Married After Midnight

Osiris

It was a two-hour drive from Milan to dinner and Kalon stopped on the way for reasons unknown. With all that time in silence, all Amara could do was think. She could have blamed Kalon for pulling the trigger on the wrong person but a part of her was grateful he did. Amara didn't want to die, she wasn't suicidal, just angry. Angry at all her choices that stacked with consequences of brick-like thickness. Yet trying to solve them, trying to shake the anchor of her problems, was like adding a layer of titanium to her already depressing issues.

The salty smell of the ocean slapped Amara in the face as they stepped out of the car onto the soft sand lined with cars. Waves kissed the shore under a cloudy sky blessed with the soft light of a full moon. Amara took a moment and adored the moon. Adored the way it shone in the darkness, the way it humbly grew night after night, only to show its true face for a moment. The moon was soft and lovely, and at the same time oh so magnificent. She closed her eyes, marked the image in her memory, took a deep breath, then finally stepped. It was time to be Kalon's wife, whether she loved him or not.

Amara walked by Kalon's side into the building and stepped past him into the softly lit, customer-empty restaurant. The beach was lined with cars but in the restaurant there were only two people who could present themselves as customers. The other twenty-two stood with their fingers on the triggers of their loaded weapons as if the zombie apocalypse had finally started. They were all guards to the man and woman who sat at the table in the middle of the room and at that moment the possibility of someone being more dangerous than Kalon hit Amara. The door closed behind her and she felt the heat of Kalon's hand on the small of her back. He was her enemy but so were the set at the table and everyone else in the place. The only difference was he was an enemy she knew. She'd stick to the poison she knew.

As they got closer the man at the table stood and extended a hand to Kalon. Kalon never took the hand. He pulled the chair for Amara, seated her then himself, and left the man standing hand out and waiting. Immediately anger flickered across the man's face but he said nothing.

"Glad to see you Osiris," the man said as he sat down, his English laced with a heavy Italian accent.

Kalon didn't answer.

The lack of words made the cool air heavy, and made Amara wonder if she was about to be in the middle of a gunfight. Unconcerned with the tension he created Kalon waved the waitress over, took two menus from her, and gave her a small order in clean, crisp Italian. Then they waited. In the heavy silence, Amara looked over the menu that had been written in English with images and descriptions of every item on it. She looked through it and followed in the undisturbed silence until it was finally broken by the man across the table.

"What the hell do you want Osiris?! You call me here to stare in my face!?" Nothing. Not one word left Kalon's mouth nor did a reaction show on his face. He didn't move, shift, or even breathe slightly differently at the outburst. It peeved the man across the table, made his temper spike.

"You think you can just threaten me to come and then just fucking sit here? I should have one of these men plant a bullet in your skull for wasting my time!"

The man stood, yanked his wife out of her chair, and headed for the door. The waitress came back and placed a bottle of Pinot Noir along with a wine glass in front of Amara and then a fourteen-year-old bottle of whiskey in front of Kalon before she stood and waited for his next order.

"You're going to clean a warehouse for me," Kalon said to the man that already had a foot out the door as he poured a glass of wine for his wife and whiskey for himself.

He finally spoke and his words created optimal silence. The footsteps stopped and the door slowly closed before the sound of footsteps reoccurred, louder and heavier till a shadow loomed over Kalon.