Ecco Massimo Marino! For this week’s guest post on Villains, Massimo is telling us a story. I’m happy to introduce this fellow Italian to my blog :p (betcha didn’t know that about me!)
Love is Forever
Who doesn’t wish for the miracle of love to last forever? Wouldn’t you halt the flow of time, suspend that warm, love feeling so that it cannot fade, never betrayed by the weight of the years and their tiredness. Wouldn’t you gift everyone with that?
***
Another town, another quest. He felt he was in a mission, charged with the ultimate duty to maintain love unaltered. He gifted others, already. The road was difficult, but he had faith, and a strong will.
He knew that no road, for how long and impervious, can stop a one-step-at-a-time journey. Nothing could prevent him from accomplishing his duty, if he persevered.
He chose small towns in times of a country fair, or a festival. Times when people would be relaxed, and he could listen to their laughter and immerge in their emotions, flowing freely like a river, moving constantly as water flows over the rocks, sometimes soothing and sometimes exploding, spraying all around. Then, he was sure to find those who deserved the most, the best ones, the purest love and joy, and gift them.
***
The small town woke up to a warm and glorious day of mid-summer. Everyone contributed to the festival preparation, with their skills and craftsmanship. Those were moments to share, cherish, and remember. There is a reason those days are remembered as wholesome, as they are part of the traditions, foster a sense of unity; those aspects of a life that made everyone a whole—as a family and as a community. In small towns, many go off and bound to live adventures in large cities; but those who stay…they are the keepers. And among the keepers, deep rooted love can be found.
He didn’t need a place to stay, he was a frugal man, and a driven man, too. He hid, unseen, watching from afar the whole town rejoice, and the excitement growing in expectation for the weekend’s festival. He felt all this was good, he could sense his duty would be fulfilled here, one more time. If only he had been gifted, too…before.
***
Everybody was out, and the weather was as if it had been planned for the event, skillfully. Everywhere was music, games, raffles, the farmers’ market, the $5 Kiss Booth with the High School Queen featured a long queue of boys who would have paid a million to be granted a second round.
He rejoiced for all those moments, and his eyes and ears guided him through the crowd.
“…I remember how fast your dad ran. Boy, that punt-return at the last game. I still have goose-bumps,” and other glimpses of happiness, while he wandered as a leaf surfing the current in the river of emotions. “…Grandpa helped build this field and then your uncle donated the land. It was memorable. Everybody helped.”
How he felt blessed in days like these. Everyone smiled, and were gracious when they talked to him. Though he was a perfect stranger in town, no one ever mentioned it to him, or seemed to notice. He was welcomed, as a long gone son finally back home.
***
“Girls, over here!” A man shouted, with a thrill in his voice. A young woman, surely his wife, and a little girl, turned toward the voice, beaming, as an inner star was glowing through their eyes. Oh those smiles, radiant and full of untold promises, and kept ones, too.
He was examining handmade knitted fabrics, all while complimenting the old ladies proud for such an interest from someone so versed in the different yarns and knitting needles, “Oh, my wife loves knitting, and I love her so much. How could I not be knowledgeable of what gives her joy and pleasure?” he said, winking, and he provoked giggles and winks, too, from the old ladies, who reveled on memories of their own. He stopped short and excused himself, letting other patrons to grab the attention of the old knitters. He had felt it, more than heard it.
He was blessed. He had found the right ones again, and indulged in their unbelievable flow of love in everything they did, all day long. He talked to them, once, and caressed the golden hair of their little child. “I have a girl, too. Yours…is so much like her.”
***
The house was on the sparsely populated outskirts of the town. It’s windows were embellished with organza curtain fabric, and it had a lovely front yard, too. A small bicycle carefully leaned against the garage door. The little girl had put flowers in the front basket. She had to be such a joyful little child. Who wouldn’t wish for all this to last forever?
Sunday evening, families enjoyed time together, as they should. Dinner was served, and the bonds renewed, as they must.
He left the car at the far end of the road, at the corner with a side street. Anonymous and blended with the other cars, he had plates from every state. He would not risk impediments to his mission from such a minor thing like an off-the-state plate. He felt exultant gladness and pride while he walked, unnoticed, up the street, toward those fortunate who had been chosen. He was ready.
***
“Honey, someone’s knocking. Would you open the door, please? I’m busy with the meatloaf.” Her voice was like birds singing in spring-time. John fell in love with her voice immediately, the first time they met. And when she looked into his eyes…he knew. John was proud to be “husband to the most awesome gal in the universe.” His Emma.
He gazed in Helen’s room, their daughter born right before his job promotion, as if with her very presence she could make everything right for them. He paused to look at his daughter, caressing every single trait with his eyes.
“Honey! The door…” Yes, the door. Who would be visiting on a Sunday evening? Sunday Night Football was about to start, John thought while he opened the door.
He believed he had seen this guy, before.
“Hi, I’m bringing you the gift.” The man said, and smiled. He didn’t hear the rest, when the Taser hit him.
“I’m bringing eternal love.”
***
John collapsed on the floor, shocked and shacking with multiple muscle spasms. It was painful, and he couldn’t breath properly. He gasped, “Oh God, please no, God!” was his last thought before losing consciousness.
The man was already handling his gun, the suppressor turned the firearm shot noise into a soft thump when Emma appeared from the kitchen, “John?!”
A little crimson flower appeared in the middle of her forehead. Emma slowly drifted to the floor, her back sliding against the door frame, as a velvet curtain closing the last act of an emotional opera, leaving a bright trace of her broken life, the color of love.
The man smiled with elation and paused to listen. The little girl hadn’t notice anything, yet. Sunday Night Football had just kicked-off. He turned to John, and took his large and thick hunter knife. The blade penetrated from the aortic opening, forcing the heart into ventricular fibrillation. He enlarged enough the gap to push one hand in and feel the last beats, mentally addressing a prayer and a benediction.
Helen was playing, waiting for Mom to call for dinner. She gave her back to the door and couldn’t see the man and his transfigured face. Nor she heard the blood dripping from his hand. The man ended her life as rapidly as her neck snapped in his hands.
***
“Jesus! What kind of psychopath could conceive such a show? They look like they are watching TV peacefully. Hugging each other and with dinner served!”
“We will get the bastard. We are tracking him down.”
The Coroner had just finished his distressing task. “At least neither the woman nor the child had suffered. Their death has been instantaneous, a clean job.” The Inspector looked at him in disgust.
“What the heck, Frank, keep your remarks for your wife, will’ya?”
“Well, the guy killed at the door step? He realized what was happening to him. He has all the signs of a stressful and traumatic death. That must have been horrible. He brought him to the couch after that…surgical operation he did.”
“Thank you, Frank. I guess we heard enough.”
“Sure, I’ll send you my report tomorrow.”
“Please, do.”
***
He had already changed plates, the road was long, but he only had to walk the path one step at a time. He thanked God to have blessed him with this mission. If only he and his family had received the same gift, before that fatal night… But the gateway to life is very narrow and the road is difficult, and only a few ever find it. “My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways,” the Lord told him. Who was him to dispute?
Besides, who doesn’t hope to keep the miracle of love going on forever? A moment suspended in time, forever together. Wouldn’t you gift everyone with that? While driving, he looked briefly at the picture he took before he left. Love is forever.
Massimo Marino:
Massimo has a scientist background. He spent years at CERN and at the Lawrence Berkeley Lab in California, then had leading positions with Apple Inc. and the World Economic Forum. His debut novel “Daimones”, volume 1 of the “Daimones Trilogy”, is among the first listed for sci-fi and post-apocalypse on Amazon.
Up Next:
November 16, 17, & 18
November 19
M.R. Cornelius, author of The Ups and Downs of Being Dead
November 26
Nephylim, author of Enigma
