Heartkiller

Tuesday, December 17, 2013 (cont’d)

Ville sat back in his seat, clearly taken aback by the memory. He blew out some air, but remained still otherwise. Dr. Ashbury waited patiently for him to respond. Her eyes shifted from the pensive look in his eyes to his slightly parted mouth as he tried to express himself.

In truth, he didn't know how he felt. These were the answers he had been wanting for the past month and a half, but now that he had them, he didn't know what to think. For some reason, he expected this to make him accept Avery's death, but the memory made the fact no less jarring than it had been before. Now he remembered their last moments, and he knew the last words they'd spoken. Even in the midst of their tense argument, they had realized that the accident could change everything. At that point, it no longer mattered that Avery was annoyed by his smoking habits or that Ville dismissed her concerns so easily. They loved each other, and that's what was important.

Suddenly, he stood up. "I should go."

"No, Ville, stay. Let's talk about this. Let's--"

"No, we can't talk about it. Not now, at least. My session finished fifteen minutes ago and anyway, this is all... A bit too fresh for me to respond at the moment. Next time."

"Are you sure there will be a 'next time?'" she clarified. She knew how he felt about her, and she doubted that he would be willing to come back to therapy now that Ville had gotten what he wanted.

Ville hesitated, unwilling to commit himself to another session. He couldn't say how he'd feel about it next week. All that was on his mind right now was Avery and what had happened that night. Without a response, he reached for the door and left the therapist's office. When he got to the streets, the other New Yorkers brushed past his still form, which stood mesmerized in the middle of the sidewalk. His palms were shaking with nerves, and he swallowed hard. A tentative hand reached into his coat pocket to pull out his box of cigarettes. He placed one into his mouth and flicked the lighter. He paused. The flame burned in front of his face, mere centimeters from the cigarette, but he couldn't light it. Slowly, he slipped the lighter back into his pocket and dropped the fresh cigarette to the floor. He couldn't do it. That was the thing that had sparked an argument, the last conversation with his wife. Ville needed a smoke to calm his nerves, but it was just too soon to try. The irony was scathing.

He started walking, letting his feet move with a mind of their own, allowing him to dwell on everything he had just discovered. Though he was comforted to know that the couple had put aside their differences at issue in Avery's last moments, he simply couldn't swallow the idea that she had been pregnant. A chance for a baby in their lives--well, that's all they had hoped for. To know that that was no longer a possibility compounded with the rest of the memory of that night, which itself had reignited her passing, was hard to accept.

As he thought about the ramifications of the night, of the memory, and of the truth, Ville ignored reality. He didn't notice the people that were crowded next to him or the winter spirit. He was far too focused on the idea of being able to hold his child and the possibilities of what could have been. So much so that he didn't pay attention to the passing traffic or that he was at the edge of a curb; he started to cross the street into oncoming traffic, and the honking cars weren’t enough to stir him from his daydream. Ville felt a sharp force in his chest, pushing him back to safety on the sidewalk. The moment brought him out of his reverie as he realized what had almost happened. Ville had been so careless as to nearly get run over! He inhaled the unmistakable scent of pure jasmine flowers. He looked around, turning behind him even, but couldn't see any flowers nearby. He shook his head. It was all getting to his head, and he didn't trust himself to focus on the streets as he walked home. He opted to catch a cab. He hailed a taxi that quickly came to a stop in front of him, and he got inside.

"Uh, 56th and Park Avenue, please." he told the driver.

The car pushed forward, and he relaxed his posture in his seat. Ville didn't know whether to be happy or upset. He was glad to have remembered what had happened that night. He had the answers to quell the haunting sense in the back of his throat, one that he feared would stay with him forever unless he understood the circumstances of the accident. However, at what expense had he gleaned this information? Whether it was the uneasiness of knowing that they had been fighting or the discomfort to know that they were having a baby, the whole thing had raised more questions than it had answered.

Realizing that they were fighting over his habits--bad habits that he needed to break, indeed--was not what he had expected. If he had known that she was pregnant and that she was trying to protect the baby, then maybe he could have complied with her requests. Although he couldn’t have prevented the pickup truck from slamming into them, he could have at least changed the circumstances of their last interaction. If he had just listened to what she was saying, they might not have been fighting. Then again, why didn't Avery tell him that she was pregnant? That's not something he would have forgotten if she had indeed told him. She was wrong, too, for keeping that from him.

When he got into the apartment, he slumped down on the couch. His face fell into his hands. He wanted to cry. He wanted to dispel the feeling in some physical manifestation so that he could at least be certain that he could still feel. Ville pulled the box of cigarettes from his coat pocket and tossed it on the table to join the beer cans. He bit his tongue. He had had a few beers weeks ago on tour, so long ago, in fact, that he had entirely forgotten that he had succumbed to the vice then. He groaned in disbelief and gathered the empty cans. He went to the fridge and pulled out the rest of the pack, stuffing them all into a plastic bag.

Without a second thought, he left the apartment and threw the bag down the garbage chute at the end of the hall. He stood and waited for a few minutes, not sure what he was expecting. He could hear the bag clunk against the side of the chute for a few floors, but then it was gone. Silently, he returned to the apartment. Out of sight, out of mind. He couldn’t take another sip of alcohol ever again. He knew it was wrong; it was wrong to have been drinking on tour and it was wrong to drink away his sorrow now. Ville couldn’t self-medicate like that.

Ville went to the sink and washed his hands. Once he dried them, he started to strip off the layers of clothing. The coats, beanie and scarf trailed his way to the bedroom where he flopped onto the bed. He crawled underneath the covers and into the fetal position to comfort himself. He lay still. Thinking. Wondering. Hoping. There wasn’t much he could do now. He had the answers he’d been begging for. He had the peace of mind to know that the couple had ended things as happily as they could, mending the damage done by the fight. But other than that, he was at a loss for words.

He didn’t know what to do anymore. Ville thought it would help him grieve. He expected the events of the night to provide him with some context, but truthfully, he shouldn’t have expected it to be a magical cure-all to his heartache. Other than answers, what could the night really have told him? That she was alive after all, that this was some sick, twisted nightmare? That was wishful thinking, and he should have known from the beginning that it was unlikely to have ended that way.

For now, all he could do was close his eyes and relive those moments. It had been an otherwise perfect night that he could commit to memory. He could see her one last time in the screen behind his eyelids, and he could hold her in his arms as they walked through the cold night. He had the pictures that they’d taken and the conversation in the park. He even had the knowledge that they had been pregnant, which, though he was unable to do anything about it, provided some comfort to know that Avery had the chance to believe in herself again. The miscarriage had destroyed her spirits, and becoming pregnant again was the only thing that could instil her faith that she was good enough.

Suddenly, Ville sat upright. The painting. He threw the covers off of himself and went to the study. The memory had given him a new context with which to see the changes in the room. Ville turned on the light in the room this time, allowing him to see the details more precisely. The butterfly that she had drawn so beautifully broke out of the cocoon. The lines were still faint and the color muted, but the message was clear. Rebirth. Of course! Why couldn’t he see that so clearly before? That's what she was doing: preparing for a baby. She was relishing the second chance that they had been granted, and he smiled, knowing that she was finding the strength within herself again.

He walked further into the study and looked at all that was missing: a bookshelf and most of the law books. Her desk and other furniture had been pushed against one wall. Ville ran his hand along the empty bookshelf until he ran into two cardboard boxes. With his brow cocked, he peered inside. One had paint supplies and a clear plastic sheet, which she had used to protect the floor while she painted. The other box was far more interesting.

First, Ville pulled out a little book no bigger than his hand. The cover was labelled "Months 1-3" in Avery's neat handwriting, and he opened it to see a photograph of Avery facing the left side of the frame with her stomach uncovered. The back of the photo read “9/5/13: the day I found out,” and her smile was just barely in the picture while her chestnut mane flowed down her back. He turned the page, and the next photograph didn't look very different; she was in the same pose and her body hadn't changed very much. It was dated the next day, and, after looking through a few more pictures, Ville quickly realized that it was a flipbook.

He held the stack of pages under his right thumb and flipped through the pages to see her baby bump grow right before his eyes. The last photograph was at the end of the third month of the pregnancy and was taken the day Ville had come home. That was the way she looked that fateful night, he could see. Her bump was hardly noticeable, but it was definitely there. A broad smile spread across his face and he flipped through the pages again. And again. And again. It wasn't enough. He chuckled as he pictured her preparing the book excitedly, stooped over the photographs strewn over the floor. Avery would have had a ball putting it together.

With his left hand tightly clutching onto the flipbook, he reached inside the box and pulled out another book. This one was bigger, like a journal. He opened it and took out a piece of loose-leaf paper that was slipped on top of the first page. It had been folded three or four times, and he unraveled it to read the message:

Dear Ville,

I'm not sure if I'll even end up giving this to you. I suppose that if you're reading this, I have explained everything to you, but more importantly, we've made it through the first trimester.

The writing wavered a little, and Ville imagined her to wipe away a tear as the magnitude of her words set in. She had to weather through.

I hope that when you're reading this, you and I are still on good terms. I haven’t thought this plan through all the way, so I don't know how things will end up. I don't know if it's the right thing, I really don't. I hope it is. I hope that you and I are together as you're reading through these words. I hope that you've forgiven me for keeping it from you.

I won't lose this one, Ville. I don’t know if I’ll be a good mother or if I’ll be able to do anything right, but I won’t lose this baby. I promise.

Avery

Before he even finished reading the message, Ville was brushing away tears. There was all this secrecy surrounding the pregnancy all just to protect him. It was just like he was hiding the drinking from her: to protect her. He knew that he could handle a drink or two; he wouldn’t slip back into the toxic lifestyle from before, but he didn’t want Avery to worry about him. It seems that his wife had the same idea in mind: she didn’t want to hurt him any more than he had been. Ville swallowed hard, preparing himself for the entries ahead. He put the paper aside and started to read the first page of the journal.

Dear Ville,

We finally spoke tonight after what seems like an eternity, as cheesy as that sounds. It’s only been about two weeks since the last time we were able to have a chat, so not very long. You told me about how the tour was going, the adventures you’ve been on, and the hijinks you’re pulling; I was glad to hear it all. I was supposed to tell you something important tonight. Hell, it's been a week since I found out, and I should have called you the minute I did.

We're pregnant again. Sweetheart, there's nothing I've wanted more in my life than this. I can't believe we're getting a second chance.

I was gonna tell you tonight, I was. But when it came down to it, when you asked me what was going on in my life, I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. I deflected. I told you about this case I’m working on, which isn’t even a big deal. It didn't matter. I should have told you tonight.

I'm sorry, doll, but I couldn't do it. I'm really excited to tell you that we have a second chance, but then again, that's all it is: a chance. What if I fuck things up again? The first time we went through it, it was simply unbearable. It pushed our limits and we didn’t think we were gonna make it. We did make it, though, because we had each other. But a second time?

I'm going to wait to tell you. I don't know how long, but I want to wait until I feel better about this.

I hope you’ll understand.
Avery

Ville continued to read through the entries. He pored through the pages and pages that his wife had written over the past few months. He learned everything that she had learned whenever she went in for a doctor’s appointment. She had even glued the sonograms to the pages to make it feel like he was really there, going on the journey with her. It worked. He got lost in the pages, and he momentarily forgot about the ending. All he knew were the words on the page, telling him what was going on with her and with the baby.

Avery was trying really hard to make sure things went well. She was taking on jobs that she was much too qualified for because she knew it meant less stress for the baby. She was eating healthy, and she was researching. She was doing things better this time because she so truly believed that what happened the first time was her fault. By the end of it, Ville was on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest and tears streaming down his face as he read everything that she’d done for him.

V,

You’re coming home today, and I can’t wait to see you. I’ve missed you so dearly over the past few months! I’m so excited to tell you about the baby when you’re here, and I hope you take it well. I know that it’s wrong for me to have kept it a secret, but I hope you know that I was only trying to protect you. I don’t know how things will go; I hope that you’ll hear everything I have to say. If you’re mad at me, I’d understand. I wouldn’t blame you.

That’s what all this is for: the photographs, this journal, everything. If you don’t take it well, if you don’t want to talk to me, you can at least see these things and read what I have to say. I hope that it will make you realize that I did this with the best of intentions. Whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here. Always.

I love you,
Ave.

Ville breathed an exasperated sigh and closed the journal. He ran his hand through his hair, which was long overdue for a haircut, and leaned his head against the bookshelf. With his eyes closed, he huffed as he thought about everything he’d just read. It incited a whirlwind of emotions, and he didn’t know where to begin. This day itself was hard to swallow. He remembered everything from that night, something he’d been waiting to happen for several weeks, and he learned all the details of his wife’s pregnancy. He couldn’t have imagined something like that, and frankly, he didn't know how to process it.

One thing was for certain: he needed to see Avery. He needed to be near her. Ville stood and returned the items to the box before briskly walking back to the living room. He put the layers of clothing back on to venture into the December cold outside. With his phone and keys in his pocket, he hurriedly walked out of the apartment. When he reached the streets of New York, he wandered in the direction of the cemetery where Avery was buried.

It wasn’t a far walk, and even so, the thoughts consuming his mind were enough to make the time go by. He was careful this time to watch the road and the oncoming traffic. The cemetery was in a quieter part of town, though the cars still sped by and the people still roamed the sidewalks. He walked through the iron-wrought gates and up the pathway. There was a light blanket of snow that covered the floor, causing the smaller gravestones to barely peek through. His feet led him to where Avery was buried; he knew his way this time.

“Hey, Mrs. Valo.” he greeted with a half-smirk.

He showed up empty-handed, though heavy-hearted, to this visit. The gravestone had some snowflakes covering it, and he brushed them aside to reveal the inscription: Here lies Avery Louise Valo, beloved daughter and wife. Wife. The word rung in his ears.

“I know it doesn't make much of a difference now, but we may have been wrong about therapy… “ Ville started off light, easing himself into this one-sided conversation. “I've been going to see this psychologist, or therapist or whatever, for the past few weeks to help me cope with you being gone. It's difficult not having you here, you know? Anyway, it’s, uh, not easy and it’s certainly not the most comfortable thing to tell a stranger about your life, but… I don’t know. You learn things, and it’s been helpful.” He quickly added, “Somewhat.”

He fell to his knees to make himself more comfortable, sitting next to the grave. He sat cross-legged with his hand over his knees. In essence, this was just a cathartic mode of expression. He wasn't crazy: he knew that Avery couldn't hear him, much less respond. This was just his way of dealing with everything. This is all he knew how to do. Ville needed to get it out of his system.

“Avie..” His mood was heavy now. “A baby? I know that you tried your best to explain, you know, why you decided to keep it from me. I’m not upset, not for keeping it a secret, at least. I’m… I don’t know. I’m a little miffed that you wanted to take it all upon yourself if something had gone wrong. Darling…” he ran a hand over his face. “Why didn’t you want me there for you? I’m your husband. I would never want you to go through such pain by yourself. Wha--”

Ville caught himself. He didn't want to break down in tears, though it was difficult to understand where Avery was coming from. Ville wanted to calm down. For a few minutes, he sat there playing with the snow, making snowballs and tossing it between his hands. When he felt ready, he started again.

"You can't use my drinking as an excuse because you didn't even know about that until that night, I'm guessing. You can't say that you didn't want to exacerbate that situation when you didn't even know about it. You made your decision weeks before that, and.... I just don't get it. You would be alone. I mean, fuck, you were alone for the whole pregnancy, and I can't imagine how difficult that must have been to take care of yourself." He smirked. "Why must you insist on being independent, sweetheart?"

He looked down, having said everything on his mind. Without her here to answer his pleas, there wasn't much else he could do now. Ville looked up at the inscription again. Here lies Avery Louise Valo, beloved daughter and wife. A wife means a life partner, someone to stick by you through all the struggles. A husband was for the same. They needed to lean on each other for support, and both of them had messed that up.

“I’m sorry, doll.” he ran his tongue over his dry lips.

It was an all-encompassing apology. I’m sorry for fighting with you that night, I’m sorry for putting such a heavy burden on you, I’m sorry that things are like this. Ville sat there for a few more minutes as he wondered if he had anything else to say. He played with the snow and built mini little snowmen. One for Avery. One for Ville. One for baby. They weren't very big; they would get muddled by fresh snow by the end of the day. After half an hour or so, the biting wind was too much to bear. Ville stood and kissed his hand, pressing his fingers to the gravestone to transfer the sentiment.

“Goodbye, Avery Louise.” he said and started walking away.

As he walked on the pavement toward the exit of the cemetery, Ville closed his eyes and thought. He was so stuck in his head about it all, knowing that Avery had been alone through this. He suddenly pulled out his phone, wanting to check something. Maybe she didn’t have him, but it was possible that Avery had someone in her life to help her with things. His hand dialed the number quickly, and he blew out a bit of air as he waited for an answer.

“Hello?”

“Did you know?” he asked without so much as introducing himself.

“Ville?” came her confused voice. “What are you talking about? Know what?”

“Tell me, Paige. Did you know that she was pregnant?” He paused to clarify. “That Avery was pregnant?”

She gasped. “She--she was pregnant? I’m so sorry. No, no, I didn’t know.”

"Okay." Ville stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and breathed deeply, allowing her answer to sink in. Avery truly had been alone, after all.

“How did you find out?”

Her voice brought him back to reality, and though he didn’t hear her question, he did remember their last interaction. Ville was embarrassed not only for what he did but also for speaking to her now as though nothing had happened. He kicked at the snow, “I, uh, I’m sorry, by the way, about how I treated you. It was wrong--”

“You don’t have to apologize, Ville.” she spoke softly. “I knew your state of mind and I shouldn’t have come there to stir the pot. You had enough going on.”

“It doesn’t matter. It was still wrong for me to behave like that, and I sincerely apologize for what I did. You’re a person, not a… " he stopped, ending that train of thought. "Anyway, I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

“Um, apology accepted.”

“How are you? Are you working things out?” he asked as he continued his trek home.

“Well, I’ve started the divorce proceedings. It’s a long process, and you know… that’s--that’s what’s happening. I explained everything to my family and things went better than I expected. They, uh, they were on my side and they’ve completely written him off. I got a place on the Upper East Side, so, um… yeah. Things are… working.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

“What about you?” she cleared her throat. “How are you doing?”

“Better.” The response slipped out before he even realized. “Better than the last time we spoke, at least.”

“Are you… ‘working things out?’”

“‘It’s a long process.’” he repeated. “But I’m getting there, bit by bit.”

“That’s good. That’s good.” she paused. “I should go.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

“Bye, then.” she said solemnly.

“Thanks, Paige. I don't think I ever told you that, but thanks.”

“For what?”

“For being there. I, uh, I’ve kind of pushed people away during all this, but I appreciate that you stuck through to help me, you know, with the funeral and everything since then.”

“Of course. You’re welcome. Besides, I was only doing what Avery would have wanted.”

“Well, thank you. Bye.”

“Yeah, bye. Take care.”

“You too.”

Friday, December 20, 2013

By the time Ville woke up on Friday morning, he felt like a new person. The apartment had been cleaned of the mess he’d made over the past two months. He took out the trash and freshened up the place so that it no longer reeked. He hadn’t finished grieving and he certainly wasn’t happy again, but he was getting there. He was deeply affected by everything that he’d learned on Tuesday. Not knowing what else to do with the information, he let it sit with him. He let the facts fester in the back of his mind until he could process it and do something active. He did, however, need to tell his family everything. He’d waited almost two months, and that was more than long enough.

Ville adjusted the scarf around his neck and opened the door, walking into the therapist’s office. It was unusual for him to go to see Dr. Ashbury on a Friday, especially given that he didn’t have an appointment, but he needed help. Adamant as ever, he was unwilling to change his stance on therapy, but he had to admit that Dr. Ashbury had helped him recover his memories. Besides, he’d made a deal with Seppo.

When he reached the receptionist’s desk, Jenna was standing there talking to David about some reports that needed to be sent out. At the sound of footsteps, she looked up.

“Ville, you’re here.” Dr. Ashbury said, barely hiding her surprise. She didn’t think that she’d ever see Ville again, much less in as good a shape as he seemed to be in now. His hair had been cut, though curls still peeked out from his dark gray beanie, and the color was slowly returning to his face. He was wearing a dress shirt and slacks with a blazer and scarf; though it was usual attire for Ville, he hadn’t worn anything but a band tee and jeans for the past few weeks. He looked dapper.

“Yeah. I, uh, I know I don’t have an appointment for today, but I’m flying to Finland this weekend to see my parents.” he paused and looked at her. The desperation was written clearly on his face. “I just need to talk to someone.”

She gave a small smile. “Come in.”