When Stars Align

The demons we hide.

Gabriel stared at the still body on the bed, her lifeless eyes stared back at him. He took a shaky breath and with trembling hands, he shook her but she didn’t stir. In panic, he scrambled off the bed and fell to the floor. He looked wildly around the dingy motel room for a place to hide the body but found none. His hands were imprinted like a hot brand on the pale skin of her neck, clear proof of how she died.

The police were still on the lookout for him, if he was found in such a compromising position as this, they would throw him in jail for life and throw away the key. His body itched in several places, his emotions were spiralling out of control. He had to think of a way out of this situation fast but his thinking faculties weren’t functioning properly. He needed his fix. His stash had run out and he had no way of acquiring another.

If he were to approach any of his dealers, word on the street would spread like wildfire and Lorenzo would be on him in a drop of a hat. He scratched his neck, then his hand. The girl was just a call girl he’d taken from the streets to calm himself. He’d choked her to death while in the throes of ecstasy.

He brought his knees to his chest and rocked on his heels, his heart drummed in his ears, he whimpered. His eyes glazed over and his vision became blurry, the room refocused and took on another shape. He wasn’t in his motel room anymore, he was back home in his father’s house, in the dark room with a little light bulb and no ventilation his father always locked him in as punishment. He gazed ip and saw his father towering over him with a sneer on his face and a whip in hand.

“You’re worthless,” his father’s voice echoed in his ears.

“You’re the wretched son of a wretched w***e, you’ll never amount to anything in life.” His voice boomed, spittle flying out of his mouth and landing on his cheek.

“No,” he whispered. He felt the first lash of the whip and he jerked.

“No, no, no, no,” he kept mumbling as lash after lash landed on his back. The scars on his back, long healed from the beatings he took as a child burned anew.

Frantically, he dipped his hand in his pocket and took out the penknife he’d started keeping after his altercation with Lorenzo and placed the sharp end of the blade on his palm and sliced. Blood trickled out of the long gash he just made and as the red liquid dripped from his palm, his pulse came down from the high it was riding a moment ago.

He closed his eyes as the calm washed over him, a drop of sweat dribbled down his temple to his nose and fell on his lips. He opened his eyes and panted as he took in his surroundings. He was no longer in the dank and sweaty room, he was back in the motel room with the dead girl on the bed. His palm throbbed from the injury he’d inflicted upon himself and he clenched his teeth against the pain.

It’s been so long he’d had an episode where he’d been forced to cut himself, he couldn’t remember how long it’s been. He knew he was damaged, beyond repair even but Amanda loved him with all his flaws. She accepted him when all others rejected him but now she was gone too. Gone without a trace. He’d sneaked back into the hospital she had been admitted only to find her gone. He’d asked the nurses but they had all been tight-lipped about her whereabouts.

Wherever she was at least she was safe from Lorenzo’s clutches. He knew the only way he could catch him was through Amanda. Footsteps coming towards his door sent him scampering off the floor. With his injured hand, he held the penknife in front of him, body poised to attack. The footsteps paused in front of his door, he heard the jangling of keys and a lock turning. He held his breath and waited for his door to burst open and the police to come flooding in.

A door opened but it wasn’t his. He relaxed his pose as the door slammed close. Someone probably just checked into the room next door. He picked up his clothes and hastily put them back on. He needed to get our of there, fast. He swung the door open and ran down the hall, down the creaky stairs and out the backdoor. It wouldn’t do for the manager to see him go out the front door when there was a dead body in his room.

The setting sun cast a pale orange glow in the sky as he burst into the streets. He hid his hands in the pocket of his jacket. The wind picked up as he walked down the street side stepping passers-by on the side walk, blowing the debris on the street at his feet.

He passed a newsstand and something caught his eye, he stopped, backtracked and plucked the newspaper from its stand. A picture of his Amanda with another man covered the whole front page of the paper. He flipped through the pages and found the entertainment section of the newspaper. There, he found other pictures of her with the same man, he squinted his eyes at the man’s face and recognition clicked.

It was the same man from the hospital, the one with the familiar eyes. He read the article under the print and gritted his teeth as a jealous rage consumed him. He stared at the look of utter adoration on the man’s face as he touched Amanda, his Amanda.

“Are you buying it or not?” the owner of the newsstand snapped at him but he ignored the old man.

Luca Rossi, he was Italian. Now he knew why the man looked familiar, he was the father of Amanda’s son. He read further and his blood boiled for a whole new reason. They were in Italy. Panic gripped him and he dropped the newspaper– to the ire of the owner– and broke into a sprint. He needed to get to Italy.

That damn bastard had taken her to Italy, the home base of the Mafia. He’d practically handed her over to Lorenzo on a silver platter. Amanda was in grave danger if he didn’t get to her first.