbing a duffel bag he brought with him. The rain was already arriving, pounding against the car and then him, dressed in only a dark shirt as his body finally greeted the cold sharp breeze. The church threw a dark cast over him as he stood in its forever stretching shadow and he could feel his stomach turn just at the sight of its ancient stones. The grooves oozing with moss and betraying the truth of the grave yard. That age had likely destroyed any bodies interned within its soil.
Even as the rain thundered over his body, he didn’t move, just holding the bag, head down as he took a deep breath. Just standing here was hard, he had to fight off his body’s desire to run, to pretend that nothing had happened today and move on with his life. Settle down again (properly), have a family, live off the bar and have a good life. He had the chance, a choice at a good life. It was right there in front of him. All he had to do was turn away from the church, and not go beyond it’s domineering silhouette.
You’re a Caruso my boy, you never hide, you never run.
Nick closed his eyes, feeling the rain drops pelt over his skin, the tears that his soul wanted to let go but his mind was far too lost to ever delve in. Keeping his eyes closed he continued down the gravel path to the church, the sound of his shoes against the stones and the thunder of the overhead shower the only thing accompanying him.
Time seemed to crawl as he trailed down the side path of the church, strolling slowly down until he reached the rusted old gate, pushing it open, fingers tracing over the peeling black paint that gave way to dark sanguine metal dancing along memories of dull unoxidized iron. The fields that extended beyond were completely lost to the darkness, the trees surrounding the area completely blocking out even the moon or the street lights. He didn’t need the light to find his way, but he didn’t want to end up with a broken leg either, so he pulled a small pen light from his pocket, letting the narrow beam of light bleed between the thick rain drops and light the grass.
There was barely a path at this point, simply a deeply dug out path, created from years of shoes pushing against it as the windowed walk to the graves of their loved ones. Nick followed the trail, counting the rows as he went, the stones shifting from shimmering, beautiful marbled blocks to decaying and derelict, the forgotten ones, either too old and not loved enough. Finally he reached the near end of yard, turning down one of the rows, careful to not trod too close to either side, should he disrespected the earth.
It was funny in a tragic way, that he cared to be so delicate when he had no belief that the people beneath were greeted by anything in their final moments than the cold embrace of emptiness. Still, he would kill any man or woman that toyed with his family’s resting place and vowed not to be a hypocrite in that regard. Eventually he hit the forest lining, a small break in the thick brushes betraying that this wasn’t an ordinary section of the area. He pushed back a branch that had strayed beyond its remit, shoving further into the overgrowth. Another tree to his left was marked with a cross, a deep and old scar, the hollowed out bark long since yellowed since it was left still trying to heal. Nick smiled thinly at the sight of it. It was his own hands, trembling and young that had left that mark as he watched Mario dig down the earth, creating the closest thing to a resting place his family would get.
The Luciano’s refused to allow to bodies any amount of respect, so it was up to the Fixer and the orphaned son to drag the bodies across Chicago themselves, and toss them in nothing more than a glorified ditch. Even as Nick broke into the opening that held his family’s corpses, he could still see the scene play out as if it was yesterday. His young hands, already hardened and cut up, burrowed manically against the dirt, providing little help as a stern looking Mario used a shovel and moved without a sound. Alessa had been left at the car, still too young to see such a thing yet. Eventually they both rolled the pale and hardened bodies into three separate shallow graves, and Mario placed three rocks to signify where they lay and that was that.
The picture was a little different now. The years had allowed Nick to create more of a memorial for his family, though he never dared to ever move them from the spot. The rocks were replaced by more rounded, small boulders, that Nick had found and smoothed out himself. It’d taken months, and he had slept many nights in the cold wet dirt while he did so, but eventually he managed to create proper makeshift grave stones. A few years ago he came with a chisel and finished the job, simply placing their first names across the rough rock fronts, and tiny crosses underneath. While he wasn’t religious, he could still remember his father praying over his head, and his brother lending him a crucifix to wear on Sundays for church. There was no fourth stone. They never found Nick’s mother.
Now ten years had passed and he stood before them, expression lost to the shade of the forest. The bartender simply sat down on the earth, not caring that it was wet and slippery from the rain, likely smearing all over his slacks. Instead he pulled his knees up so he could rest his elbows upon the tops, and gazed over, heart thundering slowly. Nick didn’t let the memories get too close to the surface, he didn’t let the image of blood flood over him yet. He couldn’t deal with that right now, not with how things had been going over the past few days. Instead he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a set of prayer beads, slowly chanting under his breath, the tree tops saving him from most of the rain, his fingers pushing between each rung.
“Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine. Et lux perpetua luceat eis. Requiescant in pace. Amen...”
Eternal rest, grant unto them, O LORD, And let perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace. Amen.
@fierylostgirl