A Constant Attraction (Attraction #2) (10 page)

“I know Dad, I know.”

With that, we sign off from one another. Closing the laptop and gathering my belongings, I then collect everything I need from the safe. Paul, the manager wishes me a good night, with his 'I can't do enough for you' smile. He does make me laugh at how light hearted he is. I can see him in thirty, forty years still being here with that smile.

There's very little light as I step outside and a biting chill in the air, with the cloudless night sky and flat landscape that surrounds us. Even though the town is only a mile away, on the opposite side is an expanse of open fields. The sound of slowing engines from a low flying plane passes over head, as the flight path to Stansted Airport is directly above us.

Heading towards my car, I am reminded of a story Isabel told me as we ate our food at the picnic. She speaks so passionately about the kids and not only verbally, but with her hands as well. She was telling me how when Joseph was two and a half years old and they had not long moved into their home here, he was standing at the very top of his slide out in the garden. It was a beautiful hot summer, so luckily Isabel had the patio doors open at the back. She was just stepping out with a basket of clean laundry to hang out to dry, when Joseph heard the noise coming from above. He shot his arm up to point towards the sky, “Look mummy an aeroplane!” This caused a 'heart in mouth' moment as he very nearly toppled backwards off the slide. Isabel said that she had never sworn so much as she saw it happen in slow motion, dropping the basket on the spot to sprint over to him. Of course, Joseph thought it was hilarious watching his mummy do this whilst pulling funny faces (which were actually of sheer terror) and wasn't aware of the mini heart attack that she'd just had. Isabel certainly has a way with words when talking and re-telling stories, particularly of her past. I think my cheeks were aching from laughing and smiling so much that afternoon. This is what amazes me. The turmoil and hardship they've all been through, she can still reminisce on happier and funnier times. I guess that is a good thing, as the horror from what she has described, is something any sane person would want to blank out and forget.

Finally reaching the car I unlock it as I approach. The bleep from the alarm echoes around the large car park. There are a few other vehicles parked up, but seeing as the hotel is marginal used by trades men working on the new science park, it appears that there are hardly any patrons staying here.

Having put all of the baggage on to the rear seats, I climb into the stylish black hire car. The leather is cold against the skin on my back, as I get myself comfortable for the drive. Pressing some of the buttons around the dash, I thank the Lord for heated seats. Starting up the engine, I am then blinded by a set of bright headlights shining directly into the car. Shielding my eyes, I see them flash twice at me. Are these the 'Men on the ground' my Father spoke of? I can only surmise they are, as they follow me some five hundred feet behind, along the main, road heading towards Cambridge.

The journey back to the hotel is one that I would much rather forget. I was on tenterhooks for most of the way, as it was hit or miss as to whether Stefano was going to bring back up the contents of his stomach! Getting out of the car, the fresh air hits him like a brick wall. I worry if we'll actually make it up there. However, the fact that Stefano is as intoxicated as he is and having to take two steps back on occasion, it doesn't take us too long to arrive back at our room. This time, rather than the usual connection of me linking arms with him, it is I who is offering most of the support and direction, or else there was no way we'd have got here. Understandably, searching for our key card in my clutch bag, isn't an easy job.

“Stefano, you're going to have to lean against the wall for a moment.” I almost grunt the words out. Heaving him off me is a challenge, as he is practically a dead weight with not being able to take some of it for himself.

I may have to re-think some of my plan again. I internally kick myself by the fact, I really should have given this part to it, more thought and have asked for Mario's assistance in getting him to the door at least. Then again, it has been that long since we have spent time together, we usually go our separate ways, to our separate bedrooms. As for sleeping together, I can't remember what it feels like to share a bed with the man. I watch him for a moment as he sways slightly against the wall, his head is drooped and his eyes are heavy. I take in his broad shoulders and wide waist, that are a telling sign of his drinking and fine dining lifestyle. I vividly recall the wiry texture of his now, silver chest hair which then spread sparsely across his shoulders and back. And the noise! The noise from him snoring, despite him now residing in the room next to mine, he could still wake a sleeping baby, had we had one. That is at least something I am grateful for. Neither of us are the loving, parental type, so that is one less worry for me right now.

Finally finding the thin plastic card, I swipe it through to unlock the door.

“You..are. The..most..butiful woman I ave ever seen.”

Trying to blank out the useless drunk standing next to me, but failing, I listen to him as he slurs out his words. I secretly pray and hope that he doesn't vomit right here in the corridor. So hastily opening the door, I yank him around from off the wall into our room. Thankful the door springs shut by itself, as I am suddenly dragged in with him and the both of us rapidly tumble down on to the crème coloured carpet.

“
Merda!” I curse at the foolish idiota. Then feeling a sharp pain in my right knee as I attempt to sit up, I curse at myself. “Merda! Merda! Merda!”

Holding my leg, I slowly straighten it to make sure there is no serious injury and all the while next to me, the bastido is lying there, flat out on his back moaning, hardly able to move. I doubt very much if he felt anything as he fell. He is probably totally numb from the excess alcohol that he has flowing throughout his blood stream.

I wince as I adjust myself to stand, first removing the black and crystal Louboutin heels I am wearing. His forthcoming demise would have been worth it alone had he caused damage to them. Cursing under my breath one last time, I carefully get to my feet. Stealing a glance at him as I rise, I see that he has almost passed out on the floor. Secretly I am grateful in a way, at least I won't have to worry about him as I prepare all that I need to.

Straightening my dress and tucking my hair behind my ears, I attempt to stand tall and hobble my way to the drinks cabinet. A sharp pain careers it's way up my thigh as I put weight on the injured leg. Having to deal with a possible fracture is the last thing I need, but I ride through the discomfort of it to concentrate on what needs to be done.

Reaching the liquor cabinet, I search for a glass tumbler and the scotch. Knowing that Stefano drinks his neat, means that I won't mess up on the quantity of the mixer to add. Lifting the lead crystal decanter, my hand starts to tremble. I'm not sure if it's through the pain, shock, fear or anger. It could quite possibly be all of them. You can do this, I tell myself, I have to do this. Hearing the animal, lying three sheets to the wind, not more than eight feet away from me, gives me all the incentive and strength I need.

My mind and thought process are working overtime. Turning to face him again, I make a swift decision and drastically change everything I was planning on doing. The injury I have sustained may well work in my favour and there were plenty of witnesses in the restaurant as to how ubriaco he was. I saw the sympathetic look on Mario's face as we clambered out of the car, as he certainly knows what he can be like. Colleagues and employers have commented on how short in temper he has been recently...yes, yes...this will work.

The strength and hatred I suddenly have towards this man, boils over and erupts, exploding, overtaking every other emotion I have ever felt for him. Not recognising the sound coming from my own mouth as I scream and shout like a demented woman, I purposefully stride towards him, clutching at the glass in my fist.

Striking him once, twice, three times with the lethal weapon in my hand. All of the hatred and adrenalin accumulates to offer the strength I need to finish him.

Exhausted, I collapse beside him. Silence. My heart is pounding within my chest like a thousand drums are being beaten in unison. My arm is outstretched in front of me and slowly I am able to open my hand to let the blood splattered tumbler roll out of my grasp. Dropping my weighted head down, resting it back against the floor, I tightly closing my eyes shut so that I can try to regain control of my breathing.

For what seems like hours I lay there, but looking at the clock on the bedside table it is more like five minutes. Still, it is time that has gone by and I don't have much of it left before Marc gets here. Not wanting to look at the still, lifeless body beside me, I steadily sit up. Gliding my hands across the flooring to help, I paint a streak of crimson. I need to think fast. Come on Emelie, you cannot let emotions get in the way of this now. Starting to hyperventilate as stinging tears stream down my cheeks, I rip and tear at the material of my dress. Any shreds that are pulled free I cram into the inanimate object, of what is Stefano's hand. With my own nails I claw at the smooth skin on my arm, not too deep, just enough for anyone to think that he had done it.

I am not sure if I'm starting to go into shock or if it is relief, but I can't stop the tears from falling. I don't feel regret for what I have done. It could be that I am feeling a bit of both. Getting my mind back on track, I gingerly stand and look around the room. I need to stage it to make it look as though something more went on here. Walking over to the bed, I pull the duvet off and strew some pillows on to the floor. Fighting through the emotions I am finding it harder and harder to breath. I sit back down on to the edge of the bed. My eyes meet the sight before me. Blood, so much blood. It is scattered in so many directions and patterns. A bout of nausea takes over and I have to sprint to the bathroom. Ignoring the pain, I make it just in time. I slump on to the cold tiled flooring, next to the toilet. My head feels as though it is about to explode from the retching. Seconds turn into minutes, as time passes by. It's when I hear the knocking on the door increase in sound and force, that I pull myself up. Squeamishly I bypass Stefano's limp body and wavering, I open the door.

Marc's expression alters almost immediately, to what started off as fierce hatred to one of concern and confusion.

“Emelie, what the fuck?” He reaches for the piece of material that hangs from off my shoulder, torn.

I then move to one side so as to allow him to walk past me. Immediately he drops the package he was holding and runs over to Stefano. Kneeling beside him, Marc checks his pulse. I have no need to hear what I already know.

“He's dead Marc. Dead.”

I have seen dead bodies before, plenty of them, through the past research I've done into cancer and when I was studying in University, but this...this is totally off the scale. Cold, grey and lifeless eyes are looking directly up at me. The man I know...knew like he was my own brother at one point. I don't recognise anything about the person lying here, any life that was there has seeped out of him and therefore now he's just another corpse. His facial features are distorted by the trauma that has been caused to the side of his head and the gaping hole in his temple informs me that he stood no chance of survival. Spotting the blood stained glass not too far away, I doesn't take a genius to surmise that that was the weapon used and going by the red spattered hands of Emelie's, they were the one's that used it.

“What the hell happened Emelie?” I whisper the words, as if I talk any louder, I might rouse the 'sleeping' remains beside me.

Knowing the pride Emelie always takes with the way she looks, it is a shock to see the woman in front of me looking drained, vulnerable and dishevelled. Her usual perfect make up, is smeared and smudged across her face. Black mascara drawn down her cheeks, through shed tears. She doesn't answer my question, just stands stock still and mute. Getting to my feet I walk over to her, never once does she take her wide eyes off Stefano. Holding her slim upper arms, I move into her line of sight and it is only then that she looks up at me.

In a soft, but authoritative voice, I try to get her to open up. “Emelie, you have to tell me what has happened? Have you notified the authorities?”

Still without saying anything, Emelie slowly shakes her head. Turning my back, I hear her take a deep breath.

“He was hurting me Marc.” I face her as she pauses. “He was drunk and tried to force himself up on me. I didn't want it, I didn't ask for it.”

As the words start tumbling out, all of what she is saying sounds far too familiar. Isabel. I don't hold back on my confused reaction though. The Stefano I knew wouldn't be such a fierce or savaged brute. Yes, he is...was a strong and commanding presence to those he worked with, but not towards people who were close to him, like family and friends...and certainly not to Emelie. The muscles around my face contort tightly, as I try to fathom out the situation before me.

I knew he liked a drink, but he...I stop the mingling thoughts rushing through my head. If what Emelie is saying is true, did I really know this man at all then.

Taking in the state of undress that Emelie is in, I start to doubt that I did.

In as a calm and rational voice as I can muster, I have to say what I am thinking. “Emelie I cannot believe for one second that the Stefano I knew...he would never do anything like this. I don't understand any of it.”

Emelie shivers standing in a statuette manner in stockinged feet. I can't quite decide whether it is through shock or cold. Either way, I remove my jacket so as to cover her partly exposed skin. Walking behind and placing it over her shoulders, she touches my hand with hers. Then turning she cries uncontrollably, leaning into my chest. Her delicate hands are outstretched across the back of my shoulders, as she wraps her arms about me. Figuring she needs to be comforted, I hesitantly put my arms around her. However, still not knowing if she has contacted the emergency services or police, I ask her again.

“Emelie, did you call the authorities? They need to know about this.”

Without any words, she gazes candidly up at me and I am taken by surprise as she presses her lips to mine. It takes me just a second to react, pushing her back and I can then step away from her.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing Emelie?” I instantly wipe the unwanted taste and texture of her from off my mouth, with the back of my hand. The earlier tears and silence are rapidly replaced with a sinister smirk and deep, dark tones.

“I know you want me Marc, I've known it for a long time. If it hadn't been for Stefano being here, we would have been together a lot sooner, years ago. Now that he's not, what is to stop us?”

I am struggling to take in the words that are being spilled from this woman's mouth. Has she been possessed by some malevolent spirit or the devil himself? Which ever, both display the same evil and torrent of darkness.

“What the hell are you talking about Emelie? I have told you in the past and I will tell you again, I have no interest in you in that way what so ever.  You are very sorely mistaken if you think that my feelings for you have changed in any shape or form. I certainly haven't given you any reason for you to assume that they have.”

I don't hold back on the loathing and repulsion I have towards her.

“You must really be one screwed up woman if, after all that has been going on with the blackmail and threats, I would want anything more to do with you, let alone want a relationship.”

Not being able to look at her for a minute longer, I turn away. Focusing on the wall and window opposite us, I summon up all of the energy I can to calm myself, before I have the urge to hit and shake this quite obvious, sick and disturbed individual.

“I know you love me Marc, I don't understand why you are denying it and stopping yourself from saying it.” Her voice gets closer until I can sense she is standing directly behind me. Spinning on my heel, I vehemently spit the words out at her.

“Love you? Now I know that there is something seriously wrong with you Emelie. I don't love you, I love Isabel. She is more of a woman than you have been or will ever be.”

A tainted smile returns as she cocks her head to one side, deliberating her next words before she begins to laugh.

“You mean the Isabel that is damaged goods. The Isabel who repulsed her husband so much, he couldn't bare to sleep with her. The Isabel who seriously let her children down and is now so desperate...”

The sound from the honed slap I give her, echoes around the room. Instinctively she brings her palm up, to soothe the heated reddening of her cheek. And yet again, the heinous sneer reappears as she calmly speaks.

“Thank you Marc. You have just added another bruise to affirm my case as to why I had to kill Stefano. I am sure they, the authorities will see that it was all done in self defence. I have enough unsuspecting witnesses, to the whole evening, that will back up what I will tell them. Unless you want your sordid little secret to come out, you want your new lady friend and her children to live a tortured life, I suggest you back up my story and hand over the money. The battering and attempted rape of a woman by her husband, will be one that has all of the evidence it needs to be a winning case for me and I will be rid of him in the process.”

A decisive knocking on the door of the exclusive suite interrupts what I was about to say in reply to her. I am just as baffled as Emelie as to who it could be. Unless a neighbouring patron at the hotel has overheard the commotion caused by Emelie and already telephoned the police or security.

“Marc you have to answer it. If we are to see this through properly, to make sure no-one else gets hurt, then you need to be a good man and play along. I don't want to afflict anything more upon those poor boys, but if I have to play it dirty, I will.”

Another persistent and impatient knock is heard, so I nod my head and retreat to the door.  On opening it, I am yet again stunned to silence, as standing in the hallway is my father and what I assume to be four secret service personnel, maybe even FBI. I have no doubt in my mind, that these won't be the only
ones in the hotel. Who is to say how many others there are incognito, on a state of alert, downstairs or outside. A wave of relief and confusion passes over me. However I cannot find my voice to ask how, so I stand aside to allow him and his men to enter the room.

“Good evening Dr Acerbi. I'm Edward Sanders and I must thank you on being so forthcoming in what you have just disclosed and said to my son, Marc. I am sure the recorded evidence we now have, will go along way in making sure that justice is served and that you receive the mandatory life sentence for the murder of your husband, as well the other charges that have already been decided to be put against you.”

My father's 'taking no shit' attitude, makes for a warm welcome into the room. As per usual, he is straight to the point and getting the job done, hence why he surpasses any other professional in his line of work. Listening to what he has just said, answers the unasked questions. I expect that there are listening devices or bugs as they call them, strewn all over this room. To the naked eye though, they would be very hard to spot. Two of father's henchmen, backup, stride wittingly across to Emelie. In complete silence they cuff her and then escort her from the room. For the first time, I have seen her speechless. What can she say in her defence? All of what she had concocted together, has been blown out of the window by her verbally explaining it. She has basically hung herself.

Not wanting to stay in the cold room any longer, I coolly walk out, leaving behind what was, once my best friend. I do have a dull ache in my heart, when I think of what was back then and what has now become. Unfortunately, I have to admit that this tragic end is a result of their own actions.

I am aware of the heavy presence of my father behind me. So once out in the hallway I pause to lean back against the wall; one, so that I can breath in some air that doesn't have the essence of death about it and two, to give him a chance to maybe explain a little more. I am not totally sure if I want to hear it, as I would much prefer to now forget about the entire situation. I appreciate that it is going to be hard, considering what has happened and what will have to happen in order to see Emelie sent away for the rest of her sad and sorrowful life.

“I doubt very much she will press charges against you for the assault. If she insists on it, we will sort it” I know exactly what he is referring to.

“Is that why you came when you did?” Looking into eyes that are indistinguishable to mine, I see an identical face to his reflected back in them. Age suits him well.

“Yes. We could hear what was going on and I didn't want you losing it too much in there. I understand why you reacted the way you did, I would have done the same had she been talking about your mother.”

I watch on as he drops his head in thought. I am guessing that both of us are thinking about the women that were and who are now, in our lives. Not that my father has met Isabel but, I am imagining he still has an understanding of what she means to me. Patting me on the shoulder, he coaxes me to walk away from the room.

“It's over now, go back to her son. I am guessing she'll be wondering where you are soon enough and you will need to be with her, as much as she needs to be with you. We can catch up over the weekend. I am staying in the UK for a little while longer yet.”

Retrieving my car keys from my back pocket, I take a moment’s pause. “Thank you dad, for everything.” I continue my way to the elevator and hear dad call out as I press the button.

“Isabel is a beautiful woman Marc, throughout, I should know as she has a lot of your mother's qualities in her and I know that you are good for each other.”

I have no need to ask how he knows this personal information about Isabel, as you already know, he is very good at his job.