Chapter 251: Mimi XXX

 

Chapter 251: Mimi XXX—The Marks Left Behind II

 

 

 

            Quebec—June, 1993

 

            “Smile, Mimi, eh?”

            Michele crossed her arms and glared at Patrick. He was grinning with that glassy eyed, inebriated face that she wanted to hit.

            “What’s wrong?”

            Michele rolled her eyes. “Patrick I am tired, I need to nurse the baby and what’s worse, everyone is having fun and I cannot have a sip of wine!”

            “You better not,” Patrick snapped. “I don’t want to see any alcohol in your hands.”

            Michele sighed and stood up. “I’m holding grape juice,” she said and she whisked the glass under his nose. “Smell, see? Do you think Coco would let me do anything so wicked?”

            Patrick hiccupped and laughed. He leaned over and grabbed Coco in a tight hug that brought a giggling squeal from the older woman. Michele noticed Lacroix entering the room, his doughy face pale and the Stanley Cup glittering in his arms. The cup guardian she had been laughing with, a nice man he was, skittered over to the trophy, taking it as if it were a child and actually cradling it.

            Lacroix looked at Patrick and wordlessly shook his head. Michele smiled and went to Lacroix; she pinched his chubby upper arm and leaned to him. “What did you two do to His Majesty?” She whispered and she gestured at the cup. “I saw you two sneak it away.”

            Pierre laughed and wiped at some sweat dewed on his forehead. “It was not my idea Michele, I can tell you this.”

            “Of course not,” Michele said and she kissed him on the cheek. “What evil has Patrick led you to now?”

            Lacroix grinned. “He took me to the garage, and he actually took the damn thing apart with a screwdriver.”

            “What!” Michele exclaimed. “You’re joking, Papa, he would not go so far!”

            Lacroix nodded. “This time he has. He was like a kid in a candy store, Little One. He took it apart screw by screw.”

            Michele wrinkled her nose. “And that’s all he did?”

            “No,” Lacroix replied. “He left his marks on the inside. Heh he wanted something a little more permanent I suppose. In fifty years they will take it apart again and find the marks he left behind.”

            Michele rolled her eyes. “He’s always looking for permanency yes? Now if you will excuse me, I am going to check on Jana.”

            Michele gave one last glance to Patrick as she left the room, he was laughing with his teammates. The party was getting far too loud. She glided easily through the rooms, down the hallways of their huge house, and it got darker and the sounds of the party more silent. It was late, she was tired, but she wouldn’t leave the party completely. She appreciated it. There would be no telling when she and Patrick would be at another such party, with another opportunity to violate the Cup.

            Michele yawned and peered into the bedroom Jonathan and Frederick shared. Both of them were asleep, she could hear their baby snores. She then went to the baby’s room, little Jana, Patrick’s little princess. She was barely a week old, Michele was still sore from the intensely long labor it took for the little girl to be born.

            She stopped just outside the doorway when she heard the low growl. Her heart began to glug heavily. It was the low, vicious sound of a dog when it was menacing. She recognized it as well; it was Jacques, their golden retriever. Was he trying to harm the baby?

            “Jacques!” Michele whispered. She didn’t reach for the light switch, but she could see the outlines of the dog from the little night light plugged into the wall. Where was the nanny? Michele had hired her to watch the children during the party, Patrick had assured her that she was trustworthy; she had been used by the Carbenneau’s for years.

            “Mrs. Roy, call off the dog, please!”
            It was the nanny, Marie-Claudette, or Marie-Sandrine she couldn’t remember her name. Michele was instantly infuriated.

            “What have you done to upset him?” She snapped, and at the tone of her voice, Jacques growled again. Michele could here Jana beginning to fuss; the noise of her cries was coming from her cradle which Jacques was standing nowhere near.

            “Nothing I swear!” she breathed, “Please I don’t want him to bite us!”

            Michele squinted at the nanny, saw her pressed against the wall, and she saw the darker form of someone else standing next to her. It was a man.

            “Mimi, for God’s sake call the dog,” it was a familiar voice, he was speaking in English.

            Jacques barked at him and Jana began to howl from the cradle. At the sound of the baby’s cries, Jacques stopped growling and whined. The dog backed away from the nanny and he went to the cradle, whining and lifting his paw to it. The cries in the crib abruptly stopped.

            Michele went into the room, glaring at the people and she switched on the lamp. She could the man was one of Patrick’s teammates, Shayne Corson, and his eyes were black and glittering in the low light. His eyes always had that quality, a sort of witchy unsettled gaze. As for the nanny, she was holding onto her blouse, holding it closed with her hands, it was completely unbuttoned. Michele glared.

            “In my daughter’s room?” She snipped.

            The nanny shook her head, “No Mrs. Roy,” she said, “It’s not like that. I didn’t mean for this to happen…”

            “Get out,” Michele said. “Now before I slap you.”

            The nanny closed her eyes, Michele could see the glisten of tears on her cheeks and she briskly left the room. Michele watched her go and then slowly looked at Shayne, at the dancing light in his eyes. “Useless!” she said. “All of these nannies are useless and you have to prove that point to me yes?”

            Shayne took a step forward, his mouth tight and straight. Jacques growled and he stepped back against the wall. “You gonna keep that dog from biting me?” he asked.

            “I might,” Michele replied. She continued to look at him. He was a damaged individual, she wasn’t sure if his teammates realized it.

            “Hey it ain’t her fault,” Corson said. His French was terrible, grating, halted. “I’m kinda tipsy as it is and I think I took a wrong turn. She stopped me in the hallway and I kinda pawed at her and then the dog came in.”

            “What were you doing in this hallway?” Michele said and she turned to Jacques and pointed for the dog to leave the room. With a whine, the retriever obeyed. “Looking for someone?”

            Corson shook his head and ran his fingers through his stringy, dark hair. “No. Actually yes. I was wanting to see the baby.”

            Michele narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “Why?”

            “Cause she’s innocent,” Shayne said. “I like innocent things.”

            Corson rarely made sense to her and Michele shook her head. “Get out now before I call the dog. Don’t you dare touch my baby.”

            The corners of Corson’s mouth turned down and she could see his eyes glisten with tears. “I don’t mean it like that,” Corson said. “I meant. I meant that she doesn’t have any marks on her, I like that. I like knowing that she’s clean and happy. I like babies.”

            Michele didn’t answer him and Corson looked away from her gaze, she could see the tears drop from his eyes and he sat slowly down on the floor. He dropped his face into his hands, “Christ I’m so fucking depressed, I just want to die.” He moaned.

            She had known him like this before. She had comforted him like this before. She had long tired of comforting him; she didn’t want to understand him. She sighed and went to him, crouched on the carpet next to him, couldn’t bring herself yet to forgive him. She pressed her hand over his hair. It needed to be washed. She could smell the dull pungency of it.

            “You’ve just won the Stanley Cup,” Michele said. “What more do you want Shayne?”

            “I want it to stop,” he said and he looked at her, he grabbed her wrist in his hand and squeezed it. “The pictures in my head, the sounds. I just want to be thankful. It’s over! I look at you and your so happy with these pretty babies. I should forget it ever happened, but I can’t. It’s burned in my skull, I close my eyes and I want to scratch them out. Please, I think maybe, if you could just forgive me then it would be better.”

            Michele felt her stomach turn. “I will never forgive,” she said. “But I can live on, Shayne, you should too.”

            Shayne shuddered with a sigh and wiped at the tears on his face. He let go of her wrist and clutched his hands together in his lap. Michele could hear the baby again, fussing. She needed to go to her, she could feel the tightness in her breasts, and she needed some relief.     

            “Cheli’s been gone so long,” Shayne said and Michele scowled. “I mean he had the most, those marks left on him. I have some too.”

            “I know,” Michele said. “I know you do.”

            “We don’t deserve to be happy; they act like we can all just forget about these things.” Shayne said and he wasn’t looking at her anymore. “Shit I barely even knew who you were. I didn’t know you at all. I didn’t even really know what the fuck Patty and Mario were fighting about. It was none of my business.” He hiccupped and sneezed. “I shoulda just walked away.”

            “Maybe,” Michele said and she stood up, her chest burning inside. She didn’t want this man here, reminding her, almost taunting her. “Go on, Shayne. Go back to the party. I need to be with my daughter.”

            Shayne looked up at her. His eyes had that boyish, helpless look. “Can I watch?” he asked.

            Michele scowled, “Of course not you perversion. Get out.”

            Shayne scrambled to his feet, his lip trembling. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, “I meant that it’s so pure, like the Virgin Mary, a little baby nursing. I wish I could be like that again.”

            He was wiping at his tears again, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Michele lifted her arm and pointed to the doorway. Shayne began walking, dutifully. Michele went to the cradle and lifted the infant, cooing to her and pressing her to her heartbeat. A baby with a red, wrinkled face and her father’s big eyes.

            “Mimi,” Shayne said.

            Michele glared at him. “I said go!” she snapped.

            “I know,” Shayne replied. “I just had one more thing to say.”

            Michele looked at him.

            “They keep calling you crazy,” Shayne said. “Cheli used to all the time. And they call me that too. But I know you’re not crazy.”

            Michele felt her throat squeeze with anger and sorrow.

            “See,” Shayne continued, “I know you’re not crazy because I know we killed a girl, a pretty, innocent girl. We murdered her and they won’t admit it. I shoulda stopped them, or said something. We even have the marks left behind on our skin. I just wanted you to know that. In case you’re doubting what you saw.”

            Michele didn’t answer him, she felt her eyes itch and sting and she walked slowly to the cushioned chair next to the crib. Not caring anymore if Shayne were still there or not, she sat down and opened her blouse for the infant to nurse. She was almost overwhelmed and drowned in comfort and fulfillment as she felt the milk leaving her body to nourish the baby. That’s all that mattered at this point, or ever. She couldn’t bring herself to remember the water, the screams and blood, Mario’s pained howls, and those eyes lining the ceiling.

            What could any of that matter to a baby?