Chimera Nocent
by Eliza Osborn
He didn’t bother knocking. There was no reason for it. He doubted he was welcome, but knew he had to be there. He walked into the oceanfront bungalow, his usual confident swagger left behind in the warm, clear night.
He paused in his own shadow, closed his eyes, and took a few minutes to rethink his reason for being there. Against the waves’ dull lapping was the sound of water in full boil on a gas stove and the quiet ching of delicate service. Her footsteps were almost inaudible.
For a moment, he wished someone would catch him there and, thinking him an intruder, telephone the police. All this might prove avoidable were he in custody.
“There’s coffee here for you,” she said by way of greeting. “Take it before it grows cold.”
He worked his jaw, his eyebrows furrowed. That was it, then. Things were in motion, inevitable. He would give anything for an out. Anything at all.
“Are you coming?” she prompted. She turned and faced him for the first time that night, a cup in each hand. To his surprise, she smiled. “I was going out to the porch.”
They settled into an inspiring view of the jagged coastline. Fire Island’s lighthouse sent its strong beam out across Long Island Sound. It reached into Jamaica Bay and almost lit them up in its bright column.
“You’re not your usual cocky self,” she mused. “Don’t think I much like this version of you.”
“Don’t think I do, either.” He took his coffee. It was still hot, but he could sip it without the risk of a burn. “Perfect cup.”
“Thank you.” She looked comfortable in that rocking chair, with one foot propped up on the railing and the other tucked under her. She rested her head on the back of the chair. Her dark brown hair fell down her back recklessly. Her eyes told him she was tired. Tired of life and tired of death. Tired of the fight and the struggle. She was tired of herself.
It wasn’t like she couldn’t catch a break. She may not have been born rich, but damn if she wasn’t a self-made woman. Maybe that was the problem. He didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. All that mattered was what brought him here: the same thing that had brought her into his life all those years ago.
“Tell me people change,” she said.
“People change.” It was weak, the way it came out. He wished there was something more effectual he could say.
“I hope so. I hope…” she paused.
He didn’t see her frown, but he felt it.
Then she laughed. “I hope. What a phrase, eh?”
“Do you?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe. There’s no reason for it if I do.”
“Then that would be faith.”
“I faith, then. And maybe a little hope, too.” She distracted herself by playing with the words. “I faith and I hope, but only maybe on the last one.”
His eyes were still on her. He couldn’t stomach the coffee, so he used the cup to keep his hands warm. Funny how he hadn’t noticed they were cold. “They’re both powerful things,” he said at last.
She met his gaze. “They don’t cover me.”
The words didn’t come out harsh or bitter or anything but fatigued, but they managed to cut him clear to the core. He had to look away from her.
The silence grew desperate before he could speak again. “You love.” He looked back at her in time to catch an honest smile.
“I do.”
“That covers you.”
“Not in this world.”
He snorted. “In the next, then?”
Her smile returned, but it had a catty edge. “Guess we’ll see, huh?”
He could tell she was frightened. He didn’t blame her.
She moved abruptly to set her cup on the floorboards and then stood. Her hands found the railing and she curled her fingers around it. She was there only a moment before she pushed off it, almost as if it had caused her pain.
He wanted to get up, to comfort her, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t his purpose.
“Let’s just do this, then,” she snapped. “Right now.”
He shot her a perplexed look. “Like this?” Nothing about it was right. There was no poetry to it. After the way everything had gone down, she deserved something more. A little romance, maybe.
“Yes, like this.” She turned to face him.
The proposition had come as an amusement to him. He couldn’t wait to see how things would pan out, how the game would be played, and if she’d win or lose. Either way, he’d been enthralled. He’d felt honored to be a part of it. But somewhere along the way everything changed.
Well, not everything. It was a different world at a different time. He was different. Older, definitely. Maybe even wiser. Then again, he was here. If he were truly wise, he’d have pretended that he never heard the news.
But he had. It wasn’t as if he lived underground, after all. The newspapers were already all over her story. Avoiding people and gossip outlets might prolong the predestined a few days, but he wouldn’t be able to evade the knowledge forever.
Were he being logical, none of this would be a problem. He knew the outcome as well as she did. This night was a long time coming. It would be stupid, just downright stupid to allow nearly twenty years to be spent in vain.
“What the hell am I paying you for?” she demanded.
His pride got the best of him. He set his cup down and rose to his feet. “Fine, let’s do this. Here? Out here?”
She nodded. “Yeah. It’d be better than…” she cast a glance through a window and shrugged. “Here,” she repeated. “Did you bring her?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Then go on.”
“Just like—“
“Yes, just like this! No more damn foreplay.”
He cast her a hateful look but proceeded. Little preparation was necessary for him to fulfill their agreement. He just did it with no more conversation.
And then it was over. He stood shaking. He dropped the old Colt and stumbled back against the bungalow’s outer wall.
It was over. She was over.