Hell Mary

Chapter Twenty-four

The drive home was slow and quiet. Maureen positioned herself to the mirror snorting, crying and once, releasing a throaty laughter. It was filled with pain and an untold thirst for revenge. Dominic held tightly to the steering wheel while pages of memory flipped in his somewhat distant memory- the memory filled with youthful lusts and mistakes.

Beatrice had held him close to herself, her swollen abdomen hitting his trunk in a close affection.

"You can't leave me, I'm pregnant with your child," she said. He tried to look away and his eyes stuck to an old picture frame.

"Abort the baby," he replied. He had gently pulled her hands apart as they locked over his neck.

"What? No!"

"You know I'm married," he said defensively.

"You should have known that when you made love to me." Her wrapper was tied firmly in an odd knot and rested on her waist. She moved away from him and towards the lowered window in her one room apartment and stared at the thick darkness that the night brought. The breeze was gentle and even gentler was the way his hands wrapped her thin waist now slightly widened because of pregnancy. He would tell Maureen it had been a long day at work as he did whenever he escaped to meet her.

Maureen had been saying something and he only realized minutes later as his car gently swerved nearly into a ditch. He halted and let out his hands from the wheel. Breathing in, he continued to the stop that was directly in front of their house. Maureen looked at him puzzled.

"Please get down. I'm going somewhere," he said.

"That is all you have to say? You cheated on me Dominic and yet again you're going out? We still have to talk."

"I'll tell you everything when I come back." His breath was slow and words hurried.

"Where are you going to?" She asked.

"I'm going to find my daughter."

*****

Ashley hastened her steps in a longing manner but stood dazed at the possibility that her thoughts might just be a mirage. She held a small bag with a thin strap knitted with dull colours of brown and black. Parts of her phone peeked out through the knitting and the small extra money for her transport back home. Her fingers folded slightly and she allowed herself to knock.
She knocked twice and when no voice echoed from within, she made to leave until the door chimed and it opened.

Martins pushed his head out. His hair had been overly grown and small sprouts of beards tugged at his jaw and chin. He looked shabby and drained of refreshing newness.

"It's true," she said. "You're out of jail."

"How did you know?" He asked, uncapping a tube of toothpaste and smouldering his toothbrush with the starchy paste.

"Sola told me. What happened?" She asked. He walked into the bathroom and she heard the rapid sounds of the bristles against his teeth. It was violent and she feared it would hurt him. Her eyes poured graciously on the widely spaced room.

His bed was dumped at one end and the rest of the aerated space had been filled with a large wardrobe of similar designed shirts, a chair and a desk, which had scattered sheets of paper on the top. The room was richly cream coloured and it seemed that with each visit, a newer design was added and she did visit quite often.

"My father bailed me," he said after a long wait. He sealed his lips together, pressing out the brush water from his lips.

"You were the one Thelma said the detective spoke about right?" Ashley asked. Her smooth hair had fallen generously on her shoulder and settled there. They still shone of excessive lubrication and moved about despite the constraint of heat and friction. "I called to tell you Thelma did it and you still took the blame?" Ashley asked.