Devils In disguise

Charlotte woke up with a slight ache bubbling in her head, rolling over and doddering awkwardly to a corner in the room, sitting face to face next to the 48-inch mirror in their bedroom. She took a one-week leave from her job in San Jose where she was on an 8-week clinical placement nurse at the pediatric specialist liver ward. Last week and today would be making it seven days. Her excuse was that she was treating a reoccurring fever. It had subsided two days later, but she had taken advantage of the remaining days to enjoy a well-deserved rest, but rest she still hadn’t gotten not with Glenn and all his troubles. Outside the windows, the bluish-dark curtain of early dawn had begun to fade. And behind her, Glenn, her “husband”, was lying sprawled on the panel of bed. The sound of his snoring was constant and unsteady like a buzz saw. The alcohol in his breath still hovered like a cloud over the room just like on the first day she met him. It was like a dent, it soiled everything, the sheets, the walls. It soiled her. Yesterday he had arrived home drunk and late, pummeling at the door, threatening fire and brimstone. “Open this door this minute you slut!... I … I swear to God if I open this door myself I’m going to beat the hell out of you….bitch” She had opened up for him, guiding him, as he staggered in, blabbering nonsensical words, clutching a bottle of wine, throwing his hands about wildly. He didn’t even stare twice at the meal she had set in place on the dining table, he had staggered past everything, scoffing as he wobbled straight into the room, falling on the bed, while sleep hushed him to silence. “Good Gracious.” She whispered as she ran her hands over her face and her blonde hair. She stared at her image in the mirror, how sunken her brown eyes were, the little cracks on her lips. She looked beautiful yet broken. “I hate myself.” She said slowly. She glanced at Glenn again and at the enlarged photograph of herself and him standing side by side at one of the resorts near Lloyd Lake. It was the most “romantic” photo they had ever taken and the only photo they had ever taken. It was hard to believe that they were married, but where were they? They had not even held a wedding at church nor had he proposed with a ring. She started living with Glenn five years ago after he saved her from Pastor Bryant, specifically on the 9th of April some weeks after that night when she ran away from home. That night, her entire family was wiped out by those assassins. She had run over to Pastor Bryant’s residence in San Jose, who was their family’s preacher at the time. And he had comforted her by asking her to stay with him in the meantime since he lived alone without a wife or children. And she did but only for about three days, because Pastor Bryant developed the habit of waking up late at night, tiptoeing into the room he had allocated to her, and fondling her sensitive parts while she was asleep. She had woken up to his touching on the third of her fourth night in his place, his hand on her thighs. “ Pastor, what are you doing? Get off me!” she had screamed, but pastor Bryant had hushed, blinking excessively. “Be quiet, be quiet…I won’t hurt you, I just .. I just want to see the real you…look.look how much you’ve grown.” He had said, licking his lips. “I said get your hands off me, you pervert.” But pastor Bryant had already begun to pin her to the bed while she screamed for help, struggling in vain to resist. It was at that moment that someone banged once on the door, flinging it wide open. Glenn came matching in alongside someone else whose face was completely hooded. They bore pistols in one hand and planks in the other. “ Who are you people?” Pastor Bryant asked. Jumping off the bed, moving backward, squinting at them. “How…how did you get in?” he stammered. But Glenn and his hooded partner had not said a word. All she remembered was how the repetitive aggressive whipping of their Plank against his head had left him sprawling on the floor, his mouth and nostrils streaming with blood, before Glenn stretched out the other hand with the pistol shooting at him twice. The emitted sound was deafening and precise. Charlotte had frozen and shook at Pastor Bryant’s bloodied sight, shaking where she was as she watched. Then Glenn had brought out a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the blood from his hands and the stains from the nuzzle of his pistol before slowly opening the door and then turning to her. “Come here. Come with us.” He had commanded. She had fidgeted, kneeling on the bed still looking at them. “Come don’t be afraid.” He had said softly, hiding the gun, forcing out a smile. And despite being aware of how dangerous he was, how implausible it was to run off into the dark with a cold-hearted killer like that was, she knew she had no choice, in that moment. Life had not given her too many easy choices, or any choice at all. After all, he had saved her. That night he had taken her home, given her a hot bath, fed her, and carried her to the bed. Later he had introduced himself with a blank expression, starting one of the weirdest conversations of her life; “ My name is Glenn Rodriguez and yours is Charlotte, right? He smiled enigmatically before he continued. “And hey don’t bother about how I got to know your name. I do know you very well too. Your parents made a lot of enemies. You’re not safe. And I know you can see that for yourself now. But you what? I can protect you. I can save you from these monsters at your doorstep ready to eat your flesh. Do you want me to protect you?” Charlotte had stared at him at first wondering how he got to know all these, How had he known her parents, and how had he found his way into pastor Bryant’s house? Then again she tried to read the sincerity in his eyes but he was unreadable, his face remained as blank as a slate, it left no traces, and even his voice was clean it bore no emotions. He was a total ghost. “Yes.” She had said slowly nodding her head and sniffing. “Yes, I want you to protect me.” She had said again. “Don’t cry.” He said reaching out to wipe the tears running down her cheeks. “Don’t cry, I will do anything for you. But you just have to do one thing for me, just one.” She had lifted her face to nod half-heartedly before she asked; “What do I have to do Sir?” “Marry me.” “What?” “Yes.” He said standing up to stare at her, then continued. “ Think about it, I work for one of the richest and most powerful men in this country. You won’t ever have to run again. Fear will be gone forever. Sick people like pastor Bryant will no longer pester you. Charlotte, let me be your guardian angel.” She had paused to think about the life she had lost by those killer gunshots, about her doting parents, her two siblings George and Amanda, and the pool of blood on the veranda back at their street, Park Avenue. Memories of her cheerleading in college how she was already preparing to go to Harvard and how her life had taken a drastic turn for the worse in just one night. She smacked her lips trying hard not to break into tears. “ Don’t cry.” He said again, running his hand over her hair. “Will I still be able to go to college for my nursing program?” She asked. “Where?” He asked “Harvard.” “ Not safe.” He blurted. “Not safe.” He repeated. “Too far, away do that here at San Jose. I’ll take care of the bills.” There was a long silence before Charlotte bowed her head and whispered beneath her voice breaking the silence. “I will.” Glenn looked up. “You will what?” “I will marry you.” It was the first time she had seen him smile genuinely. He drew closer to her, taking her into his arms, and hugging her. She would never forget that hug. It came with a sensation of melting ice. The increased snoring of Glenn brought her mind back to the present. She got up woodenly, took off her nightgown, and wrapped a towel over her trunk proceeding into the bathroom.