Masks (standard:drama, 2490 words)
Author: Mouse	Added: Oct 16 2000	Views/Reads: 3593/2301	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
thinking piece about a woman coming to terms with her crumbling marriage and her brother's death. Hope it entertains you . . .

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

armchair and talks to the stone-faced detective, who chain-smokes as he 
takes her statement.  He promises that justice will be served. 

But what is justice? Lin thinks, her mouth curving upwards in a bitter
smile.  Can it ever truly be served?  Han is dead, and in a year, when 
some killer sits in jail, he will still be dead.  There is no changing 
such things. 

The detective crushes out the butt of his cigarette finally and spins in
his chair.  His face is somber.  "Is there anyone you can think of who 
might have had reason to kill your brother?" he asks.  Lin shakes her 
head.  They have covered this before. 

"What about this"-He pauses to look at his note- "This Jakob Brody kid? 
Who was he?  Did you know him?" 

Lin looks down at her hands.  Her thin fingers are curling about the
fabric of her skirt.  She looks up again.  "He was Han's intern.  And . 
. . and one of his models, I guess.  He's a freelance photographer, you 
know; he'd do these different projects for shows.  This latest project 
of his was with these masks . . . sometimes they'd go down to Grant 
Park.  I don't know what he was trying to say by it . . . " 

"Did you know the kid?" 

Lin nods and begins to examine her hands again.  "I suppose so.  I'd
talked with him before.  He was young, twenty-something, a little . . . 
oh, what is it?  Sketchy, I guess.  But a nice enough kid.  Why?  What 
does he have to do with anything?" 

The detective sits his pen aside and leans forward, his arms crossing in
his lap.  "Mr. Brody lives about a block from where your brother's body 
was found.  We talked to him yesterday about where your brother might 
be.  A couple of things didn't add up.  I thought he might be hiding 
something, and now this . . . it's just a start." 

Lin sighs.  She settles back in the chair, feeling older than she has
ever felt.  Through the dirty glass of the window, the sun has crept to 
its peak in the sky, and it shines on there.  Smugly, she thinks.  It 
could only be a cruel and bitter sun that would shine on this day. 

"No, I don't think he would do anything like that.  I don't think . . .
I can't see Jakob as being responsible for this." 

Inside, Lin feels like screaming.  Not at anyone in particular, but just
for the release.  Instead she laughs, chuckling softly under her 
breath.  Of course Jakob was hiding something, she thinks . . . hadn't 
she asked him to?  Her laughter subsides in a weary smile.  And now the 
kid had inadvertently implicated himself in something unspeakable.  How 
was that for loyalty?  She wonders what she can do about anything now. 

Pierce will undoubtedly be coming soon, she realizes.  On the phone he
was as frantic as ever.  She really doesn't feel like explaining 
anything to him.  He will want to go home, and probably he is right for 
that.  He will tell her she never should have left, and he is probably 
also right in that respect.  But then, Pierce doesn't really know that 
much about things.  He might think differently if he did.  After a 
moment, she realizes the detective has still been talking. 

"So it's at the lab now, but we'll keep you informed of any new
developments.  If you have any more information; if anything comes to 
you, please don't hesitate to call us.  And again, I'm very sorry for 
your loss." 

He is standing up, extending his hand, so Lin does the same and takes
it.  They do not shake, only stand and hold each other's hand for a 
moment.  Lin breaks away abruptly and turns for the door.  Out in the 
waiting area, she can see that Pierce is already there.  He is pacing 
about, back and forth, like a penned buffalo, the jacket of his 
expensive suit coat slung crookedly over his arm.  His pale, watery 
eyes flash at the sight of her and he charges blindly. 

"What in God's name is going on, Lin?"  His hand clutches her upper arm
painfully. 

"Han is dead," she replies.  Her voice is steady, level, cold as a
winter stream.  Her black eyes meet his gaze. 

"Oh my God, are you serious?  What did you do?!" 

She turns away from him and finds her coat on the rack.  The accusation
stings.  "Nothing, you dolt.  I did nothing.  What makes you think I 
would kill my own brother?  I loved Han." 

Pierce is reeling, trying to recover.  His big, awkward hands try feebly
to assist her as she slips on her coat.  She moves away. 

"No, I didn't mean that.  I'm sorry.  But what happened?" 

"He was stabbed to death.  Three days ago.  On his way to buy film." 

He puts his hand on her arm again, gently this time.  "Honey, are you
all right?  This is terrible." 

Lin leads the way down the narrow stairs and out the front door.  She
slides her gloves onto her thin hands.  "I'm sure I'll be all right 
someday.  That's all I can say now.  Will you give me a ride?" 

Pierce stops abruptly.  His face shows plainly his surprise and
uncertainty.  Like a dying, gasping fish, his mouth works but no words 
come out.  Finally, he manages. 

"A ride?  Sweetie, why don't you just come home?  I mean, it's been a
month; you've had a really rough day, and . . . and you can't go back 
to that apartment all by yourself.  Not after this.  It's time to come 
home.  I promise you, we can work this out." 

Lin digs in her pocket for change.  "I'll call a cab if you won't," she
replies. 

Pierce is looking at her like a punch-drunk boxer.  She holds his gaze,
forces herself to.  She does not want to hurt him, but he just doesn't 
understand.  Infinite oceans span the distance that separates them, she 
thinks, although he could never see that.  Someday they will work this 
out, but not today.  She is not ready to go home yet. 

"No, don't do that," he finally sputters.  "I'll take you.  But please,
let's go get some coffee first.  At least explain to me what happened." 


Lin nods and slips into the passenger seat of the Saab.  She supposes
she can do that.  He closes the door behind her and gets in.  They 
drive in relative silence, the only sound the drumming of his fingers 
against the side door. 

Later, on Chestnut Street, he pulls the car over to the curb and helps
her out. 

"Take care of yourself.  Come back whenever you're ready," he says, his
voice nearly cracking as his hand lingers on hers.  The gray in his 
hair is creeping ever further, she sees.  She touches his rough, 
sagging cheek with her delicate fingers. 

"I will," she replies.  "As soon as I can, I will."  She turns and walks
into the towering high rise, flanked by the distant sounds of blaring 
horns and faceless voices.  He watches her go. 

The lobby of the high rise is bright and open.  The polished marble
floor reflects the subtle illumination from the Christmas tree that 
towers at the center.  Lin skirts it without a glance.   She crosses 
the room without seeing anything, moving almost trance-like to the wall 
of elevators.  She presses a button and waits motionless for the doors 
to open.  It is almost two o'clock. 

"Where have you been?" 

Lin turns.  Jakob stands against the wall, hands shoved deep in his
pockets.  His rakish, platinum-tipped hair stands disheveled.  He is 
wearing the same dirty, zip-up sweatshirt he had on three days ago.  
His eyes look tired. 

"With my husband.  We went for coffee."  She pauses and sighs.  "What
are you doing here?  I thought they'd have you in jail by now." 

He shakes his head and steps onto the elevator with her when it opens. 
There is the slightest hint of hostility in his voice.  "Yeah, thanks.  
It isn't easy, you know, to keep things from them.  You should be 
grateful." 

"I am.  Really.  But you shouldn't be here.  It looks . . . suspicious."


"Suspicious!?  I didn't do anything!  And what the hell do you care if
anyone knows?  They're going to find out if they really want to.  I 
can't believe Pierce doesn't know." 

"Look, if they find out, they find out.  And if that's what it takes to
get them to leave you alone, they'll find out.  I just don't want you 
to tell anyone if you don't have to.  For my sake.  And for Pierce.  
He's a lifeless imbecile, but I don't want to hurt him.  Can you 
understand that?" 

Jakob nods.  He is very, very young, Lin reminds herself, and she has
put him in a bad place.  She is sorry for that.  She wishes desperately 
that there was nothing between them, then she could just walk away and 
be done with it.  But deep down, she knows it is not in her nature to 
do so.  Pierce is proof enough of that.  The elevator stops and the 
door opens. 

"Yeah, that's fine," he sighs.  He turns and looks at her, his eyes
half-afraid to meet her gaze.  "But I came because I want to know what 
happened.  Who did kill him?" 

They step out of the elevator onto plush blue carpeting.  "I don't know.
No one knows.  A stranger.  Some punk thief.  Who can tell?" 

"Bastards.  I don't know what to say.  Are you going to be all right?" 

"How do I answer that?  I don't know that, either." 

"Well . . . I'm sorry.  I am sorry.  I'll miss him.  There's nothing
else I can say." 

She unlocks the door and steps inside, leaving him in the hall.  "No,
there isn't.  Go home, Jakob.  There is nothing here for you anymore.  
I'll call you when I know something."  She kisses him softly on the 
lips and shuts the door. 

Behind the mask, you are free to be whatever you choose, Han whispers. 
She can see his face before her now, hollow cheeks, olive brown skin, 
eyes the shape of teardrops squinting in the morning sun.  We all wear 
many masks.  But who are we really?  On the apartment walls, the 
figures in the photographs dance and cavort, strange, mystical 
creatures that loom and fade behind their paper mache skin as Lin walks 
to the window and draws the blinds.  Lin looks at them, looks through 
them, searching for the other side.  Somewhere distant, she can hear 
the ghost of Han laughing, that fragile sound, like the shatter of ice 
over the surface of a winter river.  Laughing, still.  Lin is 
thoughtful.  Han.  She wonders if he has found the answer to his 
question . . . 


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