Almost (4): Almost, #4

By Adriana LS Swift

Every story has it's end...

Marta and Ernest never thought that things could get to complicate so much. The family hatred was always a big impediment, but with each passing day they notice that all this can end up blowing up in a more than violent way for both of them. They know that they're risking even their lives, but they want to keep trying it until the last second. Violent deaths, deceivings, disappointments... And even so, both of them always manage a see  a silver lining, even though everything's turning black.

Paris, the future of both of them, was never so close and so far away at the same time...

How to survive when people around you hates with such intensity as to want to end the life of anyone who gets on the way?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adriana LS Swift
• Release date: May 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781071599693

Book preview

Almost 4

No more

Adriana L.S. Swift

(Translator: Yoneiker Neto)

Pandora

©Adriana L.S. Swift, 2017

©Almost no more (4), 2017

©Translator: Yoneiker Neto

©Pandora, 2017

Mail Box 4015, 24010, León (Spain)

www.pandora-magazine.com

[e-mail]

©Cover Edition: Pandora

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and events that occur are products of the author’s imagination or are used in fiction. Any likelihood with real people (Alive or dead), companies, events or places are purely coincidental.

The editor has no control over the author’s or third parties’ web sites or any of their contents nor does it assume any responsibility that can be carried by them.

Registered in Safe Creative.

Registry code: 1709283614834

Edited in Spain.

Total or partial reproduction of this book is not allowed; neither it is its inclusion in any informatics system nor it’s transmission in any way or by any medium whether it’s electronic, mechanic, by a photocopy, recorded or any other method without previous written permission from the editor. The infraction of the mentioned rights could be a crime against the intellectual property (Article 270 of the penal code).

Author’s note

This is ending. The story that I stated years ago, it’s coming to its end. This will be the last book of the saga, at least for now. But before finishing, I wanted to leave for the record certain detail.

Just remember that the facts related throughout the story are all fictitious, though it could be that some of them have been written as metaphors of other real ones. Who knows. All of the characters are equally fictitious and, even though on the media I share images of public characters to give environment to the story, it doesn’t mean that I’m relating their lives or anything. It’s something that I try to clear out since the Maybe Saga in case that any misunderstanding surges.

The educative subject has always passionate and desperate me in equal parts. Professors are a fundamental pillar from a country, since they form the future citizens that will inhabit it. It’s because of that for which it should be more demanding about the ones that access the preparation to be teachers and professors; if we keep leaving things as they are, we’ll find ourselves in such uneven situations as the ones related in this pages. Having quality professor throughout the educative stage it’s guaranteed that the students learn more and better, that they’re prepared with good knowledges and proper values for the future, and that’s something that the whole world will thank appreciate. Let’s take more care of our professors, who are ones by vocation. Let’s try to  compensate them, giving them the place in society that they deserve; meaning in the highest place, but not only about that kind of distinction, but also about retributions. Let’s struggle so that the professors are ones by vocation, that they have an excellent preparation; that they recycle and innovate as much as they can; that they live their job, as I know that many do. And let’s treat them and pay them as they deserve.

I also wanted to deal in my story with the harassment subject from different perspectives. Let’s understand, please, that harassment is never positive, no one has to harass anyone to face them, not even thinking that they deserve it, or... Let’s exile once and for all that kind of mentality. I also want to clear out that the accusation that Montse made about Ernest for harassment should never happen under any circumstances. Let’s not keep only the few cases of false denounces, no matter what they talk about. If we did that we’d be taking a step back. Let’s keep fighting for the harassment rates, whether it’s scholar, sexual, virtual... decrease. And for that we need to invest a lot in education; in good education. Let’s talk about the subject openly, let’s not quiet down. Let’s not make the victims guilty and, on top of everything, let’s give them hope but also solutions.

I hope that with these lines, I’ve made my position clear. Let’s keep Reading then Marta and Ernest’s fictitious story.

Because after so much pain, they deserve to rest. How? I can’t advance you that...

To my readers, the best

that someone who writes could have.

"What’s this?

A cup held in-between my beloved’s hands!

Now I understand... the poison was his untimely

Death... You drank it all, how cruel, not leaving a

Friendly droplet for me? I must kiss your lips... In

Case there’s some poison left in them...

That gives me a repairing death."

Juliet. Fifth act, Scene III,

From Romeo and Juliet, from William Shakespeare

Prologue

––––––––

May, 2016

––––––––

Carles couldn’t believe what he just witnessed. A Casals in his office! How did she dare to...? And besides, that Casals. She stole his son from him, what else does she want now? Killing him, like her father did with his dear Silvia?

He walks on the hall as a caged Wolf, but he has to sit down after a few minutes. So much stress isn’t good, and he doesn’t want to end up in the hospital again. They’ve told her that the next time he might not be so lucky. A Casals. A Casals has dared to come to his domain! What for? That’s what he asked her. What had she come for, if she wasn’t received? He let her in just because he wanted to humiliate her personally. She, with those airs of incorruptible innocence, with that sweet and sincere face... All the Casals have the same sheep appearance and they turn out to be heartless foxes.

And she made her know that.

He didn’t even let her sit down. She wanted to mediate between him and his son. "How dares he...! She said that they should meet, to let Ernest talk with him. That girl wanted to apologize for everything that happened in the past with her family. She’s not like that, she said... Meet me... Meet a Casals? A Calçó? You don’t trick anyone with that innocent girl’s air; Carles told her calmly, you’re nothing more than a cheap whore and a murderer like your father.  You’ve deceived my son but you have nothing to do with me.

And even so she insisted!

She liked his son, she loved him, she started to tell him. Blood boiled in Carles’ veins. I’d give anything for your son to be happy, she told him, holding up her tears, and he’d be happy if he could talk with you. Carles leaned on his office’s table before he answers. Kill yourself, he answered her, vocalizing calmly, take some pills, cut your veins... Anything you think about. And while you do that, think that a Casals was the one who left my son motherless, witnessing her agony. Your death will be nothing compared to the one that my wife had. If you want, I can open the window and leave you alone for a moment. We’re on the fifteenth flood; there’s a good fall. And like that I think that at least I’d be happy, I’d like you more and I’d talk with my son again. If you want to make him happy, rot in hell, Casals.

Marta couldn’t endure his hurting words more and she went out of Carles’ office crying. But he didn’t feel bad. On the contrary. Adrenaline was running through his whole body, giving him life.

And he felt that he needed more.

He took his pills with some fresh water, he took his American jacket and he decided to pay a short visit to a specific place that he knew well.

Before drying, he must avenge his beautiful wife.

And he didn’t have much time left.

I

––––––––

Marta

I am hungry. Everything hurts. It’s hot, really hot. There’s no ventilation in this room and I’m still in the dark, I don’t know since how long ago. The ropes that tie my hands and feet scrape my skin and I think that they’re wounding me. At first I struggled trying to get loose, but now I try to not move so that they don’t nail up in my skin anymore.

It hurts a lot. Everything hurts. But what hurts me the most is having argued with Ernest before this happened. I focus in our lovely farewell at home, but right after that his father’s horrible conversation comes to my mind and then his own one after that. I know that I shouldn’t have gone to talk with his father, but I only wanted...

I smell food. There’s someone outside. My stomach starts protesting; I must have been hours without eating, but I don’t know how many. I try to think in something else but it’s impossible. I need to eat. And drink. My mouth is dry and my throat is irritated. I can’t stop remembering the last time that Ernest and I ate together. It was on the same day that I was brought here. He has prepared a pasta salad, nothing to do with my house’s salads or from my father’s restaurants; this one was a lot better. We drank some wine and laughed, happy for being together again. We kissed, we made love in the living room and then I left from home without helping him to clean the table. Things might still be there, Ernest isn’t the type to pick up the dishes, I always end up forcing him to help me do it. I like when Ernest protests for having to clean the table. He pursues me through the kitchen and the living room to bite me as punishment. We laugh and kiss, and we’re so happy...

The door opens up. She brings some food in a dish. It’s some kind of puree. And a big cup of water.

I’ll give you this. She tells me forcefully, sitting by my side. I don’t want you to die and they think that I killed you of hunger or thirst; they’re going to pay me well for keeping you alive.

Are you going to let me out of here? I ask with hope.

Maybe when who’s paying me gets bored of making you and your dear Ernest suffer. She gets the spoon close to my mouth and before letting me eat, she adds. You’ll take another nap after this.

I don’t want to sleep—

With the sleeping pills that the puree has, you won’t have another choice.

I doubt for an instant, but I need to eat. I need to take strength to think how to get out of here. I don’t think that anyone imagines who has me here, so I have to do this on my own.

I finish the puree and drink the whole water cup. When I think that she’s going to leave, she grabs my hair by surprise again and pulls it once more. My head starts to hurt and I can’t even rub the pained zone; I’m still tied up from hands and feet.

Why do you do this to me? I whisper on a whim filled with tears.

She shows me a new string of hear reaped out entirely.

Because I hate you. It’s the only thing she answers.

She starts laughing while she goes out of the room, leaving me alone and in the dark again.

But I won’t be here for long. If Ernest and I have accomplished anything, it has been for not giving up.

And anything or anyone is going to make me surrender.

II

––––––––

Ernest

My father’s secretary just told me that I can’t go in, that he’s on a meeting. I haven’t even answered to that. I’ve kept walking with decision until I get into his office, where twenty persons sitting around a meeting table have turned around by hearing the clamor that I’ve made when I came in.

Where’s Marta. It’s the first I tell him, raising my voice.

Have you gone nuts? I hear my father say, who gets up from his lordly chair. Get out of here.

Not until you tell me what you’ve done with her!

My father notices that I’m not joking. Right now he doesn’t have the strength that he always had as a father. Right now he’s my enemy, and I don’t pretend to control myself.

Leave us alone for a moment. He says to everyone.

As soon as people disappear from his office, I get closer to him.

You’re going to tell me right now what you’ve done with Marta and where she is.

I don’t know where that Casals is. He answers drily, not moving from his place, sitting back down.

Don’t lie to me again. I know that she came to see you yesterday and now she’s missing. That’s not a coincidence.

A beautiful and amazing coincidence but yes, it is. Because I don’t have your dirty Casals.

Are you mocking of her disappearance? I roar, going towards him. I grab him from his unstained shirt and lift him from his chair, though he gets away and makes a gesture to clean himself of what, of me?

I mock about anything I want to and yes, I don’t mind at all about a Casals disappearance.

You’re a despicable being. I’m ashamed of having you as a father.

That’s not what your beloved Casals was telling me yesterday. I frown. Actually, I don’t know what they talked about. Marta didn’t get to tell me anything. She was saying that you were crying in the corners for not being able to talk with me. And now what? We’re talking, right? And the only thing you can think about is insult me, is that all the child love you have?

A father acts as such. I remind him. You haven’t done it. You’ve repudiated me for falling in love and now you’ve made Marta disappear. I repeat her name and the rage multiplies inside me. Tell me right now where—!

I repeat you that I don’t have the Casals! He screams on top on my voice. Though I gave her several ideas. I hope she has followed my advices.

He smiles with mischief when he says that.

What did you tell her?

Oh, nothing out of this world. I gave her some ideas about how she could make you happy is she really loved you as much as she said. So I commented her that if she left, you could talk with me again and that’d help a lot in your—

I don’t even let him finish talking. I throw myself to him and I stop out cold just when the rage it’s going to make my head blow up. I could kill him. I could finish him off with any object of this office; even with my own hands. How has he been capable of telling Marta to abandon me for me to be happy? I can’t imagine how she must have been at the moment she called me yesterday at night. And I argued with her. I got mad for what she had done, without even thinking about what Marta was going through after what my father told her.

And now she...

Your hatred has ended up rotting your soul. I say breathing as slow as I can to calm down. And I don’t want to end up like you. I don’t seek vengeance. I live. And ever since mom died—

She was killed! He roars a few millimeters away, without moving an inch.

Since she’s not here, you’re death too! I answer with the same tone, without getting frighten. Just... You only live to seek vengeance. And your life is ending. And the only thing you have left, what is it? Hatred!

I turn around towards the door to leave before I do something crazy myself.

That’s it, run away again, as you always do. I hear my father say with a challenging tone.

I turn around with my hand on the door’s handle.

I don’t run away, Carles Calçó. I answer him. I’m leaving. Because I don’t pretend to let your hatred poison me. I left for that same reason once and even so I came back. I smile with the sight set in his big window by remembering my come back. Actually I’ll always be thankful to you for tricking me to come back. Thanks to that I met the woman of my life I see him again and I see his face unsettled by my words. Isn’t it ironic?

Your mother might be revolting in her—

I’m sure that my mother will be proud of me for fighting for love, and not for hatred as you do. I think that in the other life, who my mother will want to have by her side for all eternity will be me, not you. And suddenly I see a ray of pain cut through my father’s face. "I hope that one day you understand how much I loved you and how much damage you caused to me. Goodbye dad.

None of us pronounces a Word again. I close the door as soon as I get out and I hear a big racket on my back, followed by rage screams. But I don’t have time to lose. My objective is to find Marta, not calming my father down.

Since a long time ago he doesn’t even want that anyone looks for him.

I have Marta’s house in front of me. I know her entrance code; she gave me the new one herself in case that something happened someday and...

I clear out the fears from my hard and I ring the doorbell.

Casals’ residence. I hear on the other side.

I need to talk urgently with Jordi Casals. I answer.

Do you have an appointment?

Fuck their appointments...

"It’s about his daughter. I’m Ernest Calçó.

I hear a momentary silence and then a roar like my father’s but from the own Jordi’s mouth.

At this moment the Mister isn’t in— That person starts to say.

I’ve tried it with all the calm and good behavior that I had left with a Casals, but I can’t take no more.

I dial the code in the entrance’s keyboard and walk through the doors with a steady pass. And of course, before I get to the house’s threshold, I’m received by an unhinged Jordi, covered by a slim silk robe and snickers, but with the same superiority airs as always.

Get out of my house! He screams articulating. Have you heard me? Get out or I’ll call the police!

That’s what I’d like you to do. I answer without stopping, getting to him. That way you could explain them what you’ve done with Marta.

What are you talking to me about? He says with disdain. I’ve told you to get out, are you deaf?

Not until you tell me where she is.

Have you come from France to here to see her? He tells me laughing of me. Poor deluded guy. All the Calçó are alike.

Jordi, I’m not for messing around. Tell me right now where—

You dare to invade my house, I still don’t know why, and you give me orders about my daughter?

Tell me where she is! I scream at him without being able to restrain myself anymore.

That’s it, I’m calling the police. He sentences, taking out a phone from his pocket and dialing something in it.

I make use of his oversight to get into the house running, screaming Marta’s name. But the only thing I get is that her mother and a couple more people, who seem to be part of the service, come out to face me, scared by the uproar.

What’s going on here? Mercè asks, her mother, with a serious but confused tone.

"Get