Deep Fall

A Family Of Lies

The man in the blue uniform fell onto his knees with a hand on his stomach. "You little-" he exhaled, almost silently, for the last time. The cowardly dogs, as soon as the gun shot was heard, ran away. "Isabella!" Jackson was afraid. He was afraid to lose her. Only because he didn't want to be alone in the woods. He stared, quietly mortified, at the dead body laying in the pink snow. "You killed him. That was a human being. Someone with a family and friends and a life that you took away. Years that you stole in a second-" he began to say before she cut him off. "I did not take anything. God did." she turned to face him. "You believe in God, don't you?" she asked. He nodded, then looked at her hands. Her delicate hands. How could such delicate hands commit murder? Jackson knew it was wrong for him to think the way he was thinking, but he just couldn't help it. This girl looked perfect and she was head over heels in love with him. He could do anything he wanted right now. To her. Again. "Then you should believe that if God did not want this man to die exactly when he did, he would've broken my wrist before I could've pulled that trigger. Understood?" she said, almost devouring his chocolate eyes. "Understood." he was afraid. Afraid of her, this time. Isabella put the gun back in her purse and if it were a basket, you would've sworn she was The Little Red Riding Hood.

"To be quite frank, Jackson, you are incredibly ungrateful. I saved your life." She put her hair  up in a ponytail and continued "Alright, other cops will be on their way, let's go." she said, as they hurried towards the other end of the woods.

"Are we on private property?" Jackson asked.
"No. Riverview Hospital. I'd love to encounter a few evaded crazies."
and to himself he thought that she was one of them.

But wasn't he the cause of her insanity?

March 26th, 1971.

"Jacob, dear, would you mind making some tea for our guests? I'm feeding the baby." Her words were drowning in the New-York accent she carried. Hannah was the image you associate with beauty. She had long, soft, feathered blond hair and a fringe that did not meet her full and short arched eyebrows. People say that if Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe had a love child, she would be it. But every beautiful face has things to hide and Hannah Baum was especially stunning. There was not a single man who refused a smile to this lady and not a soul that had never gotten lost in her deep emerald green eyes. She was everyone's definition of perfection.

The fireplace had warmed up the sandy beige walls of the living room and the heat was distracting Michelle from the fire that was burning in her chest. Sweat rolled down the teenager's face as she avoided any possible eye contact.

"Mimi, do you want anything to drink?" her brother asked, walking in her direction. He put the salver on the glass table and kneeled down next to Michelle. She took a deep breath and wiped her cheeks when he put his hand on her shoulder. "Lord! why are you so close to the fire? Come, now. Even with that golden tan of yours," he said, eyeing her petite body, from her bare shoulders to her manicured feet, "-you look sickly pale." She followed him into his room and sat on his bed. "What's on your mind, Mimi?" he gave her a worried smile, maybe he wanted to help. She could only whisper his name and once he heard the struggle through her lips, he hushed her gently and took her in his arms. "I'm here. I'm right here. It's okay." The girl broke down as if she had been holding back tears for centuries and the only thing that he could think to do was to tighten his grasp and lay his lips on her forehead. "You're not alone, Michelle. You'll never be alone. As long as I'm here, Michelle, you'll never be alone." but the undertone in his voice had changed and it was now subtly colder. It sounded as if he'd been repeating that same line of speech for so long that it had simply become a meaningless chore. It was just a redundant assemblage of words which his sister felt through the embrace. But this was a family of lies.

"Harry, I will not be having this conversation with you right now. I'm in the middle of something. Goodbye." Hannah was containing her anger next to the white rotary dial in the kitchen. "Is everything alright?" Peter Angelis was a man of high class and long days lived which showed in the colour of his silver hair and the way it was elegantly slicked back. He stood straight and tall, his greek nose pointing forward, unafraid of anyone's power. He was somewhat of an anarchist, but the taboo surrounding that word made him rather stick to the term "unconventional". He was admired for his courage in speaking justice and honesty, but never too much, only enough. Angelis was a clean, well-mannered fellow that others observed with envy. He could make good out of the bad and force the truth out of the lies.

"I've been better, Peter. I have." she let out a sigh and took a seat next to the open window, then lit up a cigarette. "These things'll kill you, you know that?" her friend said. "Oh! I wish they would, dear. I'd rather die than let that bastard set foot in this house again." The tired eyes of the woman shifted, the floor was her safe place, her shoulder was weighed down by the sad and heavy hand of Angelis. She was almost crying and the guests were still laughing in the sitting room. "What does he want, now?" the man asked. Hannah shrugged and took another drag.