This story was previously posted and now back by popular demand. Or demand, anyway. Please be sure to let me know what you think.
~Molly
A Cloak of Lies
His fingers began to cramp. He forced himself to loosen his grip on the steering wheel, to ease his foot back on the accelerator.
Too dangerous to call the attention of the police
, he told himself.
It would be daylight soon; he'd need a place to pull over, someplace to lay low during the sunny hours ahead. If only he could've taken a flight, it would've been so much faster, but that was too dangerous, as well. Better to travel by car under the cover of night, and hide in the day.
Gregorios Nikodemos Pavli wondered once again how she'd react to seeing his face after all these years of thinking him dead. Did she still wonder what had happened to him? Did she care anymore? He tried to remember how his wife looked the last time he saw her. She'd waved to him as he left that day, a smile on her succulent lips. She'd tied her blond hair back from her lovely, oval face and her blue eyes had sparkled in the morning sun.
He remembered thinking he was a lucky man, he'd had it all -- a tall, reedy wife who loved him, their future shining in her eyes, a home to be proud of. He'd had it all and lost it in the blink of an eye, on the whim of fate.
Digging his thumb and forefinger momentarily into his tired eyes, he tried to clear his mind and focus on the road ahead. Only one more night after this and he would be home, at long last.
Home
, he thought. It wasn't really his home anymore, though, The Fates had seen to that. In all the years he'd been gone, he thought only of returning, of wrapping his arms around his wife and picking up the pieces of his life. Even as he envisioned his sweet Camille, he knew that it would not be that easy. If he were lucky, he would be able to get her safely away in time. She had a mind of her own and had, undoubtedly, gone on with her life.
There would be a fight, if he knew his Camille, a fight that would make all their past disagreements look like minor tiffs in comparison. Since the day they'd met, their relationship had been stormy, each fight ending in the passionate forgiveness of the marriage bed.
Will she forgive me this time?
The horizon showed a faint glow, signaling the approach of day. He pulled out the map that nestled folded between the seat and the console, switching on the small lamp to read by.
The exit's next, then left
, he thought. He'd find a camp ground soon, lay his tired head down and dream of her.
He wondered if she would still be attracted to him. They'd both been young when they'd married; he had been twenty-one and she nineteen. They couldn't wait to start a family, as so many young couples do. In her, he had found the joy that he had lost only four years before when his parents had been killed in an accident. They'd been gloriously happy, but then things had gone wrong, tearing him from his world, and thrusting him into one not of his own making.
Camille had been so beautiful, and he had little doubt that she still was. Her hair had been the color of sun-dried wheat and her eyes as blue as the sky on a warm, spring day. Her skin was golden and supple, like dewy silk to the touch. Her body had been one that could give a dead man a hard-on, with full breasts and a small waist that led to the soft curve of her hips. Were her lips still as red? Were her eyes still as bright?
Yes
, he thought,
she's still beautiful
. As for himself, he hadn't changed much in the ensuing years since his "death". His hair was still the color of darkest night -- untouched by gray after all he'd been through. His eyes were still as black as ever, and he used them to intimidate his enemies when necessary. He still had hard, athletic muscles that covered his six-foot, three-inch frame, and he was blessed with the physical strength that had carried him through life. Looking in the car mirror, however, he could see that his face had hardened, had lost its easy friendliness. Perhaps he had changed more than he realized.
Niko waited at the door of the campground administration office for thirty minutes before someone finally drove up to open the grounds for the day. He checked his disguise before the person could approach, making sure that his beat-up fishing hat was in place, and that he looked sufficiently enthusiastic about making the big catch from the various lake species available at these particular sporting grounds. For all intents and purposes, he was just another urban professional out for a long weekend of solitude and sport.
He watched as a young woman got out of the red sedan that had just pulled in, a set of keys in her hand. She slowed as she approached the door, eyeing him from under batting lashes. From the expression on her face, he could tell she liked what she saw, as most women often did. Over the past eight years he had gotten to the point of ignoring such lustful glances because, as so many of them were, this woman was beautiful, but she was no Camille.
With an easy smile on his face, Niko tipped his hat to the woman, waiting for her to unlock the building that housed the office. He hated the light banter he had to make as he registered, but it was all part of the game. Keep people relaxed, keep them off their guard and they'd not be suspicious of him. He had to be part of the landscape, just another friendly face in the crowd, blending with all the other tourists.
He'd chosen a campsite far away from everyone else, telling the receptionist that he wanted a quieter spot to fish. She wished him luck as she handed him his ticket, letting her fingers linger over the palm of his hand. As he had done so many times in the past, he merely smiled and let her see the gold band that encircled the third finger of his left hand. To him, that ring was a bond, one that should not be broken.
It did not take him long to set up his small tent, fix himself a sandwich and crawl in to sleep. He was bone-weary, too tired to focus anymore. His eyes felt like they were embedded with sand, his head leaden on his shoulders. He'd been traveling for three nights, too many nights of sleeping on the hard ground. Soon, he told himself, as he pulled the shining Smith & Wesson Model 19 .357 Magnum from its holster and tucked it under the edge of his sleeping bag, soon he would be seeing his Camille.
***
Chapter 1
Niko Pavli pulled his nondescript Chevy Impala to a stop, a safe distance down the street from what used to be his home. His first inclination was to pull into the drive, tear open the front door and announce that he was home. That was a foolhardy notion, at best, and suicide at worst.
He had managed to keep tabs on her, to a certain extent, through his contacts in the Company, and other sources, but all he really knew was that Camille had refused to accept the police report presuming her husband to be dead, still bore his name. He also knew that she still lived at 2344 Briar Road, even after all these years. Beyond that, he had no way of knowing what was going on in her life or in her mind.
He looked through the lens of the little monocular that he'd brought with him, searching the windows of the small house. It was late, nearly 11:30, but he could detect movement silhouetted through the sheers that covered the glass. His pulse began to race when he realized that she was in there, still awake -- if only he could see her clearly.
Niko was just about to open the car, go to the house and announce his presence when the door opened. Camille looked golden and beautiful as she stepped into the light that flooded over the floor of the front porch from the open doorway. The expression on her face was wistful, soft, with a slight smile that curved her strawberry-colored lips. She hadn't changed a bit, still beautiful, still supremely bewitching. Her hair was shorter, reaching just past her shoulders, but she was still the same woman he had last seen standing on that very spot.
He opened his car door, stepping out onto the street. There was a tightening in his chest -- and his groin -- as he contemplated how best to approach. He'd tried to remain true to his marriage vows while he was away, only sampling precious few of the offers he had been given by the women he'd met along the way -- and only when the need was more than he could bear. None of them had compared to his Camille and had left him feeling empty, fulfilling only the most base of physical needs.
This woman, who stood so gracefully in the lamplight -- only she could fulfill the need that stirred in him. He took his first step, freezing in his tracks when he saw her turn to face the door again. The curve of her face, angling upward as if to greet someone, lifted in a deepening smile. Even from this distance, he could see the glow in her eyes as a man walked outside to stand just inches in front of her. Niko saw his wife lift her arms, wrapping them around the man's neck, as she stood on her toes to receive his kiss.
White-hot pain, like that of a glistening knife blade slicing through his flesh, hit him in the chest, nearly knocking the wind out of him. He felt the rage building, his fists clenching at his sides. Never had he wanted to kill anyone the way he wanted to kill someone at this moment. Blood rushed through his veins, roaring in his ears, as he fought against the fury that threatened to consume him.
"Let it go, buddy."
So caught up was he in the madness that consumed his mind, he'd not heard the voice that spoke so low. When a hand clutched his shoulder from behind, he whirled around, ready to butcher whomever it belonged to.
The man's hands went straight up, palms out in front of him. "Easy, Niko. It's me. Just relax."
Niko's jaw was clenched, it's muscles protruding outward under the strain as he glared at his friend and partner. "How'd you find me?" he ground out.
"Easy. You have a one-track mind. When you disappeared it was just a matter of putting two and two together. I've been here waiting for you."
Niko wheeled back around, watching the scene in front of the house. His sweet wife was waving to the man as he walked toward the car in the drive. She was blowing him kisses and calling out that she loved him.
"I know what's going through that head of yours, old pal. Just let it go. She has a new life now. What did you expect after eight years? You need to cool that hot Greek blood of yours before you do something stupid."
"Fuck you, Olan. Fuck you all to hell," Niko hissed. Knowing that what Olan Jeffreys told him was true didn't help much.
"Let's get out of here before someone sees you, pal," Olan urged. "You know this is madness."
Niko turned on his friend again, facing him with a defensive posture, daring him to interfere. "Eight years, you son of a bitch. Eight years gone. You all fucking lied to me," he growled.
"Niko, nothing I say will change a goddamn thing, but, for what it's worth, I never lied. I believed them, too. Now, come on," Olan returned, his arm stretching out to Niko. "Let's get out of here before it's too late."
"No."
Niko spun around, his long, powerful legs eating up the ground before him in ever-quickening strides. Within moments he was stepping onto the floorboards of the front porch where Camille had been standing mere minutes before. He heard Olan's running footsteps coming up behind him, knew the man would try again to stop him. As Niko raised his clenched fist to knock on the door, his friend grabbed his arm and pulled him around.
With little effort, Niko shook off the smaller man, facing him again, with all the wrath he felt burning in his eyes. "Get back, goddamn it. I don't want to hurt you, Olan, but, by God, I'll pound the living shit out of you if you don't stay back."
"Yeah, you could do that," Olan said slowly. "You could beat me to a pulp and leave me bleeding in the dirt, but think, man. How's she gonna feel seeing you after all this time?"
