The Courting

Seven

He knew what he had to do. Not how, not even when, but somehow seeing that old couple, and seeing that old man nursing his sick wife, snapped some sense back into him. And he knew that he could never leave Kim's side again. She was his wife. His wife. She had to still be redeemable. She just had to be.

He’d failed her in the past. He knew that and he wasn’t proud of it. But this was a fresh start for them. Granted, he wasn’t sure if she would remember him taking her captive in the bedroom, interrogating her, but that was something he couldn’t control.

He was back home now, watching her again from the window. The sun was below the trees and the houses, but its brilliance still spilled orange light over the sky like a wet drape. Maybe it was his imagination, but he felt as if he could physically see Kimberly’s loss of weight, even from inside the house. Her clothes looked just a little more ill-fitted, like a limp flag on a pole, without wind to give it life.

Think dammit, he thought irritably, pacing the floor of his small kitchen, his eyes rhythmically retracting from and coming into view of his wife. Romance. Flowers. Courtship. Love. Love. Shit.

He thought about the old man and his wife again. The way the man had handled the situation (though probably without knowing so); he was just…loving her. Perhaps in the only way he knew how. And had Angelo seen something in her eyes? The faintest glimmer of recollection? Maybe not; maybe that was just dumb hoping on his part, or a response to the sky and not the old man, but he wanted to believe that what he’d seen had been a better solution than interrogating and shaking love out of his wife's shoulders. A better response than beating his wife to submission like he’d seen the other man trying to do. So what, then? he wondered. Was he to sit outside with his wife, weeping and wailing until she came to her senses? She may never flinch from the spell, so was it worth the pain of seeing her that way again? He had to believe that it was. Or maybe, he had to believe that this drug would wear off after some time and everyone would be back to normal. Why not? Doctors were probably working on a cure right now. Male doctors, the thought racked through him. He shivered.

"I’ll go out," he said, standing by the door.

The day was waning away, the sky shoving the sun beneath the world like a bullying older brother. Kim was sitting now, her eyes fixed on the woman across the street. The one who had the gun. The woman was standing, but Angelo didn’t see the gun. He feared for Kim’s safety.

"Hey," he said from behind her.

She turned and glared at him, regarding him as a disgusting rodent. "What do you want?" she said.

Angelo swallowed. I guess she does remember, he thought.

"I just wanted to see if you wanted any food? I can make you something," he said.

She looked away. First, to the woman across from her, then to the darkening sky. "My fasting is a testament to my love."

"You shouldn’t have to suffer needlessly for love," he said.

She scoffed. "Nothing done in love is ever needless. You’re some expert," she said sarcastically.

"Well, I love someone too. So I do know the feeling."

"Not like this, you don't." The way she said it made him shiver. But the temperature outside seemed to be dropping as well.

He wanted to shout at her, What you’re feeling isn’t love, sweetheart! It’s a little thing us Realists like to call obsession!

But he didn’t say it. Couldn’t, because he knew that that approach was folly. He was here because he wanted to try a different approach, and that was to love her in the very most basic way. He had to be genuine about it if he hoped to get through to her.

The answer came to him suddenly. Perhaps the only way to win her back was to be equally obsessed about her. He didn’t know exactly what that entailed, but it was a start.

But the question still went unanswered—what was the best way to love her, in this insane situation?

She was looking across again at the woman. They seemed to be looking at each other. Angelo could see his wife’s chest rise in angry spurts, then deflate. The woman across seemed too calm for comfort. And again, Angelo thought about the gun she had earlier.

"Who is she?" Angelo asked. He really didn’t know; which was sad, because that couple had lived across from them for at least five years.

Kimberly injected poison into her words. "Just another bitch trying to steal my Love," she hissed.

Angelo couldn't help wincing at her words again. He saw the woman across twitch angrily, and he was sure that she’d heard Kim say it.

"He’s mine, you whore," the woman said, her hands balled in bloodless fists. "You’ll know when this is all over."

Kimberly seemed to be steaming with anger now, and Angelo feared that she would suddenly run off to attack the woman, and that she would rear up her hidden gun and shoot Kim.

He couldn’t let that happen. And then it dawned on him. This was how he would love her. This was the way to prove that, despite Kim’s complete betrayal, he still would do anything to see to her happiness. He remembered then: the woman had thanked him and smiled.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes. Something holding his sanity was cut loose at that moment, and before he could stop himself, he was running to attack the woman himself.

***

She turned sharply to repel him, but he was already on her, shoving her hard to the asphalt. A few feet away from them, flies were swarming over her dead husband’s carcass. She made impact with the floor, her head thumping against cement, and screamed. Angelo didn’t know what he had planned on doing, but he only knew that he wanted Kimberly to watch. And she was doing so with wide eyes.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" the woman roared. "You’re gonna pay!"

Before Angelo could stop himself, he threw an open hand across her face, and the sound of the hard slap shot through the air. She screamed again, writhing like a possessed beast. Then she pulled something from somewhere beneath her thin clothes.

It was the gun.

One shot was released, but it missed terribly to the side. Angelo was too strong for her, even with her inspired rage. He slammed her hand—the one that held the gun loosely—against the cement until she was forced to let it go. Then he shifted over to grab it quickly. The woman spat in his face. And Angelo spat back onto hers.

Then he looked over at his wife, who was gawking at the whole scene with disbelief. But at the same time, with a sense of excitement and approval. Like she was enjoying the show.

"Let go of me, you pig!" the woman was screaming. But Angelo had already tuned her out. It was his wife he needed back. And he was going to get her back, no matter what it took.

What happened next was something that humans had done since the dawn of mankind. But when it happened, just as it was about to happen now with Angelo, it always came as a surprise. Because even the darkest hearts must look inwardly at themselves in that moment. In that moment, they must break themselves down to something less. Something much less than what they were.

He felt his heart explode in hot panic. What was he thinking? What was he really considering? He heard a thousand voices yelling at him to stop. Telling him the obvious, the thing that any moral person knows--Murder is wrong! Murder is wrong! Murder is evil!

But I have to play her game, another infinitesimal voice whispered. Even as he was shaking uncontrollably over the twisting woman. Even as he raised her gun in his hand and cocked it.

Nothing done in love is ever needless, his wife had said. And he knew she was watching now, probably with terrifying glee.

He aimed the gun just above the woman’s nose and pulled the trigger.