Title : The Puppeteer
Author: John Daily

See Chapter One for Disclaimer and Author's Comments.

"The Puppeteer"

Chapter Seven – Life, Love and Loss

Costança lay in agony for what seemed an eternity. She was in the middle of a contraction, and was finding it difficult to focus on anything else. Her brother had been fighting with the Americans off and on for what seemed like hours, but Costança hadn't said anything. At first, she had remained silent, scared to answer them, because she was afraid of what Rui might do to them if she interfered, but later on she stayed quiet because the pain was too great to do anything but lay here and try to draw a breath deep enough to distract and satiate.

Now, however, he had gone too far. She had heard the gunshot – in fact, it had startled her so much that she had felt her body actually jerk up off the cot – and she had heard both the man and woman scream. She assumed one of them had been shot but wasn't sure which one. As soon as this contraction passed, she planned to get him to stop. What she hadn't yet figured out, was how.

Damn Rui! Damn him for bringing this upon her and her husband! Why hadn't he stayed back in Angola where he belonged? If he had wanted to play soldier so badly, why hadn't he just stayed there to die like one instead of running to her like a coward? She had warned her brother when she moved away that this was going to happen if he continued to play both sides against the middle. She had told him that, sooner or later, one group would discover he had been selling information to both sides and come after him. She had begged him to come with her to America, but he hadn't listened. Costança had loved him then. Now, things were different. Rui was scared and running, and no longer cared who he hurt in order to save himself. Emmanuel was dead, and she was giving birth to his child in this filthy place, instead of in a hospital with her husband at her side.

Crimson pain, bright and hot, flared suddenly inside her, as if the child struggling to free itself from her womb could read her thoughts. She tried to focus on how to stop Rui, but couldn't; the contractions, and the blinding pain they brought, were too strong now. She had thought they were horrible an hour ago; imagine that! Now she could barely breathe through them.

Bleary eyed, she craned her neck to see where Rui was. At the foot of her cot, against the wall, were the Americans, clumped together, lying in blood, unmoving. Could he have killed them both? Had there been a second shot she hadn't heard through her delirium?

The gentle touch on her hair startled her. It was Rui, who had come up behind her, trying to carefully guide her head back onto the cot. A sudden wave of fury ripped through her, expelling from her with an animalistic scream, and she jerked her head away from his hand. He grunted at her and shuffled off again.

God, save her soul! This man was no longer her brother; he was something else now. A murderer. A monster. She felt the tears well up and spill out, and everything she had witnessed and experienced this night engulfed her at once. She had been paralyzed with fear back at the apartment, and crippled here by indecision at the memory of seeing her husband beaten in front of her. How dare Rui act sympathetic toward her now, as if none of this were his fault!

"Costança," he called softly in Portuguese from somewhere behind her, "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. Not like this."

She felt a wave of nausea hit her, and forced herself to swallow hard, determined to show him nothing. She heard her brother take a few tentative steps toward her. From the floor in front of her feet, she heard someone shift positions and moan.

"It was an accident," Rui said.

"Pig!" she spat back in his language: Porco! "You killed my husband! How the hell is that an accident?"

He came upon her quickly, startling her. "He would have turned me in, and you know it! They would have found me, and then I would be dead, and for what?"

She didn't answer.

"I want to make a new life here, like you did, and Emmanuel wouldn't listen to me-"

She cut him off with an icy tone. "Don't you say his name. Don't you dare say his name. He was a good man, and you're a murderer now. You don't deserve to speak his name."

He moved down the side of the cot and into her field of vision. "Quando um não quer, dois não brigam," he replied. It takes two to begin a fight.

Costança felt the cramp of another contraction beginning, and tried to focus on breathing through it. They were coming faster now, and she was starting to get scared, not only because of the conditions of her birthing room, but because the pain was becoming too intense. Something felt...wrong. A sudden sharp pain tore through the cramp, causing her to yelp out loud, and she felt Rui place his hand hesitantly on her arm.

"Costança," he said softly, "my sister." Minha irma. "What can I do to help?".

"Take me..to the...hospital," she answeredthrough labored breaths.

"I can't do that yet. I need to figure this all out."

"Then kill yourself," she replied, and the conversation was over.

…...

Costança woke with a start. Rui was still standing over her, watching her with a dull, unfocused gaze. "You're still alive?" she asked, the words thick with disgust. "How long have I been out?"

His eyes fixed on hers for a moment, then he answered, "Three minutes. Maybe less." She could hear the fatigue – no, defeat – in his voice.

"You've killed us all, you know," she said. "Every one of us." Cada um de nós. "Including your unborn niece or nephew."

He cast his eyes downward and sighed. "I know," he said. He squatted down, reached out and ran the back of his hand down her face, loosening the strands of hair that had adhered there from her sweat. He brought his other hand up to rest beside her on the cot. In it, he still held the gun. "But I don't know how to end this."

Costança felt repulsed; her skin crawled with his touch, but she struggled to keep her composure. The pain had eased, for now, but God only knew when she would get another chance to try and talk him down. "I've been your sister your whole life, Rui. I know you, and you're never right. Whatever you're thinking, it's not the way."

"I can't go to jail, Cossie," he said, calling her by the name he had given her as a child. "I'd rather die quickly by my own hands than slowly by theirs." His fingers found their way to her chin and he gently lifted it to better see her eyes. "But that's not likely to happen any time soon."

His usage of her childhood nickname brought back unwelcome memories: her at seven years old, him at five, trying to catch pollywogs with their bare hands from the muddy river that ran near their house. Him at ten, her at twelve, beating the tar out of an older boy who had deliberately tripped Rui, skinning both his knees and gashing open his left elbow. All of her life she had protected him, and she had been right to do so; after all, he was her little brother. But, God, what kind of test was this? What evil had she done in her life to deserve this kind of choice? How could she kill her own brother and not damn her and her unborn baby - and the Americans, if they were still alive - to certain death and, with them, her soul? Failing that, how could she stop him? How could she convince him to end this the right way, to go get help and turn himself in?

Countless, similar, images flashed by. And another memory now: him at twenty-two, dancing with her at her wedding. Her wedding, for God's sake. This man, who would kill her husband, dancing with her at the happiest moment of her life.

Well he could pray for his forgiveness from God; she couldn't give it to him. "You have a choice," she said, fighting to repress this sudden rage she felt. "You can take control of your own fate, or have your life ripped away from you by someone else."

Rui looked at her, but said nothing.

"Rui?" she questioned. "You know there's no way out of this, right? They'll find you, and they won't stop looking until they do." Costança held her gaze on him, willing him to come closer. She had decided: She would not allow herself to lie here any longer and be the victim to his mistakes, pain or no pain. She would draw him in, then tear his throat open with her teeth.

Before she could work out how, another contraction hit her, and she gripped the edges of the cot tightly, clenching her jaw shut. Not now, she thought. Please God, not now. She arched her head back, and tried to push through the cramp, hoping it would pass quickly so she could get back to luring him nearer, but an abdominal spasm made her cry out in shock and pain. "God, it hurts so bad!"

Rui stood up. "I'm getting that doctor over here if I have to drag him by his tongue."

"No!" she snapped, gritting her teeth against the pain in an effort to get the words out. He couldn't leave her; she needed him to stay. "I'm...sorry," she said, forcing herself to say what she didn't feel. "Stay, please." Damn him for making her do this. Bearing the pain was difficult enough without have to talk through it, too.

Rui stood over her, watching her private struggle.

"Please, Rui. I...I need you."

He remained silent, but squatted back down, took her hand, and waited for the contraction to pass. When it finally had, he spoke. "I love you, Cossie," he said, "and I don't want to go without you."

She drew a couple of cleansing breaths. "What do you mean? Go where?"

"You're right," he said, ignoring her questions. "This is too hard, and you're in too much pain. As am I." He stood up and looked down at her, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb against the butt of the gun. "This must end." Isto tem de acabar.

"Rui," she started, panicked. She was at a loss for words, and she needed to do something. Now.

"I'm so tired, Cossie. I'm so tired of living with one eye turned over my shoulder, and it will only get worse here." He brought the gun up, barrel pointed at her.

"Rui, wait -"

"I'm sorry," he said, "for everything."

Frantic now, she spat out the first thing that came to her mind. "Kiss me first!" she demanded, surprising even herself.

Rui stood and stared at her, confused by this sudden display of affection.

"Damn it, Rui, you're my brother. At least kiss me before you kill me." Costança's desperate eyes begged him to come closer, but Rui just stood there, watching her. Please, God, she thought, I'm not through this yet. Why isn't he coming? What is he waiting for? "Rui?" she asked.

"You're all sweaty," he replied.

She burst out laughing, astonished. He was certainly right, although his timing wasn't great. With Rui, however, it rarely was. "You're an ass," she said, smiling, and held her arms up to him.

He didn't return her smile, but he did kneel down beside her and allowed the embrace.

Costança exhaled heavily, not realizing she had been holding her breath until he had leaned over her. She folded him into her arms, and nuzzled her chin against the nape of his neck, appreciating the heat and life that radiated there. She could feel his jugular pulsate delicately against her cheek, the precious blood within it gushing forward with every beat of his cold heart. The precious blood that she needed to spill. Softly, cautiously, she let her lips brush against him.

And then another memory hit her: him at two years of age, her at four, huddled together under a blanket during a thunderstorm. Scared at first, giggling soon after inside their little makeshift tent at the shadows the lightning cast across their faces.

She couldn't do it. Costança buried her face in Rui's neck and began to sob long, anguished wails at him and the world and God and everything that had put her in this awful place, at this awful time. Whatever else he might have become, Rui was still her little brother, and there was nothing she could do to change that. Instead, she held him tight to her and cried, for her and for him, and for all that might have been.

The hitching of her stomach soon gave way to another contraction and, with it, another cramp that started in her lower abdomen, and radiated outward up to her chest, until it seemed that her whole torso was ripping open. She clutched Rui tighter, in fear and sheer agony.

"Oh my God, it's coming," she screamed.