Never Ending

~13~

"You seem distracted." I comment.

"No. I am just tired." Carter answered coolly. I can't tell if it is the truth.

"Then let's go home." He pays for the meal. "I am driving today." I declare once we reach his car.

He looks to be on the verge of laughter. "Impossible." He shoots back without a second's hesitation.

"I won't bet my life on your exhausted body's driving." I say, standing my ground.

"I won't bet my life, or my car, on your bad driving skills." He retorts.

"Please, I've been driving for five years now. I bet I know a bad driver when I see one, and I am not one of them."

"But do you drive well enough?" He mumbles.

"Excuse me?"

"Fine." I skip on my way to the driver's seat, a grin spreading across my face.

"You won't regret this." The car revs to life.

"I am sure I will, but let's not get into that just yet."

I exit the car panting. Somewhere between almost crashing Carter's car and getting stopped by a trooper, I lost all the confidence I had. Carter didn't make it any easier on me either. He was yelling, cursing and being an all around nuisance in such a dire situation. It's definitely no thanks to him that we are alive right now.

"You, are staying miles away from my car, from now on." He says while combing his fingers through disheveled hair. Instead of obeying him, the hair sticks out more. He sends me a final glare and storms to the elevator. I follow sheepishly. He doesn't say a word until we reach the apartment.

As I opne the door, I see a distinct military green envelope that makes my heart stop.

For De Laure to send me a handwritten letter ...

A remote part of my brain fears this might be his last words, he is prone to being mixed in very sticky situations often, one of them ought to get him killed soon. I retreat to my room immediately. I lock the door twice before tearing the envelope open. Two documents emerge. After skimming through, I heave a sigh of relief. First, because De Laure is alive, for now, and also because he sent me a name of someone who can be useful to me.

A hasty address is scrawled under the name. It is a small village in the West village. I can be there in a couple of minutes if I hurry. I exchange the dress for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I cover up with a voluminous coat to keep me warm. Grabbing my purse, I rush out of the room. I hail the first cab that comes my way.

A coarse looking man with bushy eyebrows and a large nose sits in the driver's seat. "West Village, sir." I say as I put on a seatbelt.

The driver looks at me through the rearview mirror with one bushy eyebrow raised, "Ma'am, are you sure?" He asks in a throaty voice. At this hour of the day, it is uncommon to see a woman, alone, taking a strange cab to Greenwich village, of all places.

"I am in a hurry." I assert with my lips set in a straight line. Seeing that I am determined, he steps on the gas. He tries to make small talk but I am far too busy to talk about the recurring petitions and protests to shut down NASA. He falls silent at some point and starts mumbling a jazzy tune instead. He would have been a great vocalist, but I don't tell him that. In this town, it's not about who you can be but what you are, and currently, I am not in the mood to talk.

Streetlights illuminate the tree lined streets of Greenwich village. On the outside, it may look very high end, but the worst of wealthy crooks and conmen inhabit these homes. The car stops in front of a small convenience store. I pay and get out of the car. I can see house 6734 across the street from me. The man I am looking for is bound to be in there comfortably sleeping on his flank, as my mother is six feet under. He should be in her place instead.

The house is dark, no sounds emanate from there. The street is equally as quiet, ominously so. I cross the street to get closer. On the ride, I decided to just knock on the door and request to talk. That's it.

My foot lands in a puddle. I stumble and almost fall face flat onto the concrete. I feel the liquid seep into my shoe and soak my socks. My beautiful white sneakers are not only brown but also stink. That puddle was not made of water.

I frown. The shoe squishes everytime I take a step, I want to grimace. I reach the door to 6734. A modern brownstone with a small porch streaming with yellow light from a small bulb overhead. I walk up the steps and knock.

Silence follows. Then more. I knock again but it goes the same. I almost give up when I hear a dog bark from within. A few seconds later, a woman opens the door looking more than just physically tired. Her entire body seems to be wrapping in on itself. "I am sorry to disturb you." Her eyes narrow, unfazed by my apology, "Is Pete around?"

Mrs. Rodernam frowns, her gaze intensifying. She cocks her head which confuses me. Instinctively, my hands come to my lips, pulling at it. "Did you hear me?" Is she deaf?

She doesn't answer immediately, "I heard you the first time." she says irritably. "What do you want Pete for?" she asks in a menacing voice as she says Pete as though imitating me.

"Important business." I answer evasively.

Her whole physique changes, what had been uninterested contempt becomes fear and then remorse. My eyes widen at this transformation. Her dog that had been lying by her feet amicably stands on edge. It bares its teeth at me. "What do you want this time?" Her voice is helpless. "I told you everything last time. Don't take her again, please, she is already sick." she pleads, getting smaller the more she says.

In a panic, I want to comfort her. She recoils from my extended hand. I let my arm hang on my side. "Who did you tell?"

"It was this man." words fail her, it's a few seconds before she finds the words, "he was tall, really tall. Handsome for sure, but he was so cruel." I draw a blank. I do not know anyone like that. "He was wearing a long brown coat that looked more costly than my two daughters combined." My gaze squints. It's not just the queer example she gave but also ths fact that she sounds more partial towards her tormentor, infatuated even.

"What did he do?" I ask.

"He came here and forced me to tell him everything about Pete. I couldn't at first and he choked me so hard, I was gasping afterwards. I told him about the money, but then he beat me up and took my Marylene." Her eyes soften.

"They returned her when she couldn't even walk. They starved her." She says and a tear falls out of her eyes. A chill goes through my body, the multiple times my father denied me food make me empathize immensely.

A shadow catches my eye, but it is gone before I can see who it is. Mrs. Rodernam also notices. She pulls me by the elbow and closes the door behind us. The inside is dingy, the air feels heavy and musty. A tinge of tobacco is intermingled with the dense air. She lights a table lamp and sits on a sunken sofa. I opt to stand.

"A few days later, the man returned with many others and they ransacked our house. I was devastated but Pete did nothing. He only watched and after they left he went to drink." From her tone, her and Pete's marriage was nowhere near happy.

"Then Pete died." she says as an afterthought. But it shocks me more than anything she has said yet.

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Rodernam looks at me with contempt, the corners of her mouth downturned.

"They found his body in an alley,"