Louis Hannibal Nez
When Rob sees the young woman among the shelves of the Happy Drunk Liquor Store, gathering chocolates from the floor and returning them to their display, he grows nostalgic for those days when he dreamed of growing old beside her.
"Oh! I’m sorry. I’ll pick everything up, don’t worry. I’m sorry." Rob knows what he wants from her.
Her presence calls her supposed refined and expensive tastes into question. After all, she has ended up in a West End liquor store masquerading as a tourist establishment. Before Rob can rise from the uncomfortable chair and pounce upon her, a plump hand, rolls of flesh circling its wrist, catches him and abruptly halts his advance. Rob studies the innocent woman as though she were a doe framed in a hunter’s sights. The chubby hand strikes his bony chest and stops him short. Burly Dan, nearly six and a half feet tall—a true monument to cholesterol—subdues the short, scrawny Rob.
Rob regards him defiantly and discovers that Dan’s other hand clutches a sharp knife. Turning his head while keeping watch over the woman, Rob glances in the opposite direction. Daylight still lingers outside the liquor store, though dusk is becoming night. Fog and the threat of a downpour steadily erase the light. Inside the unlit store, darkness begins to gather, especially between the shelves where she stands. Rob tries to move again, and again Dan checks him with a hand against his chest. The blade in his friend’s other hand threatens him from a distance.
"What are you doing, fat man?" Rob asks.
"I will not let you drag me into trouble again. I went to prison because of you. Pay me the damn money you owe me. This crisis with the virus is only beginning. If you do not give me my money, I will not be able to eat. Stop stalling. Give me what you owe me," Dan warns.
Both men take care to keep their voices below a level the young woman might hear; they speak in whispers. A shelf filled with fine wines prevents Rob from seeing her. The obstruction exasperates him, and his face grows grave. With his fingers, he repeatedly sweeps the unkempt hair hanging before his face back beneath his cap—at least a dozen times in less than a minute. Dan stands firm. Rob fixes his enormous eyes upon the burly friend who blocks his path.
"What did I just tell you? I’ll pay you later, not now. I’ll let you know when. Now stay out of my way. Move. If you don’t step aside, I’ll break your face, fat boy. Is that clear?"
Dan does not yield an inch. Sweat bathes his forehead and his lips are pressed tight. The hand holding the knife trembles slightly. He stares into Rob’s haggard sockets, where great watery eyes shift and twitch. They study one another. Rob recognizes Dan’s nerves; he knows them well. He glares openly at him. In prison, he saw Dan this way many times. He does not fear him and believes him incapable of causing harm. Yet the knife in Dan’s hand prevents Rob from doing as he wishes. To Rob’s surprise, Dan presses its blade against his throat.
Dan cannot suppress an uncontrollable tremor as they stare into each other’s eyes. Rob opens every sense as widely as possible, alert to any eventuality. His judgment changes radically; he now recognizes that Dan may be dangerous. He neither lowers his guard nor allows himself to be distracted. He smiles.
"I escaped from prison, do you hear me? I was put there because of you. Remember? I am never going back—least of all because of you, not again. I am leaving this shitty liquor store, and I am taking that woman with me. If she is Brittany, as you think, I will not return her until you pay what you owe. I may even demand more. I am leaving right now, and you are going to stay there quietly," Dan says, beside himself with fear, anxiety, and nervous agitation.
"Do you think I’ll simply let you leave, fat boy? Do you think I’ll let Brittany Condon walk out of my liquor store without so much as exchanging a few words with her, now that I have her so close? What kind of idiot are you? What is all this resentment about prison? Since when? You had better step aside. I don’t want to hurt you," Rob says in a threatening tone.
The threat fails; his friend is not afraid. Dan is simply, desperately hungry and needs money. He whispers again, this time directly into Rob’s ear, his words a timid rush.
"Don’t waste your breath, Rob. You won’t touch a hair on that skinny girl’s head. I know what you want to do, you sick bastard. If you don’t pay me first, I won’t allow it. I’ll get her out of here, just as I told you," the burly man warns.
He keeps the knife against Rob’s throat. His face grows ever more drenched with perspiration, as does his chest, the sweat visibly soaking the sleeveless shirt he wears.
"Now you really sound like the Dan I knew in prison, the one who made us listen to his shitty sermons. Brittany is mine—mine alone—and I don’t care about that knife, or anything, or anyone," Rob whispers.
"That pregnant woman over there is not Brittany, you idiot. Can’t you see she looks nothing like her? She is an ordinary West End girl. What is wrong with you? What is your fucking problem? With this whole virus mess... I won’t give you the chance. I will not be your accomplice—not again. You will sit there, Rob, charge her for whatever she buys, and keep your mouth shut. Then I will take her away—I mean, I’ll escort her outside." He purses his lips, spraying beads of sweat toward Rob each time he leans close.
"What goes on inside that head of yours, fat man? What do you know about who Brittany Condon is or isn’t? I do know."
"No, you know nothing. That woman is a public figure. Stars like her are whatever you want them to be. Deep down, no one knows what they are truly like—perhaps their families."
"Fine. Take her, wrap your greasy arms around her, and get out of here at once. Don’t come back," Rob says, resigned.
"Really?"
"Yes. I do not want trouble with you. We are friends, aren’t we? We have been through so much together..."
Rob watches and measures him as he sighs, giving him a look laden with meaning amid the adrenaline and tension of the moment.
"Don’t hesitate, my friend. Do you imagine I mind your taking away the woman I have dreamed about? Nooo, that would never be enough to end our friendship. Of course not. Forget it."
After saying this, Rob smiles and immediately pats him on the shoulder. He persuades Dan to ease the knife away from his thin neck; its pressure hurts him. Dan steals a glance at the young woman among the shelves. She appears to have chosen two boxes of fine chocolates and gives no indication that she heard their conversation. She seems unable to decide between them. In truth, she is not entirely oblivious to what the men are whispering about. However quickly Dan tries to glance at her without losing sight of Rob, the distraction lasts longer than the circumstances permit.
Rob swiftly reaches back with one hand and gropes across the desk until he finds an electronic-ink pen. Within seconds he wields it like a knife, draws back, and drives it into his friend’s thick neck. Dan is stunned by the agonizing wound. He clutches his throat, staggers backward, and works his tongue in an attempt to speak. Nothing emerges from his mouth but a kind of gurgle. He drops to his knees, then collapses beneath his own weight. Both hands press against the wound as he writhes, jets of blood spurting upward in time with his heartbeat. The young woman sees and hears everything. Panic leaves her paralyzed.
At last she releases a loud, piercing scream. The boxes of chocolates fall from her delicate hands, their nails painted fuchsia. Rob removes the knife from the hand of his dying friend of many years, pivots on one heel, and fixes his gaze directly upon the young woman. Without meaning to, he reveals something both lustful and threatening in his expression; adrenaline overwhelms him. At the same time, he feels the fabric beneath his abdomen slowly growing taut. No one outside the premises seems to hear her desperate screams. Rob approaches her very slowly, smiling, savoring the moment he has dreamed of for so much of his life.
For as long as he can remember, Rob has been in love with the superstar now standing inside the liquor store. He is willing to risk everything for her. He loves and desires her. Behind him, Dan kicks and dies. Rob recalls every kind of circumstance he has endured and how, throughout them all, Brittany always accompanied him in his thoughts. He cannot avoid doing what he believes he must. Best to savor it, to draw it out as long as possible. He continues toward her and contemplates the belly swollen by months of pregnancy. It does not matter. It merely attracts his attention. Nothing will stop him from doing what he wants.
"I’ve been in this pigsty since morning trying to learn what happened to you, Brittany. I confess, I was already desperate."
"Brittany? No—wait." He advances toward her.
"I can’t believe you’re pregnant. Doesn’t the press know? How did you manage to hide it?"
"You have mistaken me for someone else. Stop. I am not who you think I am."
"I’m surprised you don’t have a bodyguard protecting you, although, on the other hand, I’m glad you don’t."
"You killed that man." She clutches her abdomen.
"Dan? Nah, that is no man. He is my lifelong friend. Do not look at him. He is strong; he always pulls through somehow. Maybe he will run out of blood eventually. I hope so. I would rather he stopped squealing like the pig he is."
"Please, I’m no one. Don’t hurt me."
"I have so much to tell you..."
"I am not the woman you say! Please, don’t come any closer!"
"Let me tell you something: you kept me company every day. I have worked in this pigsty for years. I know what you must be thinking. A successful girl like you must wonder how anyone could make so little of his life. Right?" Rob laughs softly as he continues toward the young woman. "You have nothing to fear. I won’t hurt you, I swear. I’m a hopeless romantic. You’ll see."
"Please, I beg you, let me go. I should never have come inside. Let me leave. You will never see me again, and I will say nothing to anyone."
"I have dreamed of this moment for a long time, Brittany. Ugh, far too long—it has been terrible. The good thing is, we have food and drink here, so you will not have to return to that whole virus mess outside. We will spend a romantic quarantine together. I will look after you. You have nothing to worry about. Do you believe me?" She looks from side to side, desperately seeking an exit, but there is none. Then her attention shifts to the knife in Rob’s hand.
"I want to leave," she cries while backing away.
"Don’t you hear a word I’m telling you, Brittany? I’m a little nervous. Sorry." He releases a plaintive laugh and stammers.
He continues approaching the young woman, who screams again; no one hears her. She thinks only of how to prevent what she believes inevitable. In the shadows of the Happy Drunk Liquor Store, Rob’s face is utterly transformed by the possibilities before him. He can hardly believe it. He persuades himself that destiny has arranged this. He understands now that he had to endure years of earning a pittance without resigning or seeking another job so that this glorious day might come. Everything becomes clear. Every decision over all those years has finally led him to this fantastic moment, which he will not waste for anything in the world.
"I spent the morning reading the newspaper in fear, Brittany—afraid you had been infected." He takes slow steps toward her while she retreats at the same pace, her body trembling in panic before the man stalking her. With only a few inches of retreat remaining, she draws near the wall.
"Oh, what are you talking about? You have mistaken me for the singer. People have sometimes said that I resemble her, but please—I am not her. I am not, and I do not want to be. You can see that I am expecting a child."
"Brittany, I spent at least an hour watching the damned news. They said nothing about you. How can that be? Do you know why it happens? Do you know why? Would you like me to explain?"
"Please, let me go. I have to leave quickly," she sobs.
"I’ll explain." Rob stops advancing for a moment.
The young woman frantically searches her surroundings. Shelves filled with bottles hem her in on either side, and the wall stands behind her. Before her is Rob, eyes bulging from their sockets. She desperately seeks some avenue of escape but finds herself trapped in a dead end.
"It is because of the rich, understand? I am sure you understand. You hate them as much as I do. Those shitty people live in clouds formed by their own flatulence, probably pink and scented like a forest. They see themselves as gods. They use us, enslave us, and throw us away. They control our existence and step on our heads whenever they please, so we never forget that they are the fucking masters." Rob wipes strands of saliva from his mouth with his sleeve; the words burst from him with tremendous force.
"Please, sir, I have done nothing to you. I will buy you this if you like, or I can give you money, but do not hurt me. I am not Brittany Condon, much less a wealthy woman." Rob’s ears might as well be deaf to the woman’s pleas.
"Those bastards," he continues, "are the ones who can afford that shit they invented—UHR Channel Plus, Premium, Gold, and the mother who gave birth to all of them. They are the ones who take possession of what we may and may not see. They take possession of your life."
"Sir, I repeat: I am not Brittany Condon!"
"They enslave you too, Brittany, with cameras following you everywhere. You escaped them cleverly—congratulations. I know! You are posing as a poor pregnant woman to flee the press. No one will look for you here; we are far from luxury. How clever you are! When they tire of searching, you will be free. You will have escaped and can do whatever you want. You cannot bear the pressure imposed upon you by those who made you famous."
"Please..."
"And I understand you. See? Without your telling me anything, I can deduce everything that is happening to you. I know you so well; we are the same. I love you not only for your beauty, Brittany, but also for your grace, charisma, simplicity, and magnificent talent, of course. I have fallen in love with you."
"I am not...!"
"I cannot live without you, Brittany—without knowing where you sing or where you are performing. But those shitty inquisitors will not let me see anything. I cannot afford any of the feeds controlled by UHR Channel."
"How can I make you understand that I am not the woman you think? You are confused! I cannot sing at all, not even in the shower. Do you understand or not?"
"Do not be modest, Brittany. You sing wonderfully. But charging people to watch you, or football, or old films for the hundredth time—don’t you think that is abusive? Do you agree?" The young woman barely manages a nod.
Since the man does not seem to hear her, she changes her strategy and humors him as far as possible. She retreats a little farther until her back meets the room’s cold, unyielding wall. Terror seizes her when she calculates that the man stands no more than five paces away.
"The truth is, I had never thought about it," she manages to say.
She understands that she must speak to him, distract him with words. Perhaps this way she can keep him from attacking her until someone else enters the store. Given the darkness inside the premises, however, she finds that last possibility unlikely.
Rob lowers himself very slowly to the floor, setting the knife aside. He fixes his hard-boiled-egg eyes upon the terrified young woman. Dan still writhes on the floor, whimpering and drowning in his blood. One hand, soaked in arterial fluid, grips his throat; the other reaches toward Rob. He kicks, suffers, agonizes, and weeps. Rob attempts to smile at the woman, twisting his mouth aside in a display of old-fashioned gallantry both strange to him and false. She is too frightened to speak. Despite the darkness, her gaze reaches beyond Rob and Dan toward the shop door. It is locked from within, and she has no key.
He contemplates her with such fixed intensity amid such profound silence that Dan’s wet, bloody noises and whimpers dominate every sound. Dan endures a torturous, painful agony. Leaving the knife behind, Rob rises like a four-legged creature, balanced upon hands and knees. He crawls through the darkness between the shelves like a feline, approaching her. When he draws very close to the expectant mother, he motions for her to sit upon the cold floor. She obeys. The woman sits facing him, hugging her folded legs while carefully shielding her swollen abdomen. Rob smiles as never before.
"There. Now we’re quite comfortable, aren’t we? I have wanted to be like this with you for as long as I can remember. You’re so daring, so talented, so brilliant." Rob speaks loudly but in a very gentle tone as he examines her from head to toe.
He moves a little closer, opens his arms, and places his hands upon the young woman’s knees. She flinches at his touch and releases a timid moan. He notices both reactions, as well as her trembling. In the oppressive silence, he regards her with profound desire. Barely containing his arousal, he feels ready to burst inside his jeans.
"Leave me alone! Please, I beg you. I will tell no one—only let me go," she pleads through sobs, terrified.
"Shut up! Enough screaming! Who the hell got you pregnant, huh? An actor? Who? Damn it. Is your boyfriend outside?" Rob asks, examining her with his bulging eyes. She does not dare utter another word. "Haven’t you seen your new advertisement out there? That is you. How could it not be you doing that dance without panties? No one else would dare."
Outside the liquor store, a very dark night descends upon Stormport. The Happy Drunk Liquor Store’s interior becomes ever more deeply shrouded in shadow.
"Can’t you see I’m not her? You claim to know her so well, yet you cannot see I’m not the woman you think? The streets are full of infected people. Please, let me go home before it is too late."
The woman’s words sow some doubt in Rob about the physical resemblance, though not enough for him to release her. Without speaking, he inspects her again, inch by inch. Outside, night’s pall settles over Stormport’s streets. The district fills with savage criminals, feral as animals. No police appear to restrain them, nor the enraged infected gradually emerging nearby. At the military barracks, reinforced troops prepare for deployment throughout the city by sea, land, and air.
"One night in prison, I took far too much," Rob says with sinister laughter. "I completely lost all sense of time. What the men in the other wing did to me that whole afternoon... it was not as though they had never done it before, you know? But anyway, I... anyway, it doesn’t matter. The point is, I nearly lost consciousness. Before I slipped away completely, I thought of you. Yes, Brittany, of you. That is the last thing I remember from that night. I realized how deeply I love you even though I do not know you and you do not know me. Who else could I love? No one. I followed you every day in the media, before the channel stole the rights to you." Rob speaks with a certain nostalgia and melancholy.
There is something comical about him, yet tragic and sad at once. As he speaks, he sniffs and caresses her, reaching out to touch her bare arms and then her face. He cannot stop looking at her. He still refrains from reaching for curved contours or probing damp cavities, although he longs to do so. He will save that for last—the sweetest course at the end.
"What are you doing in West End, Brittany? Tell Daddy. One last craving for chocolate before you flee to the VIP district?" Rob asks.
That drooling, groping presence fills her with revulsion. She does not want those restless hands touching other regions of her body. She shudders at the thought.
"Well, I’m not her. My name is Eva. How can I explain it? I’m not Brittany," the young woman replies, still unable to look him in the eye. Seconds of almost absolute silence—broken only by Dan’s laments—are followed by Rob’s next words:
"Too stupid for me," Rob growls.
He senses the woman’s nerves, her agitation, the sweet perspiration covering her body. The thought excites him; he longs to taste each droplet of sweat, wherever it may have formed. He scratches frantically at his head and arms, looks at the floor, regards Eva with yearning eyes, smells the skin of her neck, and studies her legs from the feet upward, pausing at the thighs half-covered by her skirt. She feels his gaze upon her skin as though it were a pair of hands. With the fabric of her short dress, she covers herself as well as she can. Discomfort overwhelms her, but she does not say a word, afraid of triggering whatever may be inside him. The last daylight fades from their faces.
The meager artificial light from the street begins to strengthen. No lamps burn inside the liquor store. Eva grows increasingly uncomfortable. Rob’s enormous, lustful eyes crawl over her body like insects. Those restless hands disgust and frighten her.
"I insist, sir, I am not the woman you believe I am," Eva says in a trembling voice, seized by such absolute terror that she can scarcely reason what she ought to say. "You must let me go, especially in my condition. I need to eat frequently, use the bathroom, take my vitamins. I have to leave." Rob releases an uncontrollable nervous laugh, then licks his lips.
"Look, little girl..."
"My name is Eva Hausen. I’m not Brittany Condon."
"Eva, huh?"
"Yes. I lived here in West End all my life. My mother helps me pay the rent. My boyfriend—the father of the child I am expecting—is away on a maritime mission. He will return next summer, and we will marry."
"So it’s a girl..."
"Yes, she will be a beautiful girl. We are going to call her Hypatia."
"Why do you need to call her that?"
"With the money we have saved, plus the extra he will bring home from the mission, we will buy a beautiful house. We want both a back yard and a front garden where Hypatia can play. We want three children. My mother wants many grandchildren, and his mother wants even more. We think two girls and a boy would be ideal, but we will welcome whatever fortune brings us."
"That was something I also..." Eva interrupts him.
"My boyfriend’s career in the navy will no longer require missions unless he accepts them. He told me that once Hypatia is born, he will refuse any more. I want us to have a house with a garden where our daughter can run and play. Perhaps we will bring Mom to live with us for the first few months so that she can help, although I doubt he would like the idea."
"Mothers-in-law in the house only make trouble."
"Please, sir, that is my life. That is who I am. Remember: Eva Hausen, an ordinary woman who aspires to nothing more than a simple family life. I have no interest in the glamour, wealth, or extravagance surrounding the woman you mean. She may resemble me physically, but she has nothing to do with me. Please, I beg you, let me go. I will tell no one what happened. You will never see me again."
A profound silence follows her words. They leave Rob utterly astonished. He is too stubborn to admit his mistake, but simply by listening to her, he has realized she is not Brittany. If she is telling the truth—and painful as it may be—he would be committing an act of madness. Comparing their voices is enough for him to hear the difference now that he has listened more carefully. He remembers Brittany’s sweet, unmistakable voice very well. He rises abruptly, then helps Eva to her feet. His enormous hard-boiled-egg eyes still offer no clue as to what he intends to do next. Eva fears she has made the situation worse.
"These things happen, you know, Evita? Some fucking lunatic grabs you in the street and has his reasons, but if those reasons aren’t real—if a man thinks with his heart instead of the other thing that doesn’t beat—well, I don’t even know what I’m saying. What the hell? I’m sorry. I mistook you for her. Get out of here, quickly."
"Don’t worry. There is nothing to apologize for. Just let me go home, all right?" she asks, then races toward the glass door as quickly as she can.
"Yes, of course. I’ll open the door for you," Rob confirms, following her.
Eva is frantic to escape, to put as much distance between herself and this place as possible. To reach the door, both of them must step around Dan, who still trembles upon the floor in a pool of his own blood, moving less and less. The sight fills Eva with chills and nausea, and she averts her eyes. Rob instead approaches him, crouches, takes Dan’s keys, and heads toward the door. He chooses one and inserts it into the lock, but does not turn it yet. First, he wants to say something else.
"I can’t let you go." Eva feels herself dying when she hears that short, lethal sentence. She crumples.
"Wh-what? But why not? You said..."
"I can’t let you leave without taking some boxes of imported chocolates. On the house, of course. They cost more than my miserable salary," Rob explains with a smile.
He hands Eva a pair of metal tins whose contents she will never taste. Even so, she accepts what the man gives her. She simulates a nervous smile, anxiety filling her emerald eyes. She makes Rob understand that she wants to leave that place once and for all.
"You really are very beautiful, whether or not you are Brittany. You cannot equal her voice or charisma. I am sorry."
"Do not worry. Open the door, please." Anxiety gnaws at her.
"Yes, of course."
Rob turns the key, finally opens the door, and stretches out an arm to let the young woman pass. She once more feigns a timid smile. As soon as she sees that she can run without being attacked from behind, Eva races away with all the strength she can summon. Along the way, she drops the tins of chocolates on the sidewalk and disappears forever from Rob’s sight. He sighs, watching the faint chaos taking shape outside.
"I nearly made a grave mistake, fat boy. You were right. She was not Brittany. What a shame—I was so certain..." His voice trails away.
He cannot finish the sentence. Kneeling before him, his friend drives the same knife Rob had taken from him earlier into Rob’s abdomen, all the way to the hilt. Before Rob can react, the dying Dan pulls it free and plunges it into nearly the same place again—once, twice, then a third time. That done, he falls facedown on the floor amid the darkness inside the liquor store. The last of the blood drains from the wound in Dan’s neck. Rob feels the cold of the steel the first time, and only the first. His mistake has carried him too far. He sinks to his knees, then collapses.
He sits against the glass door, clutching his abdomen with both hands. He always knew his life would end this way, or in some similar fashion. After all, his death will be better than he imagined. He will die free as the wind, like Brittany. The real Brittany will meet him wherever he goes; heaven or hell will not matter if he can be with her. He reflects. If Eva is not Brittany, he asks himself one final time: who is Brittany Condon? He will die without knowing. It no longer matters, because he will die free.