The Goodbye Girl (Red Market Series Book 2) (18 page)

Humanity is Hell.

I had her
on the edge of bliss, but she fell between my fingers. In a moment, her eyes glazed over just enough to make me realize that my dreams were nearly within reach, but just like everything else, they are never fulfilled. I licked a little bit of goodness, just enough to make me salivate and hungry for something that I would never get. The Goodbye Man, the dark angel, had to save the day. He is the rescuer while I am the destroyer. He lurks in the shadows, awaiting those that beg him for his goodbye. I take it. I suck it away; siphon it just like the oxygen I hate to admit that I need. The same kind that my lovers lack.

He loves her and I hate him for that. Not because of the correlation and how others may see it as unfit, but because I am not him. I cannot be him. I don’t want to be. There is no light in me like there is him. I am fed by a monster who is growing deeper by the day, craving more blood, more pain, and more nightmares to survive. The affection I thought I could appreciate from my Lettie Doll only drove me deeper down the tunnel of rage. Red visions would sway, allowing me to control my lines and world of order neatly, but even that is not a priority any longer. The satisfaction of dismembering decency is all I care for. I am a sick sinner; one who was birthed to hurt. I am unapologetically fucked and beyond help. The revelation sucks the wind from my lungs as I recall my recent actions when I was trapped in a storage closet with no other company other than the demons that have played with me my entire life. I am the same boy who held a rock preparing to kill Ophelia, aiming to murder, fuck, and love, only this time, my hands are deadlier than daggers and my heart is colder than stone.

The remaining hope that I had for love is gone, and the only person that I still have is the darkest one of them all. I can’t help but feel that her intentions are less than wholehearted. Caesar didn’t become the way he was without the fucked up nature or nurture, or maybe a little bit of both, from another. It isn’t exactly coincidence that we are both sociopaths, bred from the same family. It is embedded in our DNA to submerge in the darkness, though there is one major difference that separates the two of us.

He holds onto will. I steal it, reveling in the satisfaction and getting off on it.

“Remember what we discussed, boy?” my grandmother’s voice resonates through me, bouncing over every inch of my living, decaying body.

I can almost understand why Caesar went mad; the harsh roll of her r’s and the whip of her tongue alongside of her mouth is enough to drive anyone over the edge. She speaks words like poison, every syllable has purpose and intent. She eyes me with malice and disdain as I straighten my shirt. I have never been good enough for many, but I believe in this moment, that I am coming to terms with that revelation. Some people are born to destroy and allow their madness to seep through until their roots can be fed by the fountain of insanity.

I am insane as my roots continue to search for their eternal resting place. Until then, I will keep on fulfilling the dark shadow within my hollow chest. For moments when Ramira’s black eyes stare into mine, I think that I see a glimmer of softness, but then I remember that nothing such as that lasts. Lettie Doll left me, and the love that she had for me wasn’t real. I wanted to take what I could from her, loving her the only way I know how, but I was stopped by the man that is destined to save the day.

I steal it.

I try smiling at Ramira, wondering how this luncheon will pan out. Thinking of Caesar on top of Svetlana, how he is able to love and live regardless of his own demons irritates me, turning my smug grin into a frown.

“What has you smiling, boy? You aren’t thinking of that whore, are you?”

Images of her almost-dead body overtake my mind, pushed closer to the brink and I feel my cock tighten in my pants. I let my eyes close as the feeling of her cold cunt wrapped around my dick would let me travel to my only happy place. A place where I would be loved, cherished, and then I would leave before my little boy heart could get broken.

A swift blow to my crotch knocks the wind from my lungs, making my knees buckle and my deadly daydream cease. My eyes open to the light as I fall to the ground, grasping onto my throbbing dick as Ramira stands over me, pushing her wooden walking stick to my throat. She may be a frail old lady, but she has had a hand in killing far more people than Caesar and I put together. Her and my abuelo, before he lost his mind and life, started this business of the Red Market. She was the brains with the stable mind. Abuelo, apparently like his son, thought more with his dick. His mind broke and he killed himself, leaving the dysfunctional kingdom to his grieving widow.

“This is your last chance, boy,” she seethes, clenching her jaw as the wood pushes harder against my throat.

The mortar for this empire is crumbling, and the pieces will not be picked back up again.

I try to nod my head in agreement, but it is stuck between her stick and the hard ground.

“You help me, I will make sure you have a lifetime supply of cold whores.”

My dick strains again at the thought. Rows and rows of lifeless bodies all at my disposal; so still, unmoving and frigid. My little dollies would let me play with them, stroking their hair as gentle or rough as my unpredictable hands desired. No would be able to hold me back, not even the fears that I have confided in. I smile again as her cane prods my dick.

“Get a hold of yourself, you worthless boy!” she turns to walk away, hobbling slightly to bear weight on her cane. I sit up, allowing myself to breathe a sigh of relief as she starts to make an exit from her hotel. Making a deal with Ramira isn’t ever that easy, though. She pauses, turning around to sink her eyes that reek of hatred into me.

“Whisper to Caesar. Your slight, little boy voice will scream to his mind and drive him mad. He needs me, Mateo. He should be home. You help me by pushing him away, I will give you full control of the clinic in Mexico City. You can play all you want…”

I stare at my
enchiladas, but my appetite is absent. The only kind of hunger that I hold is for dead cunts. My throat is dry and my heart is pounding. My palms are sweating and I have the need to hurt someone, maybe even myself if I don’t get the fuck out of here soon. I tried my best to listen to Ramira, but Caesar had to open that cunt mouth of his and demean me like his actions are any better. Stupid baby fucker. The horizon of dead bodies in perfect rows with shiny metal beds and harmonious beeping machines, cathartic and joyous, is sure to be absent due to my outburst. My grandmother is less than pleased with my lifestyle, and Caesar’s for that matter, but he is her son. I am nothing more than a member of the family who was tossed to the side to survive after murdering for love.

Caesar leaves, making a mental note not to touch the tablecloth or napkin next to his untouched food. We are all fucked up, enabling and living by our own set of unconventional and illegitimate rules that our brains need to thrive on. Ramira is calculating and quiet, dabbing her napkin on the sides of her mouth to wipe the nonexistent crumbs free. She sips her coffee, leaning back in her chair until she finds the words she wishes to speak.

“I suppose you understand what this means, boy.”

I hang my head in defeat, the insurmountable chaos concocting itself in my brain, plaguing me with hurt.

“You might as well kill yourself off like your abuelo. Even a dead whore wouldn’t love you. Get out of my face before I decide to beat you to death myself.”

Her dark eyes look off, overcome with defeat. I sense that she, herself, loves her son in a way that she shouldn’t. Maybe that is why she hates the world so much, not because of the madness that surrounds her, but because she, too, lives with a disease.

Her echoes of truth vibrate in my ears, making my sense of reason leave me. I walk out of the restaurant in search of a legit cab driver. I pull some pesos from my pocket, waving one down while lugging a cigarette from my back pocket as the itch to find relief begs to find me.

The wealth of darkness invades every single pore on my skin as the cool air-conditioner hits my sweat. Honey brown eyes and dark hair swept over a sweaty brow stare at me in the rearview mirror, and I am certain in this moment in time, my cigarette pack feels just like that jagged rock from all that time ago. I am about to turn a page I can never get back.

“Detente en ep callejon ahí, amigo. Tengo que miar.”

The turn of the cab sends my dick tight against my pants and my vision goes hazy. All I can think about is his cold, tight ass and sweet dry lips. Love is sure to never have tasted sweeter.

A sunshiny shower won’t last for an hour.

I have three
weeks to decide my future. When I left home to come here I had planned to say goodbye to Svetlana, to end her life and set her free from the world I had helped create. But one look, one touch and one whisper from her and my heart was changed, not my mind. My mind still says I should set her free to the next life, but my heart clings to my child.
My child.
I cannot deny the pull that she has on me, has always somehow had without me even knowing it. Why did I stay on Kelly Street? I could have moved to somewhere better, but I clung to the squalor and dirt of that home for no reason. There was a reason. That was home and I knew Pavel would always gravitate back there and with him came her. Flies always return to the same shit-pile somehow, he never strayed far from there. 

Shaking off the bitter nostalgia I need to accept that I am in a city that I don’t love and I face a fight that I need to win. Mateo wants to play dirty, the little cunt; I will cut his balls off. I will deprive him of his precious love and starve his perversion. I am going to make the boy go crazy. He thinks he can use my mind against me, but I know exactly how to use love as a weapon. I have done it for years, every goodbye laced with the poison of love. Hugo drives slowly on the way back from lunch. Mateo sulks in the back seat, dripping with the sweat of fear and the stifling heat of this God forsaken city. As we get closer to the warehouse, Hugo starts to rattle off the scheduled harvests, incoming bodies and a list of upcoming special orders. My ears hear him but the noise my mother and nephew caused is louder and I can’t focus. My fists are still clenched and my dick is rock hard with the breathy voice of my mother lingering where I don’t want it. I resort to covering my ears with my hands in the hope of some relief. The tires crunch to halt outside the back of the building and Hugo is still talking, gruff words that don’t ever irk my condition. 

“Caesar, what do you think?” I didn’t hear the question so I have no idea how to answer, but I have something to say that they both need to hear.

“I don’t know Hugo, but you.” I turn and point at Mateo; his eyes are downcast and he knows that he has wronged me. “You are on deliveries, the waiting room is off limits to you until I decide that you are no longer a cunt.” I smile at my small victory and he kicks a stone on the cracked asphalt. 

“You can’t do that Caesar, I have been running things here, not you.” He is angry, his eyes gleaming with angry tears he would never cry. He is weak.

“I can do what I like, cunt, I am the boss.” I turn away from him, this isn’t a debate. “Go get the vans ready, we will start in a few hours. There are four bodies worth of spares to go out and you and my mother have wasted half the day.” I leave him rooted to his spot as I open the door to my empire, my world, The Red Market where every pound of flesh belongs to me. He will do what he is told, because that’s what he has been taught. The whole place comes alive with the bustle of action as bodies’ line up and doctors prepare for the task ahead. In the cold room the coolers are sorted, color coded by mode of transport and delivery manifests attached. Life springs from the death of those who wait to save others. I am home, but it isn’t home without her and I cannot understand this yearning, this need.
This sick desire.
 

My body still has not recovered from the sounds of the afternoon and I am wound tighter than a spring when the landlord returns. I have had time to prepare for his visit and I can’t wait to see his face as he realizes that he is going to say his last goodbye. His lack of respect shows as he slumps into the chair opposite my desk. Chewing on a toothpick, his pants are falling off and his body is slick with days of sweat and dirt. None of it is as offensive as his voice, the wafer thin hissing sound of his s's and the rolling of his vowels as he makes demands for money and future business. I see his mouth moving but the sounds coming out are not heard, they are the finger pulling the trigger of his death. 

“Camina conmigo, ven a ver como se trabaja aquí.” I stand and move around the desk so I am towering over his short stocky body. My burns are drying out and the skin itches and pulls. There isn’t time to think about them now and the pain isn’t anything compared to what is brewing inside me. I place a hand firmly on his shoulder, guiding him out the office door and towards the fires down below. The men he brought with him stand against the wall outside, a mismatched bunch of street thugs and drug dealers. Hugo’s nod tells me he already has them under control, no use wasting spare bodies. He will process them while we have a little chat. I walk him through the waiting area, the beeping isn’t even enough to silence my demons today. I explain the process, show him the operating theater and as we are about to leave, one of his men is wheeled in on a gurney. Ready to save lives. He stiffens beside me and his eyes dart around for an escape that he will never find.

“Then their remains get taken downstairs.” I don’t miss a beat in my guided tour, I don’t acknowledge his panic and I keep him moving into the bowels of the building. The metal stairs clang below our feet and my leg hurts as I stretch it with each step. “Here we dispose of legitimate medical waste and our own leftovers.” I smile as the heat of the fiery hot air kisses my skin with passion. My guest wipes the bleeding sweat of his brow as I stab a needle into his exposed side. Wide eyes, open mouth, gasps for air and finally he thuds down to the hard concrete floor. I want to beat his body to rid myself of the pandemonium inside my head, but my leg hurts so much that there is no way I could even if I tried. I lean against the wall and breathe past my agony and wish for quiet. My eyes close and I see her, I hear her and there is this suffocating squeeze around my heart. The pressure of the feelings and the hot air make breathing hard. It takes a long time for me to gather enough of myself to throw his dead body into a fire. The flames setting memories free, whispers and soft skin. Those eyes and her tears. The way the light danced on her scarred skin and the way her head felt resting in my lap. Her lips when I kissed them, my heart when it let her in. I sigh as I close the door on the furnace room and one of the problems Mateo has caused. The police will not be as easy to get rid of, they will be long term investment now.

I stumble back to the upper level where the second body is ready for harvest and I know I need the ritual of saying goodbye. I just need one thing to try and stop the chaos today. A young woman lies there, bare and ready to save so many other lives. I ignore the guilty pang of knowing she didn’t surrender, that she didn’t get a choice. I whisper into her ear a last goodbye before she is wheeled through the doors to her death. Some silence returns to my body and the tension unwinds just a little. Standing there, the beeping noises of medical equipment calm me down and I just breathe and listen until I am ready to go on with the day. 

The day that stretches into the late night. When Hugo and I meet in the passage again he is jingling his car keys, getting ready to leave for what little is left of the night. He has family here, his mother’s relatives live somewhere outside the city. I never cared to ask him about them, mostly because I never really cared about him before. Now that he is my blood, for some reason I can’t not care anymore. 

“Night, Caesar. I will be back late in the day tomorrow. We don’t have anything before then, I am going to see the police contact and try make this fuck up go away.” He pulls on a baseball cap, hiding his face from the world.

“Night, Hugo. Thank you.” Smiling, he looks at me with tired eyes and answers.

“There is a girl, clean clothes and food waiting for you upstairs.” He really is my brother. “See you tomorrow.” With that, he disappears out the door and into the Mexican night. I sink into the chair behind the desk. Picking up the relic desk phone, I dial the number for the clinic. I need to know she is okay. I just need to know. The ringing in my ears seems to go one for an age, I count them, every single one of the eighteen rings it took for someone to answer my call.

“Este es Caésar.” My voice is rough with the fatigue of my day. 

“Patrón, como le puedo ayudar. All today's patients are doing well.” A thin waif of a voice comes at my mind from the sweet nurse on the other side.

“There was a girl, the ambulance brought her, how is she?” I need to know.

“We didn’t get any female patients today?” She sounds confused and the death grip of truth strangles me. I put the receiver down with a loud bang and slam my head down onto the desk. Hugo, the fucker and he is gone I don’t even know where to look for him. I am going to kill him, brother or not. He stole my love and sided with my enemies. 

I need quiet, I am desperate for the normal routine of my life. I would kill for my home and the warm body of a faceless girl to sate this monster and say her goodbyes. Instead, I am left with tears I do not want to cry for the child I didn’t save, for the child I couldn’t kill, my child. My heart shatters and the pieces melt like my skin in the heat of the flames. Why was I saved if not to save her? I allow myself to sob in the solitude of the empty building that is filled with a hundred souls. I cry for the love that has been stolen from me, my body shakes as I let my grief escape. My own crying silences the noise inside my head, an unfamiliar silence comes over me. My grief is my cure for a short while. It takes away the agony of the time spent with my mother. I have never had silence, the noise has plagued my whole life. Yet Svetlana with her whispers both screamed and silenced all in one. My child died today and all I can think of is how she felt in my arms. How her lips kissed me and the way her body melted against mine in our passion.
I am the worst kind of disease, but I loved her and that meant I desired her. The lust still trickles in me as I think about what this loss means.

I will return to Spain in three weeks, but it will not be with my mother. She has stolen my life from me and I am going to take hers and I will enjoy robbing her of the power she thinks she has. I am going home - alone. My family will all die before I go, each and every one of them. I can hire staff to do a job, staff are disposable but the rotten core of my family needs to be removed from this Earth before there can be any more of them. This insanity needs to end.

True to his
deceitful word, upstairs my brother has converted a room for me. A small petite girl is curled up asleep in the fetal position on my new bed. I wonder where he finds time to do all the things he does? He is like this force that just moves about getting things done while we all fall apart. I clutch my chest when I think that one of the things he did was kill my child, my beautiful daughter. I take a piss in the toilet that has no door to separate it from the space that I will occupy for the next three weeks. I have no intention of making a home here. This place doesn’t feel like home, it reeks of death, loss and filth. It smells like my mother's perfume. My skin hurts and I cannot face a shower, I strip off the clothes and my day leaving them in a heap on the floor. I apply the clear jelly to my skin, it gives me some relief from the discomfort I am learning to live with. I pull the sleeping girl into my arms. Holding her sweet soft skin against mine, I bury my face in her clean hair, just breathing in the smell of innocence lost. Her body is warm and I know she is awake but too afraid to open her eyes. I killed the last girl they brought up here, but I don’t want to kill her. I want her to give me her life, hand it over willingly, and surrender her soul. I want to be her goodbye, I couldn’t give my child hers now I will give as many as I can. 

“I know you are awake. You don’t need to be afraid.” I pull the thick hair that covers her face back and see her lashes flutter as she tries to keep her eyes closed. I kiss her cheek and let my hands softly caress her skin, I want her to slip into the illusion of comfort. Trust. I manipulate her.

“Just don’t speak or cry and I won’t hurt you. If you need to talk, it has to be loud.” I turn her face so she has no choice but to listen to me and look in my eyes. “If you need to talk you yell, understand?” She nods her head and I can see her fear is still right there. My hand cups her chin and her whole face fits in my palm. I kiss her mouth, she doesn’t kiss back but she doesn’t stop me either. I move so she has to go with me, rolling so she faces me where I lie on my side; I still kiss her. Her fear begins to melt away as she lets her hands rest on my chest, right over the scars of my dance with the hell fires. Her fingers tickle as they find comfort in me. Now it is her who kisses me, she is killing me with kindness when I desire nothing more than to murder her. Take away the painful story those eyes tell me.