Lola Revealed

A shrill chill runs through me as I sit on the balcony overlooking
the lake. They say that means that a ghost has just walked through you.
It would not surprise me greatly. Nothing these days surprises me
greatly. I am Delores Corinthos, daughter of the late Miguel Corinthos.
My black hair blows in my face as the breeze off the water kicks up,
and I blink my green eyes against the drizzle. I know its time to go
inside, but I'm feeling rather lethargic, and I don't move. It takes me
over an hour to realize that not only has it begun to pour, but I am so
cold I shiver. It takes me no time to realize that I no longer care
what becomes of me, if I catch cold, if the water rises up and swallows
me whole. That is when I finally go inside.

The rain continues through the night, and I listen to its hypnotic
melody drumming on the tin roof as I lie motionless on my bed. I think.
That's mostly all I ever do. That's mostly all I ever feel like doing.
I haven't spoken to another human in a month. I just look. I sit on a
park bench, and I watch. I observe. I wonder, how can such beautiful
creatures be so ugly inside? How can they do what they do? How can they
not care? But then I realize, I am just like that. I am a hypocrite. I
realize that every time I go out and watch. And that is when I return
to my solitude. Never once have I seen what I'm watching for, who I'm
watching for. I don't want to think why, but I do. And that is why I
end every night after I watch curled up with my whiskey and my gun, my
prized possession, my favorite gift ever.

Morning comes, bright and clean after the night's rain. I get up as the
sun rises, and sit out on the deck again, looking at the lake. A boat
rows past. A small boat, a kayak. It is yellow. Always observe
everything. Never miss a detail. That is where weakness lies. The
details. The man inside did not wear a life vest, and he wore a white
tee shirt. I could not see his pants. His arms were muscled, and they
were tan. His had California blonde hair. California. My home in my
past life. How I missed it, the lack of responsibility. I could be the
teenager I was, and still am. I could go see movies. I could hang out
with the friends that I pretended to like. Now, hiding in the swamps of
Louisiana, I am alone. I may miss my old life, but this right now is
the only life possible. The man looks up at me, his sunglasses
reflecting the sun. He is clean shaven. He stops paddling and stares
intently at me. I stare back, hoping my ice cold gaze will freeze any
thoughts in his mind and send him on his way. He stays. Then, he takes
off his sunglasses. My eyes grow wide. Could it be? It
couldn't&;#8230;he's dead. A ghost. The chill. I know it. He waves.
And smiles. Then he paddles up to my dock and climbs out of the boats.
The way he walks, I know it is him, truly him. I leap off my chair and
race down the stairs. He picks me up in his strong arms and we lock
eyes. And then I fall out of my bed, suddenly jerked awake by the
ringing of the telephone.

I grab my cell phone, hoping only to stop the incessant ringing that
stirs me from the dream world I never want to leave. Out of morbid
curiosity, I look at the number displayed on the screen. My eyes take a
moment to focus, and when they do, I immediately hit the answer
button.

"What the fuck do you want?" I hissed. A familiar voice, silky and
smooth, one I had not heard in months, answered me.

"Temper, temper" the voice warned "Where are you?"

"I am not going to tell you" I spat as I hung up the phone. It rang
again. I ignored it and went out onto the deck. The bayou was calm, and
I could see nobody.

An hour or so later, I went back inside to turn off the goddamn phone
and to shower. Getting ready for the day is one thing, nearly the only
thing, about my life that has remained the same over the past two
years. I still use the same shampoo, the same body wash that smells of
roses, and the same mascara. I still let my hair hang loose, and I
still don't care what people think of me, my appearance or
otherwise.

The little town is bustling with the summer tourists who all want a
look at real Cajun life. They all look at me, thinking I'm the real
thing. Sometimes I'll make a lewd remark in Cajun French, but most of
the time I say nothing and just look back until they fidget
uncomfortably and walk on. What fun that is. And then I go home,
disappointed at not seeing who I was looking for, and thankful that I
didn't.
It all began 3 years ago, in May. I was happy, living a fairly normal
teenage life, with the small exception that I was engaged. Then, I met
a man named Ian. He opened up many many doors to me, showing me that
the white picket fence soccer mom life was not all I could have, and
that it certainly wasn't me. If I had known he would lead to where I am
now, then I would have told him to fuck off and ran off to marry Grif,
my fianc?. Unfortunately, I am not a psychic, so I had to find out
everything the hard way. So now, I am a criminal, a murderer, thief,
and many other things that I wish I wasn't.

When I return to my cottage, there is a car in the driveway that
doesn't belong to me. The plates say Florida. I mask my emotions and go
inside, not knowing completely what to expect. Nobody is waiting in the
kitchen, nor in my bedroom or the bathroom. The last room to check is
the living room, and that is where I find him. Sitting on my sofa,
looking at the door I walk through, a serious expression on his face,
he locks eyes with me and says,

"We really need to have a little chat, my lovely" I kept my gaze fixed
on his, knowing that at some point I would outstare him and he would
give up. We stayed like that for a few minutes. He started fidgeting.
Small fidgets at first, an eyebrow twitching, drumming his fingers,
crossing and recrossing his legs. I smiled and sat down in the rocking
chair across from him.

"Well, you start" I said to him with a sweet smile.

"The deal was one year without contact. One year. It's been five
months. Remember our agreement?" I nodded "Excellent. I guess you'll be
accompanying me away then, correct my little fawn?"

"Signore, you know as well as I do that I did not make the contact,
they called me. You cannot possibly punish me for that."

"Ah, but my fawn, you voluntarily answered the phone after you looked
at the number. It was your choice. You could have just never
answered."

"You're watching me, aren't you? You don't trust me"

"My fawn, I don't trust anyone."

"You trusted Ian and Raven"

"So did you. Lovely, I am a man of my word. Now, come, you have 15
minutes to gather your things."

I leave the room, knowing I cannot argue anymore, smarting from that
comment. I did once trust them. Now, only one is alive to be trusted.
And I am to blame. I remain strong and retrieve my floral suitcase from
the closet, remembering when my life once resembled the beautiful
pattern, back when beauty suited me. From my dresser I take my
clothing, little that there is, and my guns and Kevlar. My black boots
are included as well. Very basic toiletries go in my smaller bag, and
then I take my last important thing, my old school backpack, filed with
mementoes. My childhood teddy bear, whom I am nearly ashamed to say I
cannot sleep without. Some pictures, Ian, Raven, Grif and my sisters.
My father. A scrapbook from my junior year. My senior prom pictures. I
had five minutes to spare, and I wondered if he would notice if I ran
away. I knew he would, so I didn't run. In the past I had thought that
running away was the cowardly way out, and still did it many a time.
Now I know it is the cowardly way out, and that still does not stop
me.
He is waiting in the living room still. He takes my suitcase and leads
me out to the car. We are on our way, back to his mansion in Florida.
His name is Antonio Canterelli.

The drive was too long, and Sig. Canterelli too companionable. He asked
me how I had been; did I need to stop for food or a restroom? Just
smile and nod, my father used to tell me when our relatives from Italy
used to visit. I smiled and nodded, or shook my head, every time he
said something to me. I did not have to be happy about being kidnapped,
and he knew that. We arrived after dark that night, and I was informed
that I was staying with his niece, Bella. Why I was not being kept
prisoner in his mansion was beyond me. Bella greeted me at her door,
smiling like an idiot. Perfect, I thought, realizing just why he chose
o keep me here. Torture. I smiled back, pretending that I didn't want
to kill her.

She led me in, pointing out the kitchen, bathroom, and her room on the
way to the guest bedroom. I set my suitcase down on the striped
bedspread and kicked off my shoes. Then I walked down the hall and into
the kitchen, plucking an apple from the fruit bowl, making myself at
home.

The next morning, I awoke earlier than Bella. The Florida sun was warm
and bright as I stepped out the back door, carrying my meager
belongings with me. I ran around the side of the house and down the
sidewalk. I got no farther than a block away until a red convertible
pulled up next to me. A man was driving, darkly Italian, wearing
mirrored sunglasses. I turned and started walking back towards the
house, knowing that I'd been caught. The man did a U-Turn and began to
follow me, making sure that I went straight home just like a good girl.
He took his eyes off me for a moment to change the radio station, and I
turned and ran behind the house next to Bella's. I waited a moment,
then climbed the fence into another backyard. I heard a noise behind
me, so I turned and looked. It was that man again. He had noticed me
gone and had fallen while trying to climb the fence. I began to laugh
hysterically. The big, bad, mafia guy couldn't even climb a
fence.

"It's not that funny" he said to me. "I could be hurt"

"You really expect me to care if you're hurt or not?"

"A nice person would"

"Well&;#8230;are you hurt then?"

"I think I might have chipped a tooth"

"Well, shit, I was hoping for something that would prevent you from
following me" I replied, then turned and ran like hell. I ran around
the pool, and through the front yard, and across the street into the
woods. I could hear him coming behind me, so I jumped down behind a
fallen tree next to a stream bed. I heard him a few feet away, pausing
searching. I had finally calmed my breathing and was near silent. So
was he. Suddenly, I was forced backwards, landing in the stream. He had
leapt down, landing on top of me, effectively ending the chase.

"Fuck. Shit! Gaddammit!" I exclaimed. He just smiled, his right front
tooth newly broken off.

"That's not what most women in your position say to me"

"Get off me!"

"You're fucking difficult."

"You didn't answer my question"

"I'm not going to"

"Then at least get off me. This is not entirely pleasant"

"That's not what most&;#8230;"

"I don't give a shit about most women. Now GET OFF!"

"Will you run again?" His breathing was heavy after running, his skin
slick with sweat. He wore a grey tee-shirt and black pants, and most
likely had a gun placed someplace inconspicuous. His eyes were deep
brown, his hair the color black coffee.

"Would you?"

"Don't run" he said sternly as he stood up. He extended a hand to help
me up, as well. I didn't take it, but laid there, the cool stream water
running over me. He looked me over, then lifted me up, setting me on my
feet. Then he said "Whatever it is you're trying, it won't work"

"How do you know I'm trying something?"

"You laid in the cold stream in a white tee-shirt.
Obviously&;#8230;"

"You pushed me in. Landed right on top of me. Now who's trying
something?"

"Oh yeah, I pushed you in on purpose just to see your tits. Get a
fucking life. They aren't even that big."

"Better to fit in the hands, my dear"

"But I have big hands."

"You know what they say..."

"You have a meeting with Sig. Cnaterelli. And by the way, stop flirting
at me, it could have adverse effects on your well-being"

"Ooo, wow, now I'm scared. You got that right out of a movie. If you
don't fuck off it could have adverse effects on your manhood" I said as
a climbed the bank and began to walk away. Quickly he followed
me.

"Don't even think about it. I could do things to you like you couldn't
imagine" I turned to face him, looking at the look on his face, his
lips parted, showing his broken tooth, his brow furrowed. I
laughed.

"Oh, I bet I can imagine anything that you could possibly do to me" I
took a step towards him and put my hands on his chest, then slid them
down lower "Anything" I whispered as I slipped my hands into his back
pockets. I grabbed his keys and extracted them, then, licking my lips,
said "Get the picture"

"Yeah" he replied, his voice a bit lower and softer.

"Great" I put my hands back on his chest and pushed him down the back,
into the stream, and ran for his car.
I was waiting for him, motor running, radio blaring as he stumbled
across the lawn to the car. His was all wet, and his pants were
torn.

"Get out of my car"

"Where are you headed? Get in, I'll give you a lift"

"Did it ever occur to you that I could shoot you dead right now?"

"Did it ever occur to you that I might want to be dead right now?" That
stopped whatever it was that he was going to say next, and he opened
the passenger door and got in, scowling. He turned the down the
radio.

"You know where Sig. Canterelli's diner is?" he asked

"Of course"

********************************

The diner is the traditional, all-American diner, serving hamburgers
and chocolate milkshakes. There is no better place in town to find an
ice cream sundae, and there is also no better place to find services
ranging from hookers to hit men. A perky young blonde was waiting
tables and a young man was clearing them. A popular radio station
played popular shit softly in the background, and the sound of us
walking across the linoleum floors quickly drowned it out.

Sig. Canterelli had an office in the back of the dinner, right next to
the deep fryer in the kitchen. It was wallpapered with some awful
flowery print that his wife had probably picked out for him ten years
ago. He sat behind his desk, trying to look as much like the Godfather
as he could next to an oversized watercolor of a cat playing with yarn
on a floral sofa. I had to try very hard not to laugh. The man who
pushed me in the stream stood behind me after he had closed the door.
Signor Canterelli, who looked just like a cute little old man whom you
might chance to find sitting in the park feeding pigeons or ducks, was
on the phone.

"But Honey&;#8230;yes, don't worry. I will bring home milk. Of
course. Yeah yeah yeah&;#8230;sorry, yes&;#8230;I love you
too&;#8230;of course I mean it! I am not just saying that. Fine,
I'll be home early. I love you. Bye" he hung up, looking exhausted as
he glanced up and saw us.
"Why, Delores, my fawn, I've been expecting you. Have a seat"

"Charming office" I muttered. The man with the big hands kicked the
back of the chair i had just sat down in. I took the hint and smiled,
or somthing.

"My wife...That is not what this meeting is about, my fawn. Now tell
me, do you know why you are here?" Christ, I was back in the
prinicpal's office, having done somthing wrong in grade school.

"No"

"Well, let me refresh your memory. You remember a deal between you and
your two fiances?" I nodded "Good then. Well, you broke the deal. So
now, you are mine. Free and clear."

"Peachy. Have at me then, anything. I'll do it"

"I don't doubt it" I heard from Mr. Asshole behind me.

"Young man, I no longer need you right now. I believe you can find some
dishes left over from the breakfast rush this morning out by the sink.
Wash them." And Mr. Asshole left. "Now, Delores, my request is simple.
All I need is for you to remove two people from the population. Can you
do that?"

"With pleasure, Signor Canterelli. When do I get to start?"

"Your tone and attitude do not please me. I do not appreciate sarcasm.
Go back to Bella's and we will have this meeting at a later date, when
you are more ready to be a young lady. Goodbye."

I left. Mr. Asshole's car keys were still in my pocket, so I borrowed
his car to get back to Bella's. I could have run away, but I had left
all of my things behind her neighbor's house. After collecting them,
then perhaps I would do somthing. Though I would like to know if what
they always say is true in the case of Mr. Asshole. His hands were
fairly good-sized.