Endgame
       Chapter 14
 

The lighthouse elevator had taken them down in slow silence. And now, as they walked side by side to his BMW, Dante could not keep his eyes from cutting to Michelle.

 Do not feel sorry for her, do not.

She would not run; she would not scream; she would not speak. The ocean of stars exposed by this new moon night lit Michelle dimly. Her arms were wrapped tight to her chest. Her now dry hair formed soft curls that floated in the sea breeze. She was shivering. Dante realized Maria’s dress was still damp and clinging to her frail form. Reflexively, he removed his sports coat and draped it over his captive’s tiny shoulders.

Michelle surfaced. She jumped as if he had shot her. Dante thought she was about to throw his Prada coat into the sand and stomp on it until it was six feet under. But he knew that to be the reaction of another woman, not this one. Instead, Michelle merely looked up into his eyes and let them fall down again as they continued to walk. She pulled his jacket closer into her.

Dante looked into the distant lights above them.

She is maddening.

Was she pure and deceitless as his wife, Maria, had been? Or did she possess the cunning of Carmen in a guise of such purity? Was she truly resign to him or was she merely biding her time?

He opened the passenger door of the car, and, silent still, she entered.

Upon closing her door, Dante walked in front of the car towards the driver’s side. He opened the door, slid into his seat, and glanced over to a creature broken....by him. As he buckled his seat belt, and started the quiet engine, the warning light appeared.

"Michelle..."

No response.

"Michelle," he said slightly louder. "Fasten your seat belt please."

She looked up to him, her eyes returning from some far off place, and took her trembling right arm back, her hand feeling for the strap.

 How absurd, she thought. Oh, yes, please Dante. Please crash your precious car and send me flying through the windshield.

At the click of her seat belt, Dante pulled out onto the two-lane oceanfront highway. His coat she draped over her, up to her neck, but the chills were unrelenting.

 Will it ever stop.

"You have to tell me what you want with me."

Normally, Dante would have cut down, verbally or literally, anyone who gave him an order. But from her weak voice, the directive came forth as more of an urgent plea.

Was it her weakness or her intent?

"When we get to the house," he ordered back.

"Hurry."

She had said it so quietly Dante was unsure he had heard her correctly. He glanced over at her. An approaching car’s headlights illuminated her face. He saw her eyes cautiously turning away from his to return their focus on the dark road ahead. Slowly, he pressed farther into the accelerator. The beach house was barely 5 miles southwest of the lighthouse, and thus, the drive was mercifully short. As they entered the house, Dietz got up from his chair and looked warily at the two. Never one to ask too many questions, Dietz merely stated,

"He’s been pretty quiet," referring to Mick, "He just wants out. Says he won’t hurt her."

"No. He will not," Dante replied, his eyes piercing into those empty ones of his employee. "You can go now, Dietz. Your overtime will be dually noted and rewarded. Go on to your moonlighting job."

They both smiled. 

What an idiot, Dante thought.

 Michelle was not with them:

"Michelle, it’s called a lock, use it," Danny complained as he barged through the door to her room.

"It’s called knocking," she said after nearly jumping out of her skin, "use it."

He narrowed his eyes and then broke into a huge grin that vanished as quickly as it arrived. And this was Danny; darkness and light in a package only God could have imagined.

He continued,

"You should know by now that you-"

Besides," she said, cutting him off, "I’d sooner lock the doors to our room at Casa Santos than here," knowing, as she said this, how completely foolish and naive it sounded. But she couldn’t help it. Until Danny, there was no place safer than the Bauer’s. Now, there was simply no place safe.

He took her by the elbow, "Let’s go."

"What?"

"We’ve got to get out of here, Michelle."

 Dante and Dietz were unaware of her distance.

"I’ll check in with you tomorrow afternoon," Dietz assured as he opened the door.

"Of course you will," Dante returned with as much graciousness as he could conjure. "Tomorrow."

 Michelle could see her memory before her:

 "OK, but hurry up. I don’t want to miss our flight."

"What? First, no Beamer and, now, no private jet? " She flashed him a knowing smile over her shoulder as she walked back towards the Bauer house, and he smirked back.

"Nice," was all the retaliation Danny could muster.

 Dante shut the door.

The sound shattered her remembrance.

Walking into the living room, he glanced at Michelle’s confused face and offered,

"I told you I would return you to him, and I will. But we must wait."

"For what? Please, tell me." Stop shaking. Be strong.

Dante paused, looking at his reflection within the dark window. He would not turn to face Michelle as he spoke,

"He must have no other alternative."

"No alternative to what?... To me," she asked not dumbfounded enough. For she feared she knew his plan too well.

"No," he let out menacingly, turning his eyes on her. "To me. He must have no other recourse than to join me. Through me he gets you. Without me there will be no you."

"What? How? How do you expect him to ‘join’ you when he finds out what all you’ve done to me, what you’ve done to his brother, what you’ve done to him," she released with less strength than was intended. Steady. You cannot be weak now.

Dante approached her from across the room.

"I have not done anything, Michelle," he said coldly, watching her back away from him. He took her shoulders into his hands and bent his head to look her face to face.

I have seen that approach before. I have felt that grab before. I have seen those eyes before. Shut your own. He’s not Danny. Will this be my husband 20 years from now? No, God please, please don’t let that be.

He noticed the tears rearing in her huge, pained eyes.

"We both know the why and the who of all of this, all of this, don’t we Michelle," he said, shaking her shoulders slightly.

Be still, room, be still.

"Carmen?"

"Very good, my dear," Dante replied with vivid sarcasm.

"Well here’s a fact that’s supposed to come with adulthood: You are responsible for your own actions."

Michelle could see the fragilely restrained anger flash in her captor’s eyes. And so she brought her hand to rest gently upon his cheek. Sincerely, softly, she continued,

"Don’t give in to her hate, Dante. Don’t choose the actions that will come with such hate. You can alter our future. Your son needs a parent not bent on destroying him. He could need you. He needs his father."

So warm felt her touch, so inviting her offer, so enormous her eyes, so enormous her pull.

He batted her hand away from his cheek, shocked at her, but even more so, at himself. Michelle looked up to him as if he had struck a blow to her face.

"You are very good," Dante sneered. "Tell me, Michelle, do you think if I keep you here long enough, if I force you into a relationship with me, that you will change me as you changed my son?"

"No," she returned too quickly to disguise the desperation within her voice.

"Indeed. You know, I was quite anxious for Daniel to kill you way back when," he said, waiting for her expression of shock to appear.

What came instead fed his anger. What came instead was hurt. He had hurt her with his words and was enraged to discover that it mattered to him.

You cannot feel sorry for her. You cannot.

She looked away from him and uttered,

"Why? Why would you want to see your son take a life," she asked completely uncomprehending.

She does not even care that I wanted her dead. She thinks of my son instead?

"Because," he began, lifting Michelle’s chin to take in her face, "Because I knew what Carmen knew: once he killed there would be no escape from the life he was destined to be part of. I knew that if he could kill you, then those to follow, one in particular, would cause little conflict within him."

Amusement came upon his face as Dante rejoiced, "Oh my, how Dietz suffered from both sides of his employment because of his underestimation of my son. But, of course, I now realize I should give him half of all I own. As short as his life span is to be, Dietz wouldn’t have my gift for long. You have been the greatest blessing to so many, my dear. But especially to me." He smirked down at Michelle’s unreadable face.

"Which one in particular do you want dead,"

"What?"

Frustrated, Michelle spat out impatiently, "You said that once Danny killed me, the rest, ‘one in particular,’ would be easy."

How horrible these words falling from my lips, she thought.

"Who’s the one," she continued.

"Oh," Dante said in mock-forgetful tone. "Well, that would be his mother, of course."

"Danny’s going to kill his mother," Michelle clarified with a subdued quality of irritated unbelief. She rolled her eyes up and away from Dante. "You obviously know nothing about your son, Mr. Santos. He may display ruthlessness as if it owned him, but his soul is true and passionate and good."

"My son I may have yet to know, Michelle, but what I have known too well is the loss that he is now suffering. I know that loss. I know what it does to a true, passionate, good soul, Michelle. What it does, what it has done stands before you now. And with time, a younger version will stand before you, again."

Dante had expected her screams of protest. Instead, with her eyes firmly grounded into his, she softly asked,

"Are you so lonely in your hate you would bring your son into it?"

I cannot let her get to me...but she sees through. I cannot hide.

"You cannot begin to fathom me, Michelle, so you would do well not to try."

"I don’t want to fathom you. All I know is that there is nothing you can say, nothing, that will make Danny kill his own mother," Michelle replied with a stoic, matter-of-fact tone that Dante was forced to match.

"You are so right, Michelle."

He turned and walked to the computer desk placed in the back corner of the living room. From his pocket, Dante retrieved a key and slid it into the slot within the slim center drawer. He pulled a small tape recorder from the unlocked compartment and brought it before Michelle.

"True, Michelle, nothing I could say would make Daniel want to murder the very woman who brought him into this world. So, I took the liberty of making sure the words declaring Carmen’s execution and executioner would come from her own mouth."

He pressed the play button:

"I am going to make sure Michelle Bauer is erased from the face of the earth, from my son’s life. I will avenge Mick’s death. And even better that the Bauer home will be destroyed with her."

Dante stopped the tape.

Michelle’s aching legs relented.

Oh no, don’t do that.

But she could not force their steadfastness. She found the sofa arm to support her.

"I don’t understand. Did she join forces with you just to get rid of me? By saving me, were you double crossing her?"

"Oh no, my dear. Those three sentences I played have never come out of her mouth. Well," he said, turning a sarcastic grin to Michelle, "at least not back to back, such as you just heard."

His laugh echoed in Michelle’s head.

I’m going to be sick. I am sick.

His pleasure obvious as he spoke,

"And Carmen thought Dietz was checking the phones for bugs. Oh yes, he was checking... to make sure they were working properly."

He held up the tiny tape recorder to Michelle’s face, continuing,

"These words and phrases were digitally pieced together from her countless phone conversations. Technology allows for such limitless creativity. I must say I am quite the masterful editor if I fooled you - you who knows me to be the dastardly devil that I am."

Michelle took her eyes from his face.

"Once enough time has passed - mind you, not enough to lessen the blow of your death - my son’s heart will harden, and then I will make sure this little piece of ‘evidence’ finds him. We will then see, won’t we Michelle, we will see what we both know to be true. What even Carmen knows to be true: that you were and are more important to Daniel than she. What you did not believe Jesse would do for you, Michelle, we both know my son would. Daniel will kill for you, even after death."

She returned her flushed face to his, newly surprised.

"Dietz was with you and my son at the beach on Thanksgiving Day. I am surprised he did not trip over his own feet and reveal himself to the two of you."

Stop spinning, room. Stop.

Dante saw a vague weakness wash across Michelle’s face.

"That is enough for tonight. In the morning all will not seem so dreadful to you.," he said as he walked to the hall closet.

How absurd, she thought.

Dante withdrew a terrycloth robe.

"Go get out of that soaked dress and put this on. Then you can pick out what ever you would like to sleep in."

"I suppose this, too, was Maria’s," Michelle mumbled, barely able to keep her breath steady, too weak to add the acid to her tone as she had intended.

His silence told her the answer to her question. She walked slowly to the bathroom door, trying to concentrate.

One foot in front of the other. Room, please, please be still.

Dante watched the door close and heard the distinctive click of the lock. He sat down, buried his face in his immense hands, thoroughly exhausted.

Please, my son, please hurry and harden. I am frightened of what I have brought into this place. She is too distracting and I am too weak.

Michelle stifled yet another cough. They were becoming too strong to hold in, though. She was burning and freezing. And she was seeing things. Her memories were beginning to take visible form, seeming far too real. She peeled the dress off of her trembling body and grabbed the robe, quickly enveloping herself into it. Her breath was too shallow, her vision too clouded. 

I’m moving too fast. Slow. Go sl-

"Dante?"

He lifted his head from his hands, unsure of Michelle’s call. But then came the muffled sound of weight landing uncontrolled to the floor.

"Michelle," he asked as he cautiously approached the bathroom door.

No answer.

"Michelle?"

Silence.

He tried to turn the door knob only to have it give none. Locked.

"Michelle, open the door," he shouted as he beat upon it.

Still silent.

Nothing can happen to her, he thought frantically.

After his fourth full-body slam to the door, the lock surrendered.

No, Dante did not have to pick Michelle’s battered, lifeless body from the rocks at the foot of her lighthouse. Instead, he did so from his own cold, marble bathroom floor.