Beacon Of Hope

Laurie pulled me into his arms the moment he saw me. I wondered if he already knew what I had done.

He sat by his writing desk, and I recognized the opened book. Anna Karenina. The same book I had started but yet to finish, much like many other books I had tried to read through.

Concerned and bewildered, he waited for me to speak. I knelt between his legs, rested my arms on his lap, and hid my face in the hopeless space of void that I had created. He ran his fingers through my hair. My neatly styled curls were loosened with his touch, though neither he nor I paid any mind to it. 

"Look at me," he demanded solemnly, pried his fingers through the defenseless opening of my fortress, and lifted my chin.

My eyes must've been red, or I had a troublesome expression, for his eyes widened briefly before that somberness reappeared. I'd spare a tear if I had one left for the man whose life I had just taken, but there was no tear left. I had paid my due. I owed nothing more to him, and the debt was settled.

"I took care of Neil," I said quietly.

"I know it must've been rather difficult," he didn't sound surprised. I didn't ask. "It's for the best. I got a call from Thomas shortly before you arrived. De Rossi has gone through with the deal, and the house is sold."

"Good," I said weakly. It would've been nice if he said something comforting, even when I had no clue what I was expecting to hear from him. Neil was nobody to him, and there was nothing for him to say. "I made a deal, well, more like I asked a favor from De Rossi."

He narrowed his eyes.

"It'll happen on Wesley and Emma's wedding day," I said, having trouble staying composed. "The Italians will come. There's no need to say how awful it is, not to mention the abysmal timing. Yet, this is the best chance we've got."

His arms were around me, and he held me close. Though his hair was itching my face, I didn't move and embraced him just as tight.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I feel equally as horrible. But I need you to stay strong. Instead of sulking, we should look forward to what's to come. Think about the future, darling. Think about freedom."

He smiled bittersweetly. I couldn't. 

The ghastly daunting silence was interrupted by the clatter of hastily pushed open doors and the sharp, crisp echo of the floor from the stiletto heels. I got on my feet and turned towards the direction of the sound. Expectedly, there, diagonally from me, was Lizzie. She was all made-up, neatly clothed in her delicately threaded and embroidered dress, and had that damned silver enamel cigarette holder in hand. She sighed deeply, pulled out the half-smoked cigarette stick, threw it into the water in the nearest vase, stuck a new one in the cigarette holder, and lit it up with a lighter.

"So," she took a drag, eyes locked with mine, "you've done it, you've k - gotten rid of Neil Ferguson."

Dared not or had a lingering sense of sensitivity, she chose not to use that word. Though she shouldn't shy away from it, it was the truth: I had killed my first husband. And now, I was betraying the second to be with his young brother.

"Yes," I said, pacing to position myself between him and her, "I did."

"What now?" She walked up to me in fast strides.

"I guess it's going to end," I said distantly.

"I guess it is," she repeated after me. She was close and had to look up to meet my eyes due to her small stature. "I made some calls to New York. You'd be in good hands after you get there. Now, tell me you have a plan."

I spoke in the same monotoned voice as I told her what I had just told Laurie.

She puffed her cigarette: "You'll never be able to repay your debt to Wesley. And now Emma."

"I know," I said.

She was silent. Then, with the heart I didn't know she had, she pleaded:

"Please, let Thomas live. For the old times' sake, Anne, there'd be no you today without him. He stripped you of everything, yet he gave you everything. More than you can ever dream of."