The Beautiful People (27 page)

            “Grant, you
can’t control everything, especially me.” I paused, dreading the next question
I had to ask. “I need to know something…now that I killed one of the Genovese soldiers,
are they going to come after me?”

He didn’t say anything,
but I could read the answer on his face, especially when the fine line of sweat
formed on his upper lip. The answer was clear. While I had successfully
defended us, a target had been placed on my back as well. Now Grant, Dominic
and I were wanted. How could they protect me now?

Grant must have felt
the stress and panic radiating off of me in waves. “Don’t worry Natalie, the Grabanos
are on the offensive now and won’t let anything happen to you, or to Dom and
I.”

            “You can’t
guarantee that. If that was the case, Dom and I wouldn’t have been attacked in
the first place!” I stopped to calm down, my breathing was accelerating with my
heartbeat and it made my headache worse.

            “You might
have to lay low for a few days, which you need to do anyway…doctor’s orders.” I
groaned, once again I was going to be cloistered away in the condo, afraid to
go outside. I didn’t know which was worse, the idea that people wanted me dead
or the guilt that I had taken a human life. Being alone in the condo without
any distractions was going to magnify these two concerns and that was a
daunting thought. “Marco and the boys are figuring out their next move.
Everyone is on full alert and waiting to hear any news from New York and what
plans are being made there,” Grant informed me.

            This
alarmed me. “What do you mean next move? Marco’s not planning on retaliating,
is he?”

            “Hell yeah
he is! The Genovese’s tried to kill his nephew; they might as well have
attempted to take out Marco. You don’t mess with his family.”

            “But, you
guys started it!” I yelled.

            “No, the
second they messed with you and Brittany is when it started.” Grant replied,
his voice flat.

            “But Marco
let them get away with it…he fed us to the wolves!” I choked, the tears were building
up. This was ridiculous. Reasoning with mafia logic was like trying to reason
with a room full of preschoolers.

            “That’s the
way it’s done and has been for decades. Just stop worrying, everything will be
worked out,” he said with more annoyance in his tone than reassurance.  I
wanted to believe him, but the bullet hole in my shoulder contradicted his
statement. I didn’t say anything to that effect, it would be a low blow and I
could tell Grant was already stressed to the max.

We were silent the rest
of the way. The doorman opened my door and looked alarmed when he saw my arm in
a sling. Like the last time I stepped out the car looking battle worn, he kept
his mouth shut. Experience must have taught him that the less he knew the
better. I wished I knew less; I would definitely be better off.

Grant got the door to
the condo and held it open for me. The garbage had turned rancid in our absence
and the odor permeated the apartment. Grant immediately snatched the bag out of
the can.

            “Where does
this go?”

            “Down at
the end of the hall there is a garbage chute,” I instructed. Grant left and I
dumped the contents of the white paper bag onto the counter. The short ride had
left me drained and in pain. My shoulder ached, a deep, throbbing burn that
couldn’t be ignored. Reluctantly, I swallowed a pain pill.

Grant returned moments
later and surveyed the condo. “Is there anything else you would like me to do?
Are you hungry at all?”

            “No, I’m
not hungry, but I feel nasty. Could you, um, help me take a bath?” I was mortified
that I would have to ask my brother to do this and my cheeks grew hot. He
seemed just as embarrassed and froze at my request.

            “Err,
sure,” he answered, lacking his usual confidence.

            “I would
ask Mom, but since she doesn’t know I was shot, I don’t have anyone else.”

            “What about
one of your girlfriends? Wouldn’t it be better if one of them…or Miranda?”

            “None of
them know about this…besides I’ve kind of lost touch with them and Miranda’s
well, I’m more comfortable with you.”

            “Oh. I
guess so.”

            “I wouldn’t
ask you if there was anyone else. I’m not thrilled about having to be naked in
front of you because that’s just weird and wrong on so many levels. You won’t
have to like, wash me or anything. I just need help getting in and out of the
tub.”

I saw relief wash over
his face at this, “Ok, I can do it and you’re right, it is going to be weird,”
he said with a laugh, running his hands through his hair and looking nervously
in the direction of the bathroom.

I filled the tub with
steaming hot water and extra bubbles. Grant waited until I was ready to step
into the tub to assist me. He averted his eyes as much as he could while I
concentrated on not slipping. To say it was an awkward moment for both of us
would be an understatement. By the time I had finished cleaning up, the pain
medicine had kicked in and I was drowsy. Grant helped me out and I managed to
dry off with one arm. Grant pulled one of Dominic’s button-down shirts out of
the walk-in closet and helped me to put it on. Then he helped me with the
sling.

            “I need to
head to the club and get ready for tonight. Will you be okay here on your own?”
He asked.

I yawned. “Yes, I’m
ready to crash.” I slid into bed. Dr. Russo was right; it did feel good to be
home.

            “Well, call
me if you need anything. I’ll stop by later to check on you.”  

            “Okay,” I
yawned again and was asleep before he even left the bedroom.

I walked up the stairs at
The Speak. Even though I didn’t want to go up, some invisible force propelled
me forward. I knew Mr. Genovese would be waiting for me behind the door on the
left. Instead of heading there, my body turned to the door on the right. I
expected to see Brittany on the floor and braced myself.

The
scene was different and it took me a few moments to make sense of it. Brittany
was on the floor, her naked body propped against the far left end of the sofa.
Her head hung forward, limp against her chest. Her legs, mottled with bruises
and smeared with blood, splayed out in front of her. She reminded me of the way
Raggedy Ann dolls would sit. Just one glimpse convinced me that life no longer existed
in her body. The three men that Grant shot months ago sat next to each other on
the sofa, their bloodied bodies leaned against one another like drunks trying
to support one another. This was silly though because they were all dead and
missing part of, if not all of their heads. On one of the club chairs, across
from the sofa, sat the man I had shot. A dried stream of blood ran from the
hole in his forehead, down the side of his nose and down the rest of his face,
by his mouth. The rusty stream had dripped off of his chin and pooled into a
giant brown stain on his gray sweatshirt. His cloudy eyes stared out ahead and
he still had the same surprised look on his face. I wanted to run from the
room, but the invisible force kept me glued in place.

What was going on behind
the macabre audience of corpses had my attention. Instead of Brittany being
brutally raped, with the gun forced into her mouth, it was me. I watched myself
get violated time and time again. First by the driver of the car that had
parked alongside us and shot up the Mustang, then by Marco, then some other
rough looking thug types I didn’t recognize. One after the other, they had
their way with me and had the audacity to high five one another when they
finished. I couldn’t look away. I wanted to yell at myself to do something, but
my other self’s eyes were empty- indicating that I had mentally retreated to
some far off place and couldn’t hear myself.

Marco walked up in
front of me again and gestured to the man holding the gun in my mouth. The man
nodded in understanding and pulled the trigger.

I woke up screaming.

My heart was racing and
my whole body shook violently. With every tremor stabbing pains bit at my
gunshot wound. It took a while for my screams to taper off to a whimper.
Thankfully the walls were thick in this place, or the neighbors probably would
have come running.

There I lay on the bed,
curled up in a fetal position on my good side. Trembling, sweating, whimpering in
pain, and alone. There was no better time than the present for a pity party.
Tears rolled down my face and I sobbed, for what seemed like hours, before I
pulled myself together.  It seemed like every other month I was facing a crisis
and the cumulative impact was having a devastating effect on my overall well
being. Instead of dwelling on the fact that I was alone like it was a bad
thing, I decided to take advantage of it for some serious, uninterrupted soul
searching. I didn’t know how much more stress my body could handle. Now that
I’d taken a life, I could feel my moral fiber beginning to fray and I needed to
fix that before the damage became irreparable.  I was a murderer. Instead of
inspiring people through art, I was contributing to the violence I so despised.
I could go to prison or get gunned down in a dark alley and become another
statistic – just a blip on the headline news.

I got out of bed to get
a glass of water and didn’t bother turning on the light; the darkness provided
a veil of anonymity that was comforting. I moved through the condo like a
ghost. The pain medication bottle was barely visible in the faint light
provided by the kitchen appliances. Even though the bottle called to me, I
ignored it. Soul searching shouldn’t be done in an altered state.

I moved away from the counter
and from the temptation. As I did this, my arm bumped my purse and it went
flying off the counter. Its contents spilled across the tile floor. Sighing, I flicked
on the lights to clean up. I kneeled down and began picking up the
miscellaneous items; my cell phone, wallet, keys, gum, lipstick, lighter and
random pieces of paper. Two pieces caught my eye; Agent Phillips business card
and Chelsea’s business card. I paused and contemplated putting them back in my
purse. Instead, I set them on the counter. An idea was forming, just on the
outside of my brain, I could feel it.

I finished picking
everything up and hung my purse on the back of one of the barstools, grabbed
the two business cards and went to the bedroom. I flicked on the bedside lamp
and sat cross legged on the bed with the two cards laid out in front of me.

I needed out. If I
didn’t escape I was going to be consumed and would probably wind up hanging
from a noose like Brittany. Like many others before me, I could turn myself in
to the FBI and ask for witness protection in exchange for evidence. The only
problem there was that I was now a murderer and the only evidence that I had
implicated people I loved. I couldn’t clearly tie Marco to any of the crimes;
he conveniently orchestrated things, but was never directly involved.

My eyes shifted to
Chelsea’s card. She lived on the other side of the country and had no
connection to the Grabanos. Dominic, Grant, my mom, even Chelsea’s mom all knew
that we had a falling out. If I showed up on Chelsea’s doorstep, would she turn
me away? I didn’t think so, we had been friends since the first grade; I had
faith that she would be there for me, especially considering how dangerous my
situation had become. Was this feasible? I had plenty of money saved up, thanks
to my mom, who taught me not to live beyond my means. Plus, the fact that
Dominic paid for everything helped.

A plan began to form.
Dominic wasn’t going to be home for a few days and Grant was going to be
working for the next couple of nights. Sneaking away would be easy, but staying
undetected would be tricky. How would I keep the mob from looking for me, from
hunting me down? This was a question I didn’t know how to answer. And the
question kept me awake until Grant came to check on me. I heard the front door
unlock and quickly set the business cards in the night stand drawer. I grabbed
the latest issue of Cosmo and was pretending to read when he came into the
bedroom.

“You’re
awake.”

            “You’re
observant,” I cracked at him.

            “And
feeling better as your sarcasm is returning,” he replied with a grin. I was
feeling better. I was mapping out a different future for me and felt somewhat
in control again.

            “Can I get
you anything?”

            “No. I’m
good. Any word on Dom?

            “He’s doing
better and regained consciousness about an hour ago. His dad told Miranda that
the doctor thinks he’ll make a full recovery.”

My sigh came out as a
big whoosh. “That is excellent news!” It also meant that I needed to speed up
my plan. I might not have the courage to leave once Dom came home and seeing
him again would just make it harder. 

            “Natalie,
you okay?”

            “Huh, what?
Yeah, I’m fine.”

            “You kinda
zoned out there for a bit.”

            “Did I?
Must be the meds.”

            “So you
don’t need anything?”