Aurora’s Letters
Illustration by RK Tiu
A bouquet of twelve lilies lay on his desk.
I never knew Regulus Cavalcanti loves little things like this. Behind the desk, the ruthless mob boss Cavalcanti sits, slightly slouching on the large cushioned chair. His wrinkled hands are drooping on the armchairs, hazel baggy eyes staring directly to mine.
“What do I owe you now, detective?” asks he in his wispy voice.
Owe me. The nerve. If my superiors aren’t as corrupt, I’d have him incarcerated a few years back, but that ain’t my business tonight. “I need this woman’s whereabouts.” I lay down a brown envelope on the table. “She’s been missing for almost a year, and the government ain’t too happy about her being loose.”
Cavalcanti slowly reaches for the envelope, and removes the single photo inside. He looks at it, his eyes becoming teary from its blank smugness just some moments ago. “Aurora.”
“Yes,” I begin. “I got no time for nonsense here. Aurora Brown’s last seen almost two years ago, and we know she’d been working for ya, Cavalcanti.” I leaned in closer. “And we know what your kind does with the dolls you’re tired of playing with.”
Cavalcanti’s eyes, still a tad weepy, looks sharply at mine. “She was no doll of mine. She was like my granddaughter.” The old boss puts the photo atop the desk.
I gotta concede though. The way he reacts to the photo is different. Others lusted at the sight of her full lips. Her amber locks flowing over her shoulders inspired many fantasies, and those eyes, those emerald eyes belong to a goddess.
But Cavalcanti’s different. He looks at the photo again in silence. He tells me in his thin wavering voice, “She always did her job well, detective. Kill those gangsters from the ghetto. Done. Kill ole man Guido for breaking a contract. Done. Send Senator Smithson a warning. Done, with the finger of his wife.”
Cavalcanti looks out the window. “Two years ago, she disappeared from my family’s clutch. As her nonno, of course, I’d worry. Where was my Aurora? I asked my men to look for her, every nook and cranny on the streets. Then around this time last year, she arrived here. Crying. Wishing for something. My poor Aurora.”
The old man pauses. I’m on the edge of my seat now. Did he have her killed? Where was the corpse now? If Regulus’s a star, a blood sacrifice’s always around the corner for every wish.
Mob boss Cavalcanti opens a drawer from his side of the desk, and hands five small envelopes to me. “She was secretly a romantic, thinking handwritten letters spoke to and from the heart more than messages over your emails. Take them,” he says. “I may not be the most merciful of the bosses here, but I cannot bear hurting my little Aurora.”
I leave, peeking through the door before closing it entirely. Cavalcanti ain’t facing the desk no more, instead looking out the large window behind him. The ruthless man ain’t too ruthless tonight.
As I get home, I spend the night reading the letters. Regulus Cavalcanti that night was different. One mystery over another. Maybe just a clue in these letters though, to unravel the whole thread.
Dec. 8, 2015
Dear nonno,
I thank you for welcoming me back, and I thank you for letting me go just as well. I am now with Nate and James. I never expected them to hug me as tightly as they did when they saw me; I always thought their sweet side ran away with their childhood.
We’re in Italy now, a little tired from our trip. Thank you for arranging those papers for us. Tomorrow, we’ll go to the Vatican. I’m excited! I’ll be seeing the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa, dreaming that it’s as beautiful as it is in your pictures.
This is it for now. Take care, nonno.
Love,
Aurora
Dec. 18, 2015
Dear nonno,
It’s beautiful here, and you’re right! Bernini’s masterpiece is indeed breathtaking. My brothers and I strolled in Saint Peter’s Square for quite a while yesterday. I never found my faith, but I did find my peace. For once, I’m not running away.
Then each night here, my brothers somehow become eight again. It’s funny. Tough guys in the morning, cuddling their sister’s arms when they sleep. Never knew how much they’ve grown and how much hasn’t changed. Never knew how much I’ve longed for this moment.
Take care, nonno.
Love,
Aurora
Dec. 23, 2015
Dear nonno,
Nate and James and I decided to stay here for Christmas. Probably with a few glasses of wine from the hotel bar. I heard it’s specially made here.
Since we met, this is the second Christmas I’m not with you, nonno, but I hope you understand. I simply can’t let my brothers meet you just yet and know what I did for a living. Tears have already been shed. I wish for no more this season, even if I’m aware more will come.
I’ll see you in a few days, nonno. I love you.
Love,
Aurora
Dec. 31, 2015
Dear nonno,
I told Nate and James about our family, admitted to them of the people I killed for a living. My brothers hugged me, though. Can you imagine that? The three of us, crying like babies in our hotel room. I will let them meet you, nonno. I ask that you love them as you did me too — without involving them in the family business. This might be my last request.
We’ll be coming home this Jan. 3. Again, I can’t thank you enough for all the good you’ve given me. Let’s talk more once I come back.
Love,
Aurora
The fifth envelope ain’t containing a letter. Instead, in it’s a photograph. Regulus Cavalcanti in the room where I met him earlier. Two young men wrap their arms around each other. One was tall and thin, with slightly large emerald eyes, face beaming a wide grin under a messy mop of amber hair. The other was a bit stockier with a long prominent nose and kempt blond hair, but a smile like the other man and eyes just as green.
Then with the three men is another version of Aurora. She’s barely recognizable with a scarf hiding her bald head and her eyebrows nearly fading. But I ain’t mistaking those emerald eyes for nothing, and her lips are still just as full in her happy smile. Her cheeks, though, they’ve changed. You can see the bones there. Her arms, which look like sticks now, are wrapped around the two young men and Cavalcanti.
I flip the photo. Scribbled there is a date, “Jan. 4, 2016,” and an address.
At about noon the next day, I decide to pay the address a visit, wrapping up this case and finally finding Aurora. Ain’t nobody’s gonna stop me.
A bouquet of twelve lilies lay on her gravestone.
