Other Studies in Red and Blue - Part 2

- And what if I fall for you?

She did not really expect that... The message flashing on the computer screen in front of her, for some long seconds, caught her in surprise and caused her some alarm. In her mind, it was like a warning red light immediately lit in reaction to those words.

(Oh, God, what if I'm already in love with you, my dear blue-eyed boy?)

How to answer that question without showing all her apprehensions and doubts, added to her desires - so carefully concealed - and her fear of losing him?

And what if she was not prepared to tell him or even become more involved than she really was? Would have it been too early? Relationships are always so complicated, pondered the woman before trying to express what was really going on in her head...

Luckily, they were just 'cyber-chatting', with no camera connected, so she was not really exposing the emotions shown on her face at that moment. She typed a message and added an 'emoticon' representing a hug. She had decided to save some time...

- What are you afraid of, my friend? Of being hurt?

- I do not know actually what I'm afraid of...

She was silent... That statement was almost obvious. A new experience with a mature and apparently confident and brave woman could be the only reason he could have any fear to endeavour into. But ultimately, what would he lose if he, by any chance, ventured to stay with her, facing so many fears and so many insecurities? She would be there for him all the time, anyway... or at least as long as that relationship would last...

Knowing the effect that the next message would have, she typed it, pressed the "Enter" key and waited.

- Only an OK? You know how I hate it when you send only an "OK"... I have the impression that you do not mind... that it makes no difference at all...

She laughed and said to herself, aloud: I do mind… I surely do...

She had great affection for that boy that made her feel feminine and alive after a long time. He was already a great part of her story, she acknowledged. And that part of her, which became gradually more involved in that relationship, confirmed the words she had spoken aloud. It made a difference, yes... and that was quite a big difference...

She wondered how that situation could have resulted from a casual diversion strategy, to avoid contact with an inconvenient character, who used to show up at a pub recently opened by the riverside...

Her eyes lost focus automatically when the memories started surfacing as if they were coming from an uncontrolled flood of reminiscences which were then filling her mind up.

***

Red...

The late summer afternoon sun coming in through the stained glass windows – which stood lofty along the whole extension of the building - caused quite a charming impression to those who entered the pub at that time of the day.  The large Gothic arched windows placed at about one meter above the standing head line, were each one decorated with a fine and delicate brim of floral details entangled around a red background.

There was an oval shaped bar counter, strategically placed in the central part of the large hall thus allowing access from all sides, without causing inconvenient queues of service to the pub users. Two very discreet crystal chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling, just below the rows of decorated windows above, some meters away from the central bar.

'The Temple' was the most fashionable local pub in town. Its windows resembled those of ancient churches and the lovely effect of the fine ornamented stained glasses, filtering the incidence of daylight, diminish the need for light bulbs and lamps, colouring the atmosphere with various shades of different colours.

The acoustics were well designed, so as not to create reverberations due to the high ceiling of the building. There was a line of speakers distributed above the head of the sitting clients, around the large hall, still allowing people to talk in reasonably low tone, in spite of the music playing on uninterruptedly. Everything had been carefully calculated in order to properly make the place a warm and inviting ambience.

The 'happy hour' was quite an event. 'Vintage' Music carefully selected to play for a quieter group of regulars, would changed considerably from a certain time in the evening. On Thursdays, especially, the place turned into a big party with electronic music and dance in a contiguous environment. It was the night of youth and thus avoided by the more traditional clientele.

A long and tiring shift had ended and the police investigator decided to try that new establishment, opened by the edge of the river mouth. She needed a drink... maybe a single soda, maybe a stronger thing.

When she entered the building, the environment seemed somewhat surreal. The atmosphere was charmingly creative and innovative playing unusual music quite to her liking in a delightfully relaxing volume at that hour of the afternoon. A beam of coloured light - coming from above, at an acute angle with the heavy dark wooden floor - almost turned the guy leaning on the counter, in a character of a strange fairy tale, painted in bright shades of red.

He was facing the entrance door, playing with a glass of beer in his hand. He moved forward, staying away from the beam of light filtered through the stained glass. She realized her most fascinating feature, as soon as she first set her eyes on them...

Blue... like the waters of the Pacific Ocean...

That's how he referred to his own eyes. Those were of a so intense and so brilliant cobalt hue that attracted the attention of the woman almost immediately. Above them, frames of almost invisible eyebrows, decorated his mischievous look.

The auburn beard - strategically left undone for a few days - adorned the attractive and harmonious face - manly and angelic at the same time. The smile was wide and lovely, with well proportioned and neat white teeth. The lips were too well designed. Every time the door opened, the early evening wind played with his hair, challenging her to look away. She was already completely mesmerized by the unique beauty of the young man, however.

She lost track of time contemplating the impossible - or unattainable - in what seemed like an infinitely long time. The eyes that stare at the sun for too long can be irreparably burned. She would take notice of that right away.

Misha was fully aware of having caused a surprising effect on the woman who had just come in and who did not seem to be capable of looking away from him. He knew he was being observed with great interest and was performing his private show while listening and humming at the same time, the song that served them as soundtrack for that moment - a fusion of modern jazz and ‘Bossa Nova’ - slightly danceable and highly sensual.

"When loving me is so easy, then why do I feel twisted, Cupid?" (From 'Twisted Cupid' - by Slow Train Soul)...

That young man knew very well how to use his charm in an extremely provocative and quite natural way. When their eyes met, he showed her his best smile, knowing that his move was masterful and the woman was already entirely fascinated by watching his stunningly seductive figure.

In fact, however, his presence there was not as harmless as it seemed at first sight. Before long, her well trained eyes realized more than just ulterior motives for that stop for a not so innocent drink in the early evening. There were some hidden mysteries in his presence in the premises, so she decided to try to unravel whatever it was without let him realize her intentions. Under a facade of a professional model, he hid the somewhat darker side of his personality. Being an 'escort' was not definitely a less well-sight occupation...

She started visiting the 'Temple' assiduously. She would go sometimes alone, sometimes with a friend who was a photographer and reporter.

In a short time she was able to assess his behaviour and realize the kind of person that young man was. Approaching him and inciting conversation had been a natural act, since his presence in that place had a purpose that became clearer as time went by.

As they talked for the first time, the image she had of him decayed considerably, but it worsened in the following occasions. She was used to people who have a bloated ego, but Misha exceeded everyone she had ever met. He soon proved to be a great manipulator too. That characteristic of his, however, she could detect in time to avoid herself being used or fooled by him.

His charming personality withered quickly, as soon as she realized who was behind that attractive - but empty - physical beauty. He was nothing more than a bitter and somewhat petulant man - quite pathetic and rather dull. He was a person that she would never trust, as she detected in him a very clear tendency to take advantage of the weaknesses of other people.

He did not welcome her refusal to help him in his schemes to raise money or believe his tragic stories, which would always show up, due to his bad temper and natural arrogance of youth, combined with a superbly gigantic narcissism.

She decided to be cautious when dealing with him, for her own safety.

As time went by, she became more and more disappointed in him.

In a street fight, the rioters were taken to the police station where the detective worked. By an unfortunate coincidence, she crossed the room, at the time Misha waited his turn to give statement. He soon realized her presence. His keen eyes were curiously intrigued. He frowned, as if he had never expected to see her in that place. She turned away without giving any sign of recognizing him. He even tried to call her attention, but she disappeared from view before showing any reaction. The young man, realizing that she had avoided him, took note of her behaviour in his surprised mind and welcomed that new information like a gift. An opportunity to use that news would eventually appear. All he needed was enough patience... And he would not lose anything by waiting. Despite being registered at the police station for assault and disturbance of public order, the boy with blond hair and blue eyes smiled. He had just gotten a useful card to keep hidden in the sleeve until it was the right time for him to play.

She decided to avoid her usual visits to ‘The Temple'. She did not want to expose herself so soon. Perhaps the incident would be forgotten in a short time, but she was afraid that he would demand an explanation for her behaviour the other day.

The 'Cafe' at the corner, near her home, seemed to be the most viable alternative to unwind at the end of the day... at least while she tried to avoid facing the beautiful, but dangerous, Misha again.

***

Red... Blue... Red... White... Red... Blue...

- Stop staring at those lights this way. You cannot change what happened. There's nothing else you can do now... Let's get out of here. Get in the car. It's too late now...

She would not stop talking... and that speech was torture in my head already quite tired and completely tormented. Why do women always insist they know everything? I am one and I do not think so... There must be something very wrong with me...

She tightly grabbed my arm and looked at me with a noticeably intimidating firmness, taking my undivided attention apart from the flashing lights. If she was not the person I trusted most - one of the few friends I still had, I would certainly tell her to shut up and free me from her hands with a jerk - if I had the strength to do so at that time.

Although I did not really have to hide my emotions from anyone or anything, I must admit that she was right after all. Although bothering me, my friend, a brilliant photographer and reporter, merely intended to protect me.

I was exhausted, pale and about to lose my balance and control. I needed to focus and recompose myself before doing something stupid. All I wanted, however, was scream... and shout out loud... really loud!

(Oh, God... Why haven’t I just got there some minutes before? Why? So many things could be so different then... why, God, why?)

Consistency, however, forced me to swallow my pain, my pride and my weakness, in order not to collapse right there in front of so many people. I got into the car, but could not start the engine immediately. She also came in and sat beside me - this time quietly - but attentive to any movement, like a wary cat, lurking all activity around her and attentive enough not to let anything pass around her without seeing or interfering instinctively.

The attention of the curious, technicians and police officers were still all focused on the scene unfolding just a few meters away from the car. I felt like I was out of that context, seeing everything from the outside, like a movie, in a very surreal atmosphere. I almost did not believe that was really happening.

The lights on the top of police cars, forming a wall of isolation from one side of the street, continued to spin and paint the scenery, alternately in red... and blue... and red... and blue...

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath... When I opened them again, my vision was still blurred by the tears that I retained, but I decided to be stronger than my grief. I'm a trained cop conditioned to control my emotions and be consistent and cold, especially in situations considered strong by most people... I knew I had to be stronger than I ever was before. That scene, however, had sensibly shaken my structure, showing that, although well trained, I was also human, after all...

She knew me very well and decided not to say another word, as she waited for me to regain some self-balance. I lifted my head, loudly cleared up my throat - with forced energy - and turned the car ignition on...

***

Feeling strangely uncomfortable in the soft couch of the therapist office, the woman told the restless anguish that she passed in the recent days. At the same time, she felt her pain relived in detail, with every word she used to describe what she had seen and felt and that brought her there. The room was soberly decorated in shades of sepia and amber and she was supposed to talk about herself - one of the toughest situations she ventured to face.

Therapy had been referred by the doctor on duty, who rescued her, after the beginning of a nervous breakdown due to excessive working hours and probably highly compulsive work. Little did he know that the real reason for the crack-up was directly linked to the mystery surrounding the murder she had to unveil... and its causes and the consequences were taking her night’s sleep away...

The psychotherapist, a woman of unidentifiable age - a matron of over forty years old, for sure - those who you can imagine, but will certainly fail to determine exactly how many years she had lived, induced her to go on a painfully trodden path, applying pressure to specific points on the soles of the well pedicured feet  of the detective. Her techniques of shiatsu and reflexology, associated with a planned mental exercise, where a well-defined conductive line was given as a guide, had a very specific purpose: understand the mechanisms of the mind to dissociate and recover the memory details of certain traumatic events. The intention was to provide the patient with conditions to find solutions for the therapeutic process inside her own mind.

The woman slowly closed her eyes. In her head, a sequence of flashing colours continued insistently, relentlessly, hypnotically... like spinning blades of light alternately cutting the memories and perceptions... sometimes in blue... sometimes red... blue... red... blue... red...

The distressing sight of the deep blue eyes staring nowhere ahead and a large red puddle forming slowly around the body, tormented her without inducing a single trace of how to find a way out...

Trapped in a psyche greatly disturbed by the sense of loss, her musings came in and out, mixing reality and imagination, in a process ably led by a therapist who was giving inputs for one and another line of thought, in order to find a way out of the maze where she was. It was important to bring to mind the facts and try to capture the more hidden details of the events. Her biggest concern, however, was to unravel the mystery surrounding the event recently experienced that had so greatly shaken her. Each one with a distinct purpose, both women worked to find the right answers to a mystery to solve.

How I wish I could amend things. If I could relive the last day of my life, I would change everything... how many mistakes can be made on the same day? How many times can the same mistake be made, before one realizes it is really a blunder? How many times can one insist on an error, until life shows - with shocking evidence - how stupid we can be?

- You'll have to get used to living with your own mistakes, said the therapist. They are part of the learning process of life...

- But that one cost the life of an innocent man, woman... is it so hard to realize this? And do not treat me as a teenager. I know the extent of my faults and I know – very well - these psychology theories...

She bit her lip, so not to drop an expletive, which was about to come out of her mouth. Sometimes it was even hard to control herself, especially when her anger was crossing a line beyond the ethically acceptable behaviour.

- You’re not the one to blame for what happened. You are not responsible for the acts of others... especially of maniacs and murderers...

- But it was I who provoked the wrath "of others," she said, adding a good dose of irony and a certain mockery in her voice, as she repeated the words recently spoken by the other woman. And besides, I feel responsible...

The therapist shook her head - a gesture the other woman learned how to interpret very well. There was no further point to argue, because no argument would be strong enough to make her accept or change her opinion.

There was nothing else that could be done, it was true, but it was not - in any way - too late.

Instead, the investigation - and perhaps much more than a simple police procedure – had just begun. It was her personal matter of honour going deep to the bottom of the case and discover not only the reasons why but also severely punish the culprit.