Janus

Janus: Choice 1

The sacrifice is justified, I tell myself.

My wife’s face, reflected in the windscreen, is so like her brother’s. In the passenger seat, she stares at the lighted windows of our home as if they’re a lost paradise. As our gates swing open, one tear, just one, rolls down my cheek; the side furthest from her, the side she doesn’t see.

Sofia stares out of the window, her eyes seeing nothing. Some decisions leave scars that never fade, not on your skin, but on your soul. I catch a glimpse of my own eyes in the rearview mirror, and wonder who I am, who I’ve become.

The motorway lights blink; fireflies, burnt bridges, portents. The journey lasts forever and no time.

The night air is icy, the taint of death on it. My feet find their way somehow, even while my mind is reeling. Sofia takes my hand, and my fingers are stiff and heavy with the weight of their guilt. I feel nothing but cold.

The building’s anonymous façade looms over us, monstrous, impassive, chilling. Frankie is concealed in its long-reaching shadows, like a guilty secret, waiting to come to light. This night’s midnight is the reckoning that’s been coming for months, years. I realise I had hoped, until the last, that things might go differently, that this final, desperate meeting might end their feud without more blood. I was a fool.

Sofia walks at my side in silence down the corridor. In this moment, words are as dangerous as any weapon.

’Til death, we said; I’ll stand by your side ’til death. I made the same vow to both of them, never dreaming it would be impossible to keep. Frankie was my blood brother, and I married his sister, Sofia, the love of my life. People called us a gang, but we were just kids, growing up on the backstreets, always hungry, always afraid. It used to be survival, family. How have the years brought us to this?

For a heartbeat, in the doorway, I am paralysed by the weight of my betrayal, by the choice I’ve been forced to by the two people I love most in the world. The payment’s finally come due.

He will be like this for eternity in my mind now, frozen forever in this room, this killing room; the boy he was, the man he has become. Then his eyes find mine, and he knows; he understands the depth of my sacrifice. Frankie’s face twists in pain, and for a breath we’re boys again, fighting in the street.

My fingers, clasped around the handle of the gun, are dead things. The sound of the single shot hangs in the air, as though time has stopped. She did not think it would be me who ended it, never imagined that I would, that I could. “This is your choice?” Sofia’s eyes ask me, unbelieving. Her face is white with shock, her hand, still on her own weapon, useless now. The sight will stay with me in dreams, in nightmares, always. The bullet tears through flesh and crimson blossoms across the floor in a pool.

My choice is made.

I pause at the door for a moment, etching it on my memory. The room where my loyalty, my betrayal, will be written in blood, forever. I will be able to recall every detail on my deathbed. My eyes linger on the grey walls, the dim, nondescript gloom. It seems so ordinary, so unimportant. I hesitate, my feet not trusting the solid normality of the bare concrete.

Their eyes find each other’s one last time, brother and sister; a leave taking, a reckoning. Neither of them looks at me. Finally, the plots and the subterfuge are laid bare. This room is where it all ends.

There would have been forgiveness, once, but those days are gone. Everything else has been burned away. The family business; power struggles, secrets. Their love, their hatred, have consumed us. Siblings, rivals, deadly enemies, and me, caught in the middle, paying the price.

Frankie’s arm is heavy around my shoulders, a weight too great to bear, as our footsteps echo down the shadowed corridor. We say nothing. We are both imagining her, alone in the darkness, her cold fingers clasping her gun. Sofia’s absence is an accusation sealed in blood.

It is snowing, I realise; the pure, white flakes falling through darkness like a half-forgotten memory of innocence.

There will be no going back, no peace for me now, not ever. I know what it means, this choice. I made a promise, a vow, and tonight, it’s shattered to pieces. The deepest betrayal. The car door slams, marking something irrevocable.

The last chimes ring out, ushering in January, month of Janus, the god of endings and beginnings. Betrayal and deception. I know what it is to be a man torn in two.

Janus: Choice 2

I know what it is to be a man torn in two. Betrayal and deception. The last chimes ring out, ushering in January, month of Janus, the god of endings and beginnings.

The car door slams, marking something irrevocable. The deepest betrayal. I made a promise, a vow, and tonight, it’s shattered to pieces. I know what it means, this choice. There will be no going back, no peace for me now, not ever.

It is snowing, I realise; the pure, white flakes falling through darkness like a half-forgotten memory of innocence.

Sofia’s absence is an accusation sealed in blood. We are both imagining her, alone in the darkness, her cold fingers clasping her gun. We say nothing. Frankie’s arm is heavy around my shoulders, a weight too great to bear, as our footsteps echo down the shadowed corridor.

Siblings, rivals, deadly enemies, and me, caught in the middle, paying the price. Their love, their hatred, have consumed us. The family business; power struggles, secrets. Everything else has been burned away. There would have been forgiveness, once, but those days are gone.

This room is where it all ends. Finally, the plots and the subterfuge are laid bare. Neither of them looks at me. Their eyes find each other’s one last time, brother and sister; a leave taking, a reckoning.

I hesitate, my feet not trusting the solid normality of the bare concrete. It seems so ordinary, so unimportant. My eyes linger on the grey walls, the dim, nondescript gloom. I will be able to recall every detail on my deathbed. The room where my loyalty, my betrayal, will be written in blood, forever. I pause at the door for a moment, etching it on my memory.

My choice is made.

The bullet tears through flesh and crimson blossoms across the floor in a pool. The sight will stay with me in dreams, in nightmares, always. She did not think it would be me who ended it, never imagined that I would, that I could. “This is your choice?” Sofia’s eyes ask me, unbelieving. Her face is white with shock, her hand, still on her own weapon, useless now. The sound of the single shot hangs in the air, as though time has stopped. My fingers, clasped around the handle of the gun, are dead things.

Frankie’s face twists in pain, and for a breath we’re boys again, fighting in the street. Then his eyes find mine, and he knows; he understands the depth of my sacrifice. He will be like this for eternity in my mind now, frozen forever in this room, this killing room; the boy he was, the man he has become.

The payment’s finally come due. For a heartbeat, in the doorway, I am paralysed by the weight of my betrayal, by the choice I’ve been forced to by the two people I love most in the world.

How have the years brought us to this? It used to be survival, family. People called us a gang, but we were just kids, growing up on the backstreets, always hungry, always afraid. Frankie was my blood brother, and I married his sister, Sofia, the love of my life. I made the same vow to both of them, never dreaming it would be impossible to keep. ’Til death, we said; I’ll stand by your side ’til death.

In this moment, words are as dangerous as any weapon. Sofia walks at my side in silence down the corridor.

I was a fool. I realise I had hoped, until the last, that things might go differently, that this final, desperate meeting might end their feud without more blood. This night’s midnight is the reckoning that’s been coming for months, years. Frankie is concealed in its long-reaching shadows, like a guilty secret, waiting to come to light. The building’s anonymous façade looms over us, monstrous, impassive, chilling.

I feel nothing but cold. Sofia takes my hand, and my fingers are stiff and heavy with the weight of their guilt. My feet find their way somehow, even while my mind is reeling. The night air is icy, the taint of death on it.

The journey lasts forever and no time. The motorway lights blink; fireflies, burnt bridges, portents.

I catch a glimpse of my own eyes in the rearview mirror, and wonder who I am, who I’ve become. Some decisions leave scars that never fade, not on your skin, but on your soul. Sofia stares out of the window, her eyes seeing nothing.

As our gates swing open, one tear, just one, rolls down my cheek; the side furthest from her, the side she doesn’t see. In the passenger seat, she stares at the lighted windows of our home as if they’re a lost paradise. My wife’s face, reflected in the windscreen, is so like her brother’s.

The sacrifice is justified, I tell myself.