Chapter 66: Chapter 66

ANGELIC...

Of them. Three. Four. Five.

Five. Four. Three. Of them. A.

I start counting the seconds, which turn into minutes and hours. I hadn't noticed this morning, but I didn't turn off the faucet properly, so drops of water fall into the sink. I count the seconds as the drops descend.

I counted over twenty thousand drops.

I'm on the bathroom floor. The light went out about ten thousand drops ago. The only illumination comes from moonlight. My head is leaning against the tub as I stare at the gun, which I haven't even had the heart to touch. This is what killed a man before my eyes.

Of them. Three. Four. Five.

Five. Four. Three. Of them. A.

Over time, I think I've stopped having a big idea of what's real and what my head has created. I slept and dreamed of the bloodied body coming down the stairs. I was thirsty and drank water from the sink. I was also hungry, but I couldn't do much about it.

And The White. I hallucinated with him. Several times I felt like he was coming over, taking the gun away from me, and telling me everything was fine there. It was only a dream. He hasn't come for five hours.

Suddenly, the central bathroom light comes on. I need to cover my eyes, because the brightness seems to be able to blind me after so long in darkness. The handle turns, but does not open. I stare at the door, waiting for the person on the other side to open it.

- Angelica? - he whispers - It's me, Vicenzo.

Then I remember I locked the door from the inside. I drag myself to the door, turn the key and step aside so he can open it from the outside.

- Angelica? - Vicenzo enters the bathroom. He finds me on the floor, probably much less beautiful than the woman he has decided to marry - Oh my God, come here.

Vicenzo bends down, grabs my waist, and pulls me to my feet, leaning against the sink. I manage to put down roots, I was only on the ground this whole time because it was easier to have an existential crisis there. I look at him, all crumpled up but no traces of blood.

Finally, he looks at the gun on the ground and grimaces. All I understand about weapons is what I've seen used by presidential security during those years. This weapon is long, though felt average in LeBlanc's hands, and was capable of leaving a significant hole in a man's head. Holy mother!

- Are you OK?

- Yes - I answer, my voice sounding very weak - And you?

- There was a huge mess. A shame. But I'm fine.

I look at the wristwatch he wears. It's almost one o'clock in the morning, so I understood correctly by counting the drops. It's been six hours in this bathroom. Six hours trapped with my mind that only knew how to replay the dead that I saw. Six hours of worrying about everyone on the first floor.

- Is my father okay? - I ask.

- Yeah. He stayed in the meeting room. Margot arrived a few hours ago.

- Thank God.

Far be it from me to accuse Margot of anything. He is a very bad person indeed, but not a criminal. However, the fact that we are under frequent attack and she is never around is starting to worry me, as much as the fact that LeBlanc is always around. It's like he was programmed to be the hero.

- Let's go down. Inspector Pierce should be here now, Vicenzo mutters. From your tone of voice, I can tell how tiring that night was.

- Ok - I agree.

My body is begging me to dope myself with drugs and sleep, because I know I won't make it any other way. However, dealing with the detective's questions today will be better. Tired and stunned, I already am.

Vicenzo holds out his arm to me and I tie it to mine. As we walk through my room, I replay the scene from earlier. LeBlanc ordering me to the bathroom, leaving the gun with me.

My body still shakes when I think those men knew exactly where to find me, and they had a plan. In this plane, I would not survive.

We go down the stairs together, and already I see people gathered in the room. Detective Pierce and ten other officers are scattered around the room, doing forensics or interviewing someone. The weather is so thick that I can feel it from here. The house is overturned and there are bullet holes on many surfaces. We sofas, on the doors, on the walls.

I scan the faces, and the only missing person is LeBlanc. Even civil servants are questioned.

- Mr. Mares - Inspector Pierce comes over when he sees us - I'm sorry about your father.

By the senator? What happened?

I look at Vicenzo, looking for an explanation, but he doesn't meet my gaze.

- Everything will be fine - Vicenzo answers the detective.

- MRS. Donneli, I was worried. We didn't find it as soon as we arrived - he looks at me, being as nice as a policeman can be - Are you comfortable answering a few questions?

- Clear.

I look for Elliot in the bedroom. He is sitting on the couch across from another policeman. He looks at me and nods to say he's fine. Margot is next to her, holding her hand. For the first time in my life, I am happy with his presence. I don't want Elliot to feel alone at a time like this.

- This way, please - the detective points to the kitchen.

I follow him in the kitchen of the house. We passed the marble wall where I saw the first man die. The body has been removed, however, the bloodstain remains on the wall. My stomach turns.

- First of all - I ask - I would like to know what happened.

The detective places his notebook on the counter. He sighs, because it's probably a long story.

- A terrorist group broke into the house in the afternoon. They knew all the blind spots, so they were nimble. There were five men, two died in the house and three managed to escape.

- What did they want? Did they steal anything?

- Nope. They probably wanted to target the presidential family. I bet there are political issues behind it. There are only a few weeks left before the elections.

Political issues. It's always like that.

- When the first two died, the others were disoriented - continues the detective - They tried to break into the security system, but someone disconnected the power cables.

- Who?

- I still do not know. The expertise started twenty minutes ago.

He. I know it was him. Although caught off guard, LeBlanc is not one to be off guard. He thinks of everything.

- And the senator? - I ask.

- Senator Mares was shot. When the first shot was fired, he left the conference room, looking for his son, I presume. The senator had the misfortune of encountering one of the criminals and was shot at close range.

God!

- Is he... is he going to be okay?

- He was taken to the hospital before I arrived. I hope so, but I cannot say at the moment.

I nod my head, indicating that I understand. That's a lot of information for someone freaking out about the tip of the iceberg.

- Now that you are better informed about the situation, could you share your findings with me, Madam? Donnelly?

- Of course - I take a deep breath - What do you want to know?

Of them. Three. Four. Five.

Five. Four. Three. Of them. A.

I wake up scared. My forehead is sweaty and my body is completely crawling. My throat is dry and my eyes are watery. Little by little, I understand that I had a nightmare. I dreamed of the blessed body coming down the stairs.

Oh my God! How long until you forget last night?

I look at my bedside clock. Four a.m. It's been less than thirty minutes since the police left the mansion, I showered and slept. I didn't even bother to eat anything, even though I was hungry. I thought the fatigue was going to drug me enough that I didn't need the meds. I was wrong.

I sit up in my bed, knowing that I won't sleep anymore. I repeat everything I discussed with the detective, especially the part where he guarantees that the security of the condominium has been redoubled, and that the forensics will continue at dawn.

I am safe. I need to believe that I'm safe.

I get up from bed. The detective won't be satisfied with our testimony. The only person who will say anything relevant will be LeBlanc, and he wasn't there. He fled as one of the criminals. In fact, nothing guarantees us that it is not one.

I walk from side to side. That's what troubles my mind; the fact that he looks like a hero, but only until you start thinking about the details. He locked me up with the murder weapon. He cut the power, and therefore the security cameras. He fled before being interrogated.

When I realize what I'm doing, I'm already in the bathroom of my bedroom. I turn on the light and look for his car key card on the floor. I find it near the tub and pick it up. I try not to look at the gun, which the detective asked me not to touch, and I walk out of the bathroom.

I put on my slippers and run out of the room. Curiosity always wins out over my fear, and now I want to know the truth behind LeBlanc so badly that panic is losing ground in my head.

Everyone in the house must sleep. The interrogation kept them up late. Still, I tiptoe down the stairs. I don't want to risk getting caught running off with just a doll.

The marble wall is still stained, but now it doesn't scare me. If it wasn't for that man's blood on the wall, it would be mine.

I walk down the hall to the living room and out the front door, as I remember seeing the Bugatti parked under the marquee when I came back from my walk yesterday. Outside, I find the car covered with a thin layer of serenity.

I hadn't counted on the cool factor. The idea of going out wearing a piece of silk is bad, but the idea of going back in is unthinkable. I don't want to lose my temper, so I hold the key card against the door handle, unlock the car, and climb inside.

I knew what I was going to find when entering the vehicle; His smell. I didn't think it would be so… present.

The smell is good, practically impossible to dislike. It smells of majesty and cloves, if such a smell exists. The AC only serves to pick up the smell and throw it directly in my face.

When I put the key in the console of the car, I find a remote control for the main door. No wonder Elliot gave one of the controllers to LeBlanc, that pisses me off.

Jesus Christ!

I take advantage of everything to feed my anger, my curiosity, my anxiety. It all started to go wrong after he landed in our lives, seeming indispensable, and now more important than oxygen. That's what he wanted; that we could not live without your presence. Idiot.

I speed the car off the property, then out of the apartment. I know where to find you.

I ride the streets of New York as if I were racing in Formula 1, and the car helps me. I'm so mad I don't want to admit how good his car is. At least the speeding tickets won't end up in my mail.

Arrived in the Bronx, I do not bother to slow down. I'm lucky the car is armored.

The streets, as usual, are poorly lit. At this time, the number of call girls and drug addicts in the alleys is even greater. I promise myself to do something about it.

I know the way to the factory like the back of my hand, and God knows I didn't want to. I wish I could go back in time and never come near or let my dad come near the fake Bruce Campbell. In hindsight, it doesn't even match the name.

I spot the bars of the factory door. I can already hear the loud music from here, so I know it's race day. Less bad. This empty place makes me sick with fear. Now, yes, I'm slowing down.

I approach the factory, spotting the cars gathered in the street, headlights on and deafening music. My heart beats wildly. In a strange way, this has become familiar.

I park in front of the factory. There are many cars, but Bugatti stands out among them, which makes me nervous. I would like to do what I came to do in secret.

I take a deep breath and get out of the car before I lose all that courage. The studio door is open. I'm trying to go unnoticed, but I don't think the mini-doll is going to help me. There are two cars in the garage, and the usual bully, whose name I didn't politely ask, is standing in front of the open hood of one of the cars. I really don't know the patterns.

The Bronx smell isn't exactly good, but it's not bad either. It's the smell of the street, of many different people and scents, of burnt tires. It's exotic.

- Hi... - I'm whispering.

He turns to me, his eighty feet looking five. The man never smiles, and the tattoos that even cover his face give him the desired look of toughness.

He looks at me, then at what I'm wearing, then he grimaces. I'm not your favorite person in the world. When he opens his mouth to answer me, someone knocks on the door behind me and catches his eye.

- Man, I messed up the starter piston in my car. What do you have here?

I turn around to find Max leaning against the gate. He stares at me, and the relaxed expression becomes terrible when he recognizes me. I raise my hand to wave, because I don't know what else to do. Would he talk to me? Would you like to approach me?

"Man, I'll be right back," Max said. He looks at the bully behind me, but I know he's talking to me. I am a problem. - Shit. I don't want any problems.

Max steps back, practically running away from me. I don't judge him, because I know what happened. I saw. It only fuels my anger. Who does it take to define who can and cannot talk to me? I don't care if he runs the Bronx. I'm not part of the Bronx, and I'm not part of it.

- Hi - I turn to the two meter tall guy - I'm Angelique. We haven't introduced ourselves lately - I turn my anger into courage. This circus that LeBlanc set up ends today - Well, I'm still looking for LeBlanc. You know how they are. They always leave us alone at night and go God knows where. Can you help me find it?

I'm doing my best lost puppy face.

- Hi - he releases the hood of the car, making a loud noise, which is softened by the sound playing outside - I am Dionísio. I can see you stomping around the Bronx chasing your man, and honestly, I don't care. You know he's probably fucking another woman.

I widen my eyes. First, Dionysus, as the god of wine? Second, is this what women expect from their husbands here? Because if so, it's exactly the same as politics. And, third but not least, my man?

'Yes, probably, but I need to see him,' I said.

- It's late, tomboy. This place is not for you.

Swear?

- I am already here.

He takes a washcloth from the car and wipes his dirty hands with grease. Strangely, it suits him so well. Brute force, mechanics, dirty hands in the middle of the night.

- We have a warehouse. Leaving the factory, first right and straight ahead. Watch out girl, you might find anything.

I nod, almost touched that he's asking me to be careful. Does that mean he doesn't care at all, or that the neighborhood is so dangerous that I could die within two hundred yards?

- Thanks, I appreciate it.