Cinema Rossa

Julian knelt beside Bernadette’s stretcher in the mortuary, his eyes raw and swollen. He had been crying without pause since the policeman delivered the news. To hold back the fresh wave of tears, he sucked in his cheeks and stared down at her beautiful, bloodless face — the face he had believed he would never see again.

They had found her body zipped inside a black bag beneath a bridge in another city. Murdered. A few days earlier, while Julian was out, someone had broken into their home. Bernadette had been alone. She had called the police; an officer had come. They had knocked the man unconscious and taken her. The investigation was still ongoing. Such things, the officers said, happened more often than people liked to admit.

No one had blamed Julian outright, yet the guilt devoured him. And why shouldn’t it? He had failed her — failed in the one role that truly mattered. In their short time as husband and wife, he had never managed to give her the bright, effortless happiness he felt she deserved, the kind of luminous joy romantic films promised. Bernadette had always scoffed at those mediocre movies and their wooden acting; she refused to watch them. Still, he had wanted to offer her that carefree life, even if only in small, stolen moments.

It had all happened too soon. Her death felt both shocking and inevitable. If only he had been more attentive, more loving, more protective — none of this would have happened. The thought gnawed at him relentlessly, driving him toward the edge of sanity.

Bernie had been the most devoted person he had ever known — his fiercest supporter, his guardian angel. Her love was absolute, unconditional, unequalled. And uneven. No matter how hard he tried, he could never match the depth of what she had given him. His love hadn’t been enough to save her from the world’s madness.

Bernadette had chosen him, of all people. Descended like a gift from heaven, slipped past God’s watch, and decided to guard this broken man. In return, Julian had failed to guard her. Now she was gone, and divine wrath would surely follow. Julian could already hear the heavy footsteps in the hallway of his mind. It no longer mattered. Nothing did. From this moment on, life could only be a long, grey disappointment. Stopping breathing seemed not merely reasonable, but the only honest thing left to do.