Smaragdus

 "What a strange thing! […] This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace.”

- Oscar Wilde, The Happy Prince

Dallas, two years ago

“I killed her.”

The words were cold, far too icy to invite a rational reply or even a lame attempt for any far-fetched justification. Therese had said all she wanted to say, and now she sat motionless in the corner of the living room of Kathleen Morra’s townhouse, oddly unfazed by what was taking place right in front of her.

Karl the Bull had been the first one to register the tragedy, having waited in his car outside. What he had thought to be a regular chauffeur duty had suddenly changed into a cleaning job. He wasn’t pleased, but his sulking was lost on Therese.

Dannie, on the other hand, was far from quiet. He had rushed to the scene of the crime right after Karl had alerted him. By the time he had gotten there, Kathleen’s lifeless body had been cleared out of the driveway. Madame was yet to be notified, Therese knew. It’s only a matter of minutes now.

“That’s all you’re going to say?” Dannie screamed at Therese. “That for some unfathomable reason, you found it necessary to push an old lady off the balcony? I’d call that stating the obvious!” His shrill voice was wearing Therese down even if she didn’t let it show.

Therese could hardly understand anything what Dannie was saying, but the little she did, needed no correction as far as she was concerned. She may not have actually pushed Kathleen Morra to her death, but it had been her deception that had driven her benefactor to the desperate act. To say that she had done it; that she alone was to blame for Kathleen’s demise wasn’t a source of comfort to her, but maybe – just maybe – Therese could confess her crime and be found guilty. Of all of them.

After this Therese could only do one thing: tell everyone that she was a killer – someone who murdered faith, hope and love for something as sordid as money. She would let others think whatever they wished just to create a gaping distance between her and them.

The police would eventually come and take her away, and this time there would be no peril in a pencil-skirt to sweet talk her out of prison time. Therese welcomed the thought, imagining the conjoined bracelets of steel chafing her wrists. Dannie would be on his own after her life sentence, but at least he wouldn’t ever be ruined because of her thirst for freedom.           

The crushing defeat Therese had seen in Kathleen Morra’s eyes just before she had made her exit from this world pierced her repeatedly. Therese would never forget that moment, and since she couldn’t, she vowed to fan its guilty flames as feverishly as possible.  

“Dinner? With you?” Carol’s surprised voice hid her sudden excitement. She hadn’t seen this coming, and it took her a moment to regain her composure to willingly accept what she had been dreaming of for quite some time. Her befuddlement, however, worked against her before she could give a proper reply.

“I meant you… and your husband!” Therese hastened to say, mortified by what she mistakenly construed as Carol’s reluctance to accept her bold proposition. “Dannie and I – we’ve talked about it for a long time… how we would like to express our gratitude for this opportunity I’ve been given.” Her cheeks had warmed up, but she hoped she could save her face from more conspicuous signs of blood red embarrassment.  

“Oh…” Carol said, looking at Therese. In that fleeting nanosecond of frisky hopefulness, Carol had somehow had time to blow their dinner date out of all proportions as if Therese had invited her to a luxury cruise for two instead of a mere meal. “That… is very kind of you… two.” The imaginary Love Boat was embarking but poor Carol wasn’t on it. Instead she pictured herself in a dingy rubber raft with Harge, paddling helplessly toward folded napkins and dull dinner conversation. “Thank you. I… we are looking forward to it.” Neither one was looking forward to it any longer, but there was one person who disliked the idea even more than they did.

“We’ll be having dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Aird on Saturday”, Therese told Dannie when she got back home later the same day. “I made a reservation for us at Sine Causa.” Her statement lacked enthusiasm but she had only herself to blame.

The information was enough to interfere with Dannie’s work. “We’re having dinner with the woman you drugged and her paralyzed hubby? Do I have to remind you that he’s seen both you and me the night we dragged his missus up the stairs?”

“What of it?” Therese asked, irritated. “It’s not like he’s going to say anything.”

Dannie could hardly argue with Therese over her last remark but he wasn’t keen on rubbing elbows with people they were busy hoodwinking. After two years, Dallas still loomed vividly at the back of his mind as a warning example of getting too close and cozy.    

New York, two years ago

In the end it was Genevieve who took charge of what had happened, not the police. When Therese realized her mistake in not turning herself immediately in, it was much too late.  Then again it would have been impossible to go through with it without a body. As far as anyone could tell ‘aunt Kathleen had only realized her lifelong dream of exploring the old country’ as explained by one of her estranged relatives to whom Mrs. Morra had allegedly sent a ‘very generous letter’.

Who mourns an old lady who had money but no real human contact? Therese knew the answer, aware of her instrumental role in making Kathleen draw the final curtain over a fundamentally sad life.

That stupid clip. It didn’t come as a surprise to Therese that it was the first and only thing Genevieve really cared about. Therese gave it to her alright – the gorgeous flamingo in all of its blinding glory just as Danniehad perfected it. After all, one really couldn’t tell which was the real deal and which the fake.

Returning home, or to the place she had once regarded as something resembling it, Therese opened the bottom drawer of her wardrobe. She cleared away the unruly layer of magazines she had placed over her most personal belongings. A crumpled leaflet advertising a young and promising performance artist called ‘Therese Tourbillon’. A laminated menu from the now-defunct diner she had visited with Dannie when they had first met. Her diploma from Carlsbad. A memory stick and a handwritten list of names and addresses of the girls who had endured the same treatment Therese had yet still opted to pine after their tormentor. Even the silks her mother had fallen off of at the time of her tragic accident.

This time Therese wasn’t interested in any of them. What she needed was the small cardboard box in the far right corner of the drawer that held her treasures – the innocent rhinestones that had no value beyond what she thought of them. Now they were about to have company, a strange bird Therese had smuggled into her room. A king had abdicated his throne for the woman this damn clip had belonged to, she thought, amused to see the famed flamingo disappear underneath the endearing riffraff.

“I think it’s just too much,” Therese had told Kathleen when she had first seen the said piece. Although it had served to mask her ultimate interest, she had been honest, too.

“But I find it enchanting!” Kathleen Morra had laughed in surprise. “And flamingos, too. The healthier they are, the more colorful they get – isn’t it charming?”

Pushing the box back where it belonged, Therese thought what a balancing act her own life had been. She had stood on one faltering foot like a faded lawn ornament portraying the very bird Kathleen had had such fondness for. Therese had teetered on the brink of sanity for years, yet now when everyone around her thought she was taking the final nosedive, a plan had started to take shape in her mind. To believe that our wings are clipped keeps us meek and submissive, but when we feel the indomitable lift tickle what we once thought dead, we can’t fool ourselves anymore.                           

After Therese’s surprising news of the upcoming dinner, the unlikely married couple spent the rest of the evening in uncomfortable silence. Dannie focused all his energy on the work at hand, making sure he missed every single one of Therese’s conciliatory glances. When Therese got up the following morning, she didn’t bother waking him before she left the apartment.

Therese got off the train at Greenpoint Avenue and headed toward the corner of Manhattan and Calyer. Playing with something cold and angled inside her coat pocket, Therese slipped in between four stony columns of a Manhattan bank branch.

“How nice to see you again, Miss Dennis,” an elderly teller greeted Therese soon after she had made her presence known. “You are here for your safe deposit box?” The woman’s smile was warm but it couldn’t compete with the puffy mass of blueish grey hair that framed her face.

‘Miss Dennis’ acquiesced to nod. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Mrs. Viglione. Therese had only deemed best not to engage in lengthy conversations with someone she suspected might have a loose tongue despite the bank secrecy. Instead she followed Mrs. Viglione in silence, her lips forming a polite upward curve every now and then. Once inside the three-foot thick vault, she took out the item that had been burning a hole in her pocket. It was the time for her and Mrs. Viglione to turn their respective keys simultaneously in the cover of Box 645. Therese had picked the number herself.   

Mrs. Viglione removed the elongated box from its shelf and handed it to Therese. “The private transaction room is at your disposal,” she said lowering her voice as if what she was disclosing were somehow shady and embarrassing.

Finally alone, Therese spread the box’s contents onto the simple desk. The desk lamp shone its bleak light on the miscellaneous items bringing out the bling that both brought her anguish and sustained her hope for a better tomorrow. Some of the pieces had lately gone missing from the flamingo’s colorful plumage, chipped away with microscopic precision.

Therese sat down and opened a small tool kit she had brought along with her. Aided by an eye loupe magnifier and a pair of special pliers, she started to work on the clip. Therese remained focused, not wanting to harm the poor bird more than she had to. Maybe I’m not harming it at all, she thought to herself, extracting one diamond here, another ruby there. I like it better now. In its current condition, the opulent creature looked nicer, more honest.

All along Therese thought of Dannie, of what he might say should he know what she was up to. Her latest acquisitions, two booklets, both with a bald eagle adorning the dark blue cover, caught her attention as she was taking a break from her task. The photos in the passports belonged to her and Dannie, but the names didn’t. Therese had never uttered a single word to Dannie about the documents she had acquired. She couldn’t because no matter how much she had tried to build him up with care and affection, Dannie remained weak at best, too liable to crack under pressure.

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow, will you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilt? My feet are fastened to this pedestal and I cannot move." Therese had been bedridden with chickenpox when Dannie had entertained her with Oscar Wilde’s fairytale for the very first time. It had become Therese’s favorite, prompting her to call Dannie ‘Happy Prince’.

Well, you’re not exactly a swallow, Therese mumbled to the plucked flamingo. You’ll just have to wing it then. Smiling, she pocketed the extracted gems and returned what was left back to the box. The passports would have to wait for another time, too.

“Aren’t you coming in?” Abby opened the front door to the absent-minded Carol who had seemed to forgotten how to use her key.

“Yeah… sorry,” Carol said, sighing. “Something odd happened in the museum today, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.” She hung her coat and entered the dining room where Abby had been feeding Harge. Her mind was elsewhere and it bothered the ever vigilant nurse.

“What’s wrong?” Abby asked, sensing trouble.

“My assistant asked me and Harge for a dinner on Saturday… in a restaurant,” Carol started cautiously.

“Ther… uhm… Miss Belivet asked you and Harge for a date?” Abby’s question poured out with force.

“Well, yes, she and her husband want to thank me or something,” Carol explained, looking less than thrilled.

“Miss Belivet and Mr. McElroy want to thank you?” Abby couldn’t have sounded more surprised, but as soon as she had said it, she realized that she had gone too far. “I mean – how is that even possible? Eating in general presents certain problems to Mr. Aird… I don’t see how he’ll do in a fancy eatery.” A clever save, she thought to herself.

If possible, Carol looked even more perturbed. “You’re right… how come I didn’t think of that? What should I do now?” Despite her mixed feelings, she wasn’t ready to give up Saturday altogether.

“There’s only one thing we can do,” Abby stated with confidence. “I’m coming along.”