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This
is a work of fiction, loosely based on the real person, Russell Crowe. No
insult or injury is intended, this story is for entertainment purposes only. This
story is for readers over the age of 18 only, and contains explicit sexual
situations and adult language. The writer is not responsible for any
"discomfort" caused to the reader by this language and these
situations.
Remission by:
©
11/2004 Chapter 10
Being home and doing the things
he loves best have worked wonders for Russell. Not that he's been resting. The
man doesn't know the meaning of the word. He's been working hard on his farm. He
loves to get his hands dirty. "Nothing like de-ticking cows to get the
cobwebs out of your brain." He's given an interview to
Vanity Fair. Great pictures shot by Annie Liebowitz. And he's making music again.
Working hard on a new album. He's even recorded a song with Chrissie Hynde. Mari doesn't see much of him in
the daytime. Sometimes she takes Mischief and rides over. But mostly she leaves
him be. He's not good company when he's working. They are much alike in that
respect. But at night he's all hers. ~*~ Tomorrow is his 39th birthday.
Mari has been helping Jocelyn organizing the party. Not that she really needs
her help. It's just nice to do it together. She has been racking her brain
to come up with a present for him. What do you give a man who has everything?
She's been looking at Panerais watches, guitars, antiques, cars and even a
Harley. But he already has all that. She wants to give him something personal.
Something only she could give him. She'd decided to paint his
portrait. She's been working on it in secret for weeks, using sketches she's
made of him in Rosarito. It's finished and she knows it's the best she's ever
done. It has a very contemporary feel to it. Painted in her typical loose style.
Not a traditional portrait, more of an impression of him, yet very recognizable. It pictures him from the side.
He's leaning over the terrace railing. His face turned toward her, as if she has
just called his name. His powerful upper body with just the right tension. His
face relaxed and happy, expectant....one eyebrow slightly raised as if he's
about to ask her something. Every detail of his beloved face crystal-clear in
the bright sunlight.... She has it framed and locked
away in her studio's secret cabinet. And she's nervous as hell about giving it
to him. ~*~ It's time to go. She's wearing
the black dress he loves so much. She's in the studio, getting his portrait out.
Locking the doors again very carefully. When she turns the blood drains from her
face. He's in the door, looking at her. "Hi luv. What's that? I
never knew you had a cabinet in there." She can't think, falls over her
words. "It's nothing. Just something I keep old paintings in. Jesus! You
made me jump! Don't you know better than to sneak up on people on your
birthday?" She tries to smile. Making it sound light. Holding the big
package behind her back. Something is very wrong here. He
senses it immediately. What the fuck is she hiding in there? He looks at her
inquisitively, decides to let it pass for now. "You ready? Let's go."
She's in a hurry to get out of there. Already halfway to the waiting car. He follows her slowly. ~*~ The party is in full swing.
Jocelyn knows how to throw a party. Great food, good music, perfect ambiance.
Animated talk and laughter everywhere. People are enjoying themselves. Mari is
too. Her fear locked away again. Maybe he hasn't noticed. It's time to open his presents.
He's full of jokes. Happy in the center of attention. Thanking everybody
graciously for their gifts. It's her turn. Her hands are shaking as she gives
him her present. He's speechless. He looks at the
painting for a long time. Taking in all the details she has so lovingly created.
He places it on the table for everyone to see and turns to her. Tears in his
eyes. Takes her in his arms. "Oh, darlin'. That's so beautiful. I love it.
Love you....so much" Her breath escapes with relief. Relaxes in his
embrace. Everybody has gathered around
the table to admire the portrait. They are impressed. Complimenting her, making
her shy. Russell senses her uneasiness and leads her away from the crowd.
To the bench under the Eucalyptus. He's looking very serious. "Baby, you've made me so
happy with your gift, thank you." He takes her face between his hands and
kisses her softly. "You make me happy period. Mari, will you marry
me?" He's halfway down on his knees when he sees her expression. Deadly pale, huge black eyes and
scared. What the fuck? This isn't what he'd expected. "Mari? What's wrong
luv?" "I ....I..... You know I
love you....It's just so unexpected....I don't know what to say." "Well, what about
'yes'?" Half smile, troubled eyes. "It can't have been that
unexpected. We have been together for over a year now. I love you, you love me.
What could be more naturally than to get married?" "It's just that I ....that
I never thought to get married again....after...." He's getting angry now.
Frustrated with disappointment. "Jesus! Mari! I'm not HIM! How can you
compare me with HIM!" "I know...I know....It's
just....I don't know....Can't we just stay as we are?" She can see the answer in his
face before he utters it. Expression so stern, his mouth tight. "NO! This
is it, Mari. Time to choose. I want more than this. I want you to be my wife. Be
the mother of my children. I'm 39 today. I don't want to wait anymore. I want a
family. I need your answer now." This is the moment she has been
dreading for a long time. She feels miserable. She can't say yes to the love of
her life and she can't explain it to him. She's pleading him with her eyes.
Silently. Silent too long. He's gone. With long angry
strides and a stiff back, getting into his car. Tires screaming. Mari shakily
sits down again. She starts to cry silently. Time lost in sorrow. Jocelyn eventually finds her,
takes her in the house and makes her wash her face like a child. She tries to
get Mari to talk about what's happened. In vain. Mari just wants to get home.
Alex drives her, up to the gate. She walks round the back.
Russell's car parked halfway. Randomly. The lights are on in her studio. She
walks on, dread taking hold of her heart with every step. He's been drinking. His long
blond hair disheveled. Bloodshot eyes. He's broken open the cabinet doors, taken
everything out. The paintings all over the studio floor. As if he's been tossing
them. The terrible images in plain sight. They are all of the same man and
same woman. Some just him, some just her. Most of them together. Their faces and
bodies horribly disfigured, contorted, mutilated, burnt. Very dead. They have
been painted with violent, erratic strokes. Smeared, thick layers of paint. Some
of them have been slashed open. She silently starts to pick them
up. It infuriates him. He lashes out, hitting them from her hands. She's against
the wall. His hands clenched hard on her arms. "Leave that! Jesus Christ,
Mari. Talk to me!" His face in her face, shouting at her. She can smell the
booze on his breath. He raises one arm as if to hit her across the face. Grabs a
glass container with pencils instead, smashing it violently against the wall.
She feels a splinter cut her cheek, warm blood trickling down.
"TALK TO ME!!" "It was me." A deadly
calm has come over her. She knows all is lost. "I killed them." He looks bewildered, not
understanding. "Huh?" "I. Killed. Them." Her
voice flat. No emotion. Cold steel grey eyes. He's sober immediately.
"No....no....they're just paintings...." Gestures around the room.
"Just paintings....it's not real." "It is. I killed
them." He slumps against the wall. Lets
his body slide to the floor. His face a mixture of disbelief and horror. She takes a seat. "I went
into her house. Found them in bed. Asleep. Drunk. Bottles everywhere. Trays with
fags and ashes all over. That gave me the idea. I lighted a cigarette. Burnt the
duvet. It wouldn't burn straight away, so I made holes in it and put burning
cigarettes in every hole. I waited until it started smoking. Caught
fire. I closed the door and waited outside until I could smell the smoke
through the door. And then I went home" He looks up at her, not
believing. She sits there like a statue. Stone white, tall and rigid. "She
was my best friend. I trusted her. Remember I told you I left him once and he
found me? She called him. Told him where I was. She was already fucking him at
the time." She stands up, walks about the
room. Picking up the paintings. "I blacked out. My neighbor found me.
Accidentally. I'd left the front door open and after a few days she became
suspicious. Apparently I was just sitting there. Not responding. She called an
ambulance." "I was placed in an
hospital. I have no recollection of my time there. How long I'd been there. No
idea. They put me in a madhouse. Appointed a psychiatrist. I owe my life to her.
To Claire. She broke through my insanity. I had no memory of what I'd done, my
brain had blocked it out to protect me. These..," she nods at the paintings
in her hands, "these I made during my stay there, under hypnosis. Claire
used them to confront me. To get me to break through. I was there for almost two
years. She never gave up on me. She loved me." She puts the painting on the
floor against the wall. Sits down again. "The police never knew. Nobody
knew. Everybody assumed it was a tragic accident. Except for Claire. She was my
prosecutor, my judge and jury. She acquitted me. Convinced that I'd been
temporarily insane. Maybe she was right. I wonder sometimes." A deep sigh. She looks at him
looking at her. Infinite sadness. "So you see? Why I can't marry you? This
is me." Gesturing at the paintings. "These are my demons. There is
this very dark place I go to. You don't want to know. I have killed two people.
It could happen again. I can never be sure, never trust myself. And neither can
you. I should never have allowed myself to fall in love with you. It wasn't
fair." She's so tired now. "Maybe
I should have thrown these out a long time ago. I never could. Maybe I kept them
as a testimony to the strength of the human mind. I don't know. I think I can
destroy them now. It doesn't matter anymore." He's completely shattered. He
doesn't want to believe her. But he does. He can see the truth in her weary
eyes. He gets up and stumbles through the door. He needs fresh air. She hears
him being sick outside. Hears the car leaving. She closes the door. Turns off the light. Just sits there alone in the darkness.
Chapter Eleven or Index for Remission
Return to Real Russell
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