Ghost of my Mafia Lover

I’m balancing my phone and brown bag in the same hand as I try to unlock the door of the apartment. I step inside and the light pours in from the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. As I’m closing the door with my hips and tossing the key in the bowl, I hear muffled sounds in the room. I take a few steps refining my ears, and then I see Marcus lying on the carpet — almost lifeless… "Marcus!" I'm on my knees, trying to raise him up. That’s when I see blood all over, and lots of it. It's soaking into the carpet. I raise my hands to see my palms drenched in crimson. He musters his strength to open his eyes. I can feel every breath draining more from his life force. “Marcus! What happened… I’m calling an ambulance. “ He holds my hands and cups them. His tight grip is holding me in place. This is what’s keeping him alive and I can feel it. “Those cocksuckers got me… “ “Marc… What happened? Who did this to you?” “It’s too late for an ambulance… “he says. His hands pressing against the wound even though I know—God, I know—it's useless. The blood is hot and slick between my fingers. He tries to speak again. "Run," he manages. “Leave your phone. And don’t trust nobody…” He manages another word. "Run." I feel his hands slip away from my palms… He goes limp… is he dead? I try to shake his hand, it’s lifeless… Right there in my hand there’s something. It’s a yellow bookmark with a string of numbers written on the edge… He must’ve slipped it in my hands. “They’re on their way baby… You’re going to be fine…” I take a moment to gather my thoughts… I have to think of what to do… I slip a cushion under his head, close to the chin and call for an ambulance. I leave my phone next to him — I can't be traced, but how will he find me? I pack my bags and head for the door. I take one last look and close my door… I grip the yellow bookmark in my hand and leave. I run… and run…and I’ve been running till this today! I ran so far that I feel I didn't have to run anymore. I am nobody here in this place. Today is another day in this small town… I’m gripping the bookmark as I think of the life I left... I didn't think the moment I closed the door, I was never going to see anyone again. I thought he would have found me by now... I thought... I'm exhausted from thinking. I'm ready to move on. I don't think the old life still has a hold on me. I'm a new person with a new identity and everything... It says it on my ID. Memories from my old life seem like they’re made up. I’ve been in AldinTown for 3 years now… My life has already changed, and I’ve acquiesced to the peace I've found here. I’ve built walls around the past I ran away from. I’m far away enough to have been long-forgotten by the past — now I’m a new person. The only thing that tethers me is the yellow bookmark Marcus put in my hand… It’s the only proof that I have to remind me of who I used to be. The pattering raindrops on the roof are my constant companion here. The soft drumming, steady rhythm against the library’s leaded glass, a sound so familiar I’ve almost forgotten what silence sounds like. I love it… It’s constantly drowning out my fears. It’s my serenity…. Reminding me of my childhood when I used to play in the living room without a car in the world. But I'm far from home here, between the scent of old paper and dust, I’ve built a life of quiet life — away from it all. I’m Clara Evans here. A sad and lonely librarian whose husband died in an accident. I didn't want to talk about bullets at least not in AldinTown. It might be a small town, but people here love to talk. They don't care about anything outside this town, but if there's any small town gossip, it is broadcast fast and wide! But I've made myself out to be a boring loner with nothing to share. It's worked for you because you've sort of faded into the background of this rainy town. The truth is a ghost that haunts the edges of my every thought, a low hum of anxiety I can never quite switch off. This beautiful, silent lie has taken the place of the dark and bitter truth. Perhaps I could get used to this! The bell above the door jingles and brings me back to the moment. I can sense who it is… I don’t need to look up because I know it’s him. Tuesday, 10:15 AM. Owen Reid. God help me, I’ve started clocking my life around a man who borrows woodworking books. His boots are quiet on the worn oak floor. Like clockwork, he approaches the counter, a shy, gentle smile playing on his lips. He’s holding a book. His scent captivates my senses and transports me to another place — I suddenly imagine being embraced by him and being covered in that delicate and delightful smell… It gets me every time. “Finished it,” he says, his voice like warm gravel. “The one on Japanese joinery you recommended.” I take the book, our fingers brushing. A little zap of the electric spark of our unspoken chemistry. He looks at me with love and tenderness. His gentle smile is enough to make me aware of my own pulse. “What did you think?” I ask, expecting to hear his voice streaming in my ears for hours. “It was… peaceful. The way the wood fits together without nails. It’s like a secret language.” He runs a hand through his damp, brown hair, leaving a strand stubbornly out of place. I just want to run my fingers through his wet hair… He smiles and leans forward and freshness wafts over me. He says, “I — uh — was hoping you might have something on art furniture. I’m working on a new project.” I allow myself a small smile; his steady gaze has a way of pulling me in — not menacingly, just… focused. “Yes, I think there’s something back here:” I say, “Follow me.” This is our dance. The brawny carpenter, who loves books, and the quiet librarian with two left feet. It’s a relief I’ve started to crave more than anything. While leading him between the tall shelves, I feel the weight of his gaze like a small, physical thing on my shoulders. It doesn’t feel predatory. It feels — unusually safe. Weeks blur into a pattern of doses of joy scattered across the moments I see him. It feels comfortable and mildly ridiculous when I think about it later. He’s my ray of sunlight in this gloomy town.