Authors: Vivienne Harris-Scott
I
need to accept, tonight, I lost both my son and my husband.
But
he surprises me. He turns his head, while setting the poker aside, and says
softly, almost eerily,
“
He
died in your arms. He wasn
’
t
alone. That
’
s
good.
”
I
feel my eyes widen, my head shake, my mouth open, as I cry out,
“
Ethan, I killed him. I smothered him! He
didn
’
t
just die in my
…-”
But,
my husband interrupts me, and yells,
“
Stop! Just stop! Luca is dead!
”
he wails, his voice hoarse with
underlying pain,
”
My
son is dead! Luca is dead and I have to find solace in knowing he died in his
mother
’
s
arms!
“
his voice cracks.
He
is on his knees, in front of me, and we stare at each other.
I
can see him go into denial mode as he says adamantly; he refuses to believe I
would intentionally hurt our child.
I
just look at him, his eyes a shade of artic blue I
’
ve never seen before. I know any
contradiction on my part would be futile if not perverse, and serve no purpose,
only hurt him more.
The
fire makes a big crackling sound, and our eyes break contact when he turns to
look back. When his gaze returns to me, I have lifted the shawl that covered my
entire body and hold it open. Ethan stands up, and sits onto the sofa. Holding
my shoulders, he envelops me against him and looking at me straight in the eyes
says in a mechanical yet forceful tone, what happened tonight is an accident, a
devastating one, but an accident nonetheless, and that the coroner will prove
it. There is just no way I killed our son, it
’
s simply preposterous. I
’
m not a monster, I can
’
t be, I am simply incapable of hurting our
baby, I
’
m
his wife, the mother of his child, he knows me inside and out, this is an
accident. There was no killing here. He doesn
’
t believe it, can
’
t believe it, won
’
t believe it; and he tells me I have to do
the same. His gaze is holding mine, as if with a simple look he could bend me
to his will. He declares I cannot let myself think I killed Luca. I just can
’
t or it will destroy me, destroy us. He
forbids me to ever say the words out loud. Ever. To anyone.
I
finally nod, understanding his plea. He holds me tighter against his chest.
I
am not a killer, I couldn
’
t
be, and it
’
s
the shock of finding our baby dead that is making me make this crazy
assertions. This is what Ethan keeps saying into my ear, as he is holding me
and rocking me in his arms as I feel his tears falling on my face.
I
don
’
t
contradict him. I remain silent. I let him reassure himself. He can be in
denial. Yes, this is the only way he will survive this. The only way, he
’
ll be able to look at me.
Denial
will save him.
I
know better.
I
am a killer.
I
can
’
t
be saved.
((~~!~~))
Forgive me father for I have sinned
.
This
is what naturally comes to my mind when I step into St. Patrick
’
s church five days later.
Except,
I don
’
t
go to confession.
I
know there is no absolution for what I have done.
I
sit in the back pews and look at the giant cross from afar.
I
haven
’
t
been to church since the christening of my son. Or it is Christmas? Or Easter?
I just can
’
t
remember.
All
I know with certainty is, I
’
ll
never set foot in one after my son is buried.
I
clear my throat and I speak directly to God.
“
I know other people feel comfort being in
chapels speaking to you, but I don
’
t
want comfort. I want my son, and you won
’
t give him back, so here I am. I know I
will survive this, so I
’
m
not here for me...
”
I
can feel the dryness in my heart and my tone.
“
I
’
m not doing this for me because I don
’
t care anymore. Nothing can be worse than
this, nothing
…
But
Ethan
…
Ethan
refuses to accept the truth, and I know, he
’
ll never forgive me, as I will never
forgive myself. So that
’
s
why I
’
m
here, in this moment of deep despair I want to find solace that somehow there
is meaning in you taking my son away.
”
I
see a priest walk past my pew, and he is smiling as he nods his head towards
me.
My
eyes revert to the cross.
“
I know my crime is unforgivable, so punish
me, do what you want to me; but I beg you, spare Ethan. Please.
”
I
stare at the cross for a long time.
My
tears refuse swell, refuse to fall.
I
get up and walk out.
I
will be back.
The
coroner
’
s
report is complete. Cause of death is: undetermined natural causes.
No
one will ever know.
Luca
’
s body has been released this morning.
Yes,
I will be back.
My
son will be buried tomorrow and the service will be at this very same church.
((~~!~~))
I am a killer.
I did the unthinkable.
I killed my baby.
Vi
July 2005. Darling Harbour. Sydney.
Australia.
Her son is dead. Her son is dead. Her son
is dead.
Maybe
if she says it enough times, the reality of it will finally hit her. She has
been totally numb since the atrocious event took place in their country home.
From
the arrival of the police and their examiner, to coroner enquiry and the
organization of the funeral and the actual burial, she has gone through it all
in cold daze, not shedding a single tear, answering questions mechanically,
when asked. Kevin, Deric and Lily have appeared out of nowhere and kept their
solicitous presence as visible as Ethan
’
s who no doubt has called them for
support. She could see them all though hooded eyes, hear them talk through
buzzed ears, but simply did not feel them. She did not feel anything. Nothing
at all. For anyone or anything.
She
is finally broken.
((~~!~~))
Ethan
It had been 31 minutes since either of
them had said anything. 31 minutes since they left the cemetery. Ethan had been
watching the clock closely, almost hearing the numbers changing. He sighed and
lit up a cigarette, and glanced over at his wife.
She
still sat there on the corner of the sectional, arms crossed against her knees,
a distant look in her eyes. She had been that way the entire ride, the entire
23 minutes. And if he didn't know any better, she looked like she was getting
closer and closer to crying. Yet no tears were falling. Not one. And, he had
yet to see one since that night.
The
car ride on the way back to the house had been quiet. Vic hadn
’
t looked at him once, getting in the back seat
of the Limousine after the service, she had kept her face pressed up against
the glass staring out of the window while Ethan kept glancing at her. She
hadn't moved.
He
wanted to say something to her, but he wasn't quite sure what he could say. He
had been wanting to hold her hand but quickly quit when he touched it and it
remained motionless, cold, as if its owner was dead as well.
He
tried to shift his focus on something else, but chanced another glance at her
as the car had stopped at a red light. Big mistake. When he glanced up at her
face, she was staring at him. And not just staring at him, but her eyes were
void, dark, and simply vacant, like those of a ghost in the death of the night.
Frightening.
He
felt his heart tighten in his chest. He tried to smile at her to lighten things
up, but he couldn't manage one. Finally, he blew a sigh, pressed the intercom
button and asked the chauffeur to hurry getting them home.
She
scared him.
Now
they were in their lounge and he was watching her, wondering what he could do
to make her at least look at him.
((~~!~~))
“
Hey
baby, I
’
ve
got you your favourites!
“
I said walking into our room,
”
Something
to show you that I love you, and I
’
m
…
-
”
my voice trails off into silence as I
step into our lit giant walk in closet, - a room in itself-, and see her bent
over a suitcase on the floor.
“
What are you doing?
”
I ask, sitting on the Barcelona ottoman
in the centre of the room, a box of Hediard still in my hands, as she is
throwing clothes in a Vuitton case.
I
have déjà-vu. We have been here before, done this scene before.
The
dark memory echoes in my mind.
“
I
’
m leaving.
”
comes her reply. She doesn
’
t even bother to turn to look at me.
This
is not happening
…
“
No.
”
I say, unfastening my collar that seems to
suddenly be too tight, still watching her.
“
Yes. I- I have no reason to be here. I- I
can
’
t...
”
she starts, stuttering.
“
You have me. You have us.
”
I counter, trying my hardest to stay
calm, when I feel darkness grip my heart.
“
I can
’
t E.
…”
she pursues, still packing.
“
Vic, please. I know, it
’
s hard, but we will survive this.
Together. We
’
re
suffering the same loss. We need each other right now! I can
’
t lose you
…
It
’
s
…
-
”
I plead, my voice cracking.
“
I can
’
t deal E
…
I have to go
…
You have to let me go
…”
she insist, her voice trembling, still
not looking at me.
“
Vic. It
’
s the grief. It
’
s overwhelming, you are not thinking
clearly, please
…
I
’
ve lost my son, I can
’
t
…
-
”
I try to reason with her, feeling like I
’
m being sucked in by a vacuum, but she cuts
me, saying, dispassionately,
“
I
need to go E. I simply cannot, cannot, stay here
…
.
”
I
march towards her, slowing making her stand from the suitcase she is bent over,
turning her, so she faces me.
I
cup her face; her eyes are void of any emotions.
Fear
grips my stomach. I am truly scared.
I
am losing her.
No!
Never!
I
ask the only question that matters to me, the only question that needs
answering.
“
Do you love me? Vic, do you love me?
”
I say, holding my breath, staring at her,
trying to decipher what is behind her empty eyes.
She
looks at me, and for the first time since the death of our son, I see her eyes
flicker with emotion.
There
is still hope.
She
whispers softly,
“
I
do E. But I need to leave. It is best, before things deteriorate
…
Trust me
…
I feel no
…
-
”
Deteriorate?
How can it be worse than you leaving me? Isn
’
t
losing Luca enough?
“
So, we are not talking divorce here. You
just need to go for a while? Right?
”
I interrupt, trying to reassure myself.
“
Right. I just need time with myself.
”
she agrees, and returns to her packing.
“
Vic?
”
she turns her head as I look at her
trying to see if she is being deceitful, recalling she almost had me fooled,
once. But all I see is indescribable emptiness in her eyes.
“
Just for a while E. I need this
…
Just
…
Please
…
I
…”
she stammers, barely able to force the
words out.
“
Good, because I
’
ll never give you a divorce. You are mine
…”
I say, regretting it immediately,
Shit,
this is not the time to pressure her
…
Can she see how scared I am?
“
I
’
m sorry, I didn
’
t mean
…”
I look at her, exhaling and saying
kindly, softly,
“
We
are past that, and we
’
ve
been good this year, haven
’
t
we? I know you weren
’
t
pretending
…
I
love you. I
’
m
sorry...
”
I plead.
“
I
’
ll spend the rest of my life showing you
that I can be the man you deserve.
”
I add, as a second thought, hoping to sway her decision.
“
E, you can never be that man. That man
would never rape me.
”
She calmly retorts.
I
feel like I
’
ve
been slapped. She sees it, and comes to me, caressing my cheek, she adds,
trembling,
”
I-I
…
I need time, please E
…”
She kisses me softly on the lips.
“
Vic, I love you, and I know you love me. I
know what I did, but we had Luca, and
…”
I cry out, my voice unsteady.
“
E, I can
’
t deal with this! I just need to leave!
”
she finally screams, her body shaking, as
if the mention of his name is just too much for her.
I
remain silent, while she turns her back from me, and starts to put more clothes
in another small suitcase.