He lies on the Jester's cart - 23 pt.1
I’ve been watching him for a while. He asked me who I am. He’s wearing a long, worn black coat. His expression is tired, his eyes small but deep. They scrutinize me carefully. I don’t really know if I should respond or leave. Coming here suddenly no longer feels like a smart idea. This person who just got off the elevator and came here for a reason—who is he? But more importantly, why is he here now? On a Friday night. So late.
I’m scared of the situation. I feel the urge to leave. As my muscles respond to the impulse to move, I realize he’s gotten closer and placed his hand on the railing of the stairs. He leans slightly toward me, still watching. I press myself against the wall, unable to meet his gaze. I stretch out my legs, press my knees, and stand.
- Wait, wait. Where are you going?
With one arm, he stops me from leaving.
- I’m leaving. - I say, keeping my head down.
- Wait. You’re right. Let’s say I was rude. Let me introduce myself, okay?
His voice is gentler now but still carries a firm tone. With his hand, he gestures for me to sit back down on the stairs without touching me. I sit again—I have no choice, curling up against the wall. I wish I could have your embrace right now.
- So, my name is Cardona. I’m with the police. - He pulls out a badge with his photo and shows it to me. - See?
I nod, glancing at the photo. It’s him. It looks real, worn. He’s with the police.
- Now, do you want to tell me who you are?
- First, tell me something else. - I search his eyes. - Why are you here?
He looks at me. I think he’s smiling. He straightens up.
- I’m here because someone used to live here. And since I need to figure some things out, I came to check it out.
- You’re investigating Marzio?
- Yes. - He nods, deeply and slowly.
My heart races. His face seems to soften. I turn toward Marzio, who stands behind me, in the corner of the landing where the stairs end. He’s looking down at the door.
- I’m his girlfriend. We were together.
- I see. - he nods. - And why are you here now? - His tone is gentle.
- I don’t know. I knew I didn’t want to be home tonight. I didn’t want to be alone, and I ended up here. I didn’t know he lived here – I say, lowering my gaze slowly to the white marble of the stairs.
- You were never at his place? -he asks incredulously.
I shake my head.
- He never brought me here. He never even mentioned it. I found out today, by chance, that he lived here. I wanted to come, to see it. Then something would happen.
- And here we are.
- Yes, and then you came out of the elevator.
- So, let’s say you’re interested in knowing what the house is like, what’s inside. And all the rest, right?
- Yes.
- Why?
- Because… - I hesitate, unsure if I should say it. But I need to. - Because I need to understand why things turned out this way. I need to understand Marzio and the message he left.
- He left you a message? - He asks, curious.
- Yes, I mean, no. - I lower my head, avoiding his gaze. - It’s complicated, really.
- Explain it to me.
- It’s long.
- I’m in no rush. - He pauses, takes a drag from his cigarette. - Mind if I sit next to you? Does the smoke bother you? - I shake my head. He sits down on the same step. His shoulders are broad, and his coat is bulky. The stairs are wide enough for both of us, but we’re close. Our shoulders are only separated by about ten centimeters, and I press myself against the wall. - So, tell me. I’m listening.
I stay silent. She told me not to trust anyone. She said everyone is dangerous.
- It’s strange. It’s a strange thing. Hard to explain. - I pause, realizing I don’t even know where to start.
- How long were you two together?
- A year and five months.
- That’s a while, huh? So, a serious thing.
- Serious… yes, serious. It was beautiful, it was something very beautiful.
- What was he like? - The question makes me remember him smiling. I turn and see him standing in the corner. - What are you thinking about? - he asks again.
- I’m remembering him. Sometimes I imagine seeing him. He was very sweet. He loved me. It’s hard to let go of him. I feel like the bond is too strong. Too much. - My eyes fill with tears, and I lower my gaze again.
- I’m sorry.
- Yes, sorry for me, for you, for everyone.
- How did he seem to you? I mean, in the last days? Did he seem like he wanted to hurt himself?
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. No. These words are like sharp knives in my eyes. What does this man want? What is he saying? And yet he’s supposed to be with the police, supposed to be working to uncover the truth. He should be.
He looks at me, intensely, directly in the eyes.
- Marzio didn’t kill himself. - I say in a whisper. All the anger inside me freezes my vocal cords.
- And how do you know?
- He didn’t die. Someone took him. They took him away from me. He would never have left me like that. Never left me alone like this.
- Tell me something that would make me believe you.
The anger surges inside me, shaking me. I grip my knees, wishing I could dig my nails into his chest to make him stop talking. I stay silent, unable to form a thought. I just stare at his eyes, wanting to claw them out.
- How did he seem in the last days? - He prompts me.
- Before he died?
- Yes, before he died.
- He was very tired. He’d fall asleep immediately. We’d lie on the bed together, and then he’d just crash.
- You slept together, but you didn’t know this place. Where did you stay?
- At my place. He started sleeping over more and more often.
- Since when?
- Shortly after Cardia’s death.
- And where do you live, exactly?
- In Vomero.
He pulls out a little notebook and jots something down. I see him smile but quickly mask it and turn serious again.
- It was a time of big changes for him.
- Yes. We started talking about the future more often. For him, it was important. We imagined being together. In so many places around the world. Happy. - I recall his words, one by one.
- How long did you talk about the future?
- Until the end. We were planning a trip.
- To where?
- Lots of places. He loved the East, Japan, China. - I remember the colors in his words when he talked about it. - Even though he’d already been there. India. I wanted to go to America, to see the United States.
- Well, that doesn’t sound like someone who wants to die, does it?
- He didn’t want to die.
- Exactly. - He writes something else in the black notebook. - But you’re sure about this?
- Yes, I am.
- Tell me, on Monday—the one before the incident. Was he with you?
- Yes. - I don’t even need to think about it.
- What time did he get home?
- He always arrived around the same time, give or take. Just enough time to come back from the office.
- Do you remember exactly?
- More or less around seven.
- And he didn’t go out, didn’t go anywhere?
- No, he came home and stayed there. We had dinner, watched some TV, then went to bed. Normal.
- So he didn’t leave the house. - He repeats, making two quick, straight lines in his notebook, like crossing something off.
- No.
- Listen, earlier you mentioned something. A message he left. What’s that about?
I rest my head against the wall. There’s not much I can do in this situation.
- I feel like something of him is still here. Something unfinished. Something that needs to be fixed. I feel like he…
- Like he what?
- Like he deserves it.
- You loved him a lot.
- I love him a lot. - I exhale, then inhale. - I love him.
We stay silent for a few seconds. He writes again. My eyes are full of tears. It’s impossible—every time I think of you, you choke me so hard. You exhaust me.
- Let’s do this. - He starts talking again. - There are still a few things I’d like to discuss with you. But for now, let’s take a break. - He stands up, putting his leather-bound notebook back into his pocket. “Would you like to come inside with me?” He points to the door.
I nod.
- Okay. Let’s go in together. But one thing—we’re about to do something that isn’t exactly, how should I say, by the book. I know I can trust you, but you have to promise me you won’t touch anything. And everything you see, you keep to yourself. - He puts his finger to his lips, signaling me to stay silent.
I nod again and stand as he moves toward the door. He pulls a set of keys from his pocket, attached to a keyring with a metal tag. I’ve never seen that set of keys before.
- Where did you get those?
- Not a good start. - He says, inserting the key into the security door lock. He turns it, and the lock clicks as it retracts.
He completes one full turn and then half of another. The lock clicks with a metallic sound, and he pushes the door open without further noise.
Copyright © The MaDMan, 2013. All rights reserved.
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I think this is good for her. She can actually talk some of this out, even if the commissioner is not the one she would prefer to speak with. And the commissioner is finally getting somewhere. I think the truth will hit her pretty hard when all is found out. Excellent writing and drawing as always, Madman.
No time to read this now. But will edeavor to repay the favour