Enzo - Epilogue
Constantine gets twitchy as hell as the holidays get close. He’s been going out more often, looking for that one person to ‘ save.’ I never did tell him he wasn’t saving anyone. I never told him to stop. In fact, we never talked about it again.
On the nights he goes out alone, I become his stalker to make sure he doesn’t kill anyone. Fuck, I wish I could send him off to therapy, but that’s impossible. If they learned what he did and how many people he killed, they would take him away from me. So, now it’s my job to watch over him.
Even if he finds someone, and I don’t know if he did, he never engages with them. He doesn’t go through with it. I’m not sure if it’s because he didn’t find someone or if he chose to come home to me instead. I’d like to think it’s the latter, that he doesn’t need to do it anymore.
Still, he struggles to shake the anxiety. I don’t blame him one bit. I do all that I can to love him, reassure him, and distract him with a lot of sex.
Now, we’re sitting on the living room floor of the bungalow home we bought a few months ago after renting for a while.
Eureka is a small town in Northern California, but Constantine and I like it.
It’s not too hot. It’s not too cold. And the beach isn’t far away.
It’s a quaint town, and it’s pretty affordable.
We bought the house when my old home finally sold. I put money down on this fixer-upper, two-bedroom, one-bath home. It’s small, but it’s ours.
Now that I don’t get that plum cash as a criminal, I have to work legit jobs.
During the day, I work in construction, and three days a week, I teach MMA fighting to kids.
I still paint, and I even did the local art and music festival earlier this month.
I sold quite a few of my pieces. Maybe one day, I’ll have a piece in a gallery.
Constantine works at a coffee and ice cream shop on the beach, making eighteen bucks an hour.
Between the two of us, we do well enough to fix up the old house and keep ourselves sufficiently comfortable so we aren’t living paycheck to paycheck, but we aren’t rich by any means, and I’m okay with that. We’re happy.
It’s our second Christmas together, and this time, it’s a hell of a lot less chaotic, thank fuck.
We don’t open Christmas presents on Christmas Eve.
I’m not sure why that was even a thing since most people open them on Christmas Day.
We also don’t put up a tree or any decorations.
Constantine felt we had to for me, but I don’t give a shit.
As long as he’s happy, and he’s not killing anyone, I’m good.
He opens the last box from me with a big smile on his face. All that anxiety washed away overnight. He shaved his beard recently, and I’m still getting used to it. It makes him look so much younger and more beautiful, if that were possible.
Constantine tears through the paper without fear and opens the gift to find a Bible with his name engraved on it.
I’m still not a believer, but his faith has grown since he’s found love and happiness.
Who am I to deny him or tell him otherwise?
He doesn’t go to church or anything, and he doesn’t talk about it a lot, but I know it makes him feel good.
When I was shopping for it, some sadness hit me.
Enrique would’ve loved the gift. He would’ve been proud of it.
I know it. I never stop aching for him, but the pain is much less, and Constantine helps with that.
He looks up and hugs the thick, leather-bound book. “Gosh, thank you. I love this so much, Enny.”
“You’re welcome.”
His hand runs over the cover lovingly before he sets it aside and grabs a small box. He crawls over to me, sits on my lap, and hands me a present. “Well, after that lovely gift, this one seems like nothing.”
“It doesn’t matter, Little Bird. I’ve loved everything you’ve given me. Mostly, I just want to see you happy, especially this time of year.”
“I am.”
I push up the glasses that have fallen down his nose. “Good. Then I have my gift.”
He smiles and rests his head on my shoulder as I open the box to find a coffee mug.
I read the inscription, which says, ‘It’s weird being the same age as old people.
’ “Fucking brat,” I laugh, making him giggle.
Constantine has been teasing me ever since I turned thirty last month.
It didn’t help that I was not happy about my new age.
When my phone, sitting on the floor, buzzes with a text, I know who it is and what it’s about. So, I lift Constantine off my lap and set him back down on the floor. “I have one more gift for you. Don’t move.”
Constantine’s eyes sparkle with excitement, which brings a smile to my face. I did that. I helped give him some happiness in his life. It stroked the ego, for sure, but at the end of the day, that’s all that matters. He’s feeling good, and his anxiety lessens each day.
I walk to the back door and open it to find our next-door neighbor, Iris, a widow in her seventies. She’s sweet as hell, and once in a while, she brings us cookies she’s made. Her son is gay and married, so she befriended us instantly after we moved in.
“I hope he likes it,” she says, winking at me.
“I think he will. Thanks so much for helping me keep it a secret. I owe you.”
“Psh, you’re fine. Just come over for coffee one day and bring that handsome young man with you.”
“I will. Thanks again, Iris.”
With the bundle tucked in my arm, I head back over to Constantine, who’s sitting and waiting expectantly. As soon as he sees what’s in my arms, he brings his hands to his mouth and his eyes water. Then he thrusts his arms out and wiggles his fingers in a ‘gimme’ movement.
I chuckle and set the dachshund down. Constantine pats his thighs, and the little dog rushes right over to him.
“This is Winnie,” I tell him. “She needs a good home.”
I heard pets are good for anxiety and panic attacks. I can’t get him therapy, but this is the next best thing. We’ll never have children, so Winnie will have to do.
Winnie is incredibly sweet. She was the sweetest one at the pound, and I knew she would be good for Constantine.
She pumps her little legs and wags her little tail as she jumps onto his crossed legs. He lifts her into his arms, and she bathes his face in licks, making him laugh.
“Winnie is so beautiful, Enny,” he says wetly before looking at me. “I never dreamed of having a pet. I never dared. Thank you for this.”
I run my fingers through his hair and wipe a stray tear. “You’re welcome, baby.”
Christmas Day is chilly outside, but it’s nothing compared to Chicago. There’s a strong breeze coming off the Pacific Ocean, but I’m comfortable in a pullover sweater.
When we first arrived here in Eureka, Constantine was like a kid in a candy store. He’d never been to the beach. He never really spent any time on Lake Michigan either. And I’ve never been to either coast, although Enrique and I would spend a few days on the lake each summer.
Constantine tried to swim, but he’d been a little afraid of the water and waves, not that I’m a great swimmer myself.
But watching him in a new environment, enjoying new things, brought excitement to my life.
He made me experience things I wouldn’t otherwise.
I’ve started looking at life as more precious and with wonder, that not everything has to be about guns, crime, and death.
Constantine and I walk hand in hand, barefoot on the sandy beach, as we walk Winnie, who keeps pulling on her leash to jump into the waves and barking at the seagulls.
“She thinks she’s so tough,” he says, laughing.
“It’s got to be that Napoleonic complex, being small and all. Once we have her fully trained, we’ll let her off her leash to run around.”
Winnie stops and starts digging a hole, getting sand all in her fur.
Constantine holds my hand tighter as he watches her.
“Thank you for this. For her. For this… life,” he says, his voice tremulous, pulling out emotions from me.
He’s done that to me a lot over the past year, forcing me to face my vulnerabilities, things I’ve kept locked away because of fucking life.
Despite his past being even harder than mine had been, he’s incredibly expressive and honest. I’ve learned a lot from Constantine.
“I’m glad you’re in it with me, baby,” I say and kiss the top of his head. “How do you feel? How did Christmas Eve feel?” I hadn’t planned on asking, but when he’s vulnerable like this, I know he’ll be more open with me.
He sighs, staring out at the water. Dark clouds form on the horizon of the ocean. He doesn’t say anything for so long; I don’t think he’ll answer.
“It started out being really hard. Like a few days before, I could feel that panic because I hadn’t found anyone.
But all I had to do was remember that I have you to come home to.
That you’ll be there to make me happy and feel good.
Still, the anxiety was there until today, but it wasn’t as heavy as it’d been before.
Despite feeling like I was being choked every once in a while, I could get past it. ”
“I’m glad it wasn’t as bad.”
That’s a start. I wonder if or when he’ll ever see the connection between killing those people and the ease of his anxiety, that he kills because of his pain, not theirs.
It’s a wild and dangerous coping mechanism.
I don’t want him to kill ever again. I have no idea if serial killers can even stop killing, or if such a thing is possible.
I’ll just have to keep my eye on him each year.
“Let’s go home, baby. We’ll make some dinner, then I have plans to do some seriously naughty things to you.”
“Can you come on my face again?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, anything you want, Little Bird. Anything.”