“No, not as it sees fit, but as is needed.” She responded with finality, and I supposed she did have a well thought out belief system.
* * *
Reed was showing me to the door, though I suspected he was taking me the long way. We’d walked down a number of dimly lit hallways, or should I say corridors, with no end in sight. My suspicions that he was using the opportunity to waylay me were confirmed when he asked, “Are you still so against working for me?”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation.
“Your gift is rare and extremely useful—”
“Not more useful than seeing the future in a cloud of flour,” I cut in.
“The various forms of divination are gifted from birth, and while the gift is advantageous, it is not rare.”
I stopped walking to clarify, “All diviners are born that way?”
He stopped too. “Betsy Cross and Tim Beckett are like any oracle, seer, clairvoyant, or mystic. Whatever the term, they were all born with the gift. It’s the other gifts, such as your empathy or my charm that are rare, brought on by an incident from our past.”
“And what unhappy circumstance made you so charming?” I said snidely, but was too curious to sound convincing.
His face was impenetrable, as if chiseled in stone, and his emotions only conveyed a distance. He didn’t intend to talk about his past. Ever.
“I could teach you,” he offered, gaze fixed to my face. “There is so much you don’t know. I could explain it. I could search for another empath, someone who could help you cope, train you. I would find them for you.”
“Find them for yourself, because this empath isn’t interested.”
Suddenly he was frustrated and half yelling in my face. “What? Is your useless job too important to give up? Or maybe you’ll miss that overabundance of friends if you leave the island behind!”
Well I guess he knew enough to know I didn’t have many friends. “Insulting me? Is that your idea of a convincing argument?”
He let out a deep breath, clenching the fists that rested on either side of my head. When had he pressed me against the wall? Radiating frustration, he answered, “No, it’s not.” He struggled to calm his breathing. “Typically I would never say such things, but you seem quite good at provoking me.”
“Maybe it’s another gift I never knew about.”
All was quiet as I let the moments tick by, waiting while Reed calmed. I could feel his breath in my hair, on my cheek. The hallway seemed to have grown much darker, and again I felt like we were the last two people alive. If I moved forward just a tiny bit we would be touching. I leaned...
Somewhere faraway a housekeeper was clearing her throat. The aggravating and unwelcome sound drilled into my mind, driving off the enthralling stupor.
It was about that time that I began to give Reed a thorough thrashing.
Marta’s heavy tread sounded as she barreled down the hallway in Reed’s defense. He assured her everything was fine while stooping under the rhythmic pounding of my fist.
Feeling somewhat satisfied, I instructed Marta to take me to my car, but not before shrieking ‘Pervert!’ one more time.
Chapter 23
The drive home was a blur, and if my car gave me trouble, I didn’t notice. I was angry. I was angry at Reed’s attitude, acting as though the charm was a harmless glamour. He let it wear me down, proceeding to take advantage of my soppy remains. He knew I wasn’t interested! I’d made that abundantly clear. So why did he continue to press me?
I knew the answer: self-preservation. Reed pretended his gift was insubstantial for the same reason I avoided people. If I didn’t, things would become unbearable.
What would it be like to know that everyone around you was duped? That you had no genuine friends? I didn’t like thinking about it because I didn’t like making excuses for Reed. He was a pervert. End of story.
Alright, technically nothing happened. I had Marta and her phlegm to thank for that, though I very much doubted she would say ‘you’re welcome.’ I’d felt her accusatory stares, not to mention her beating disapproval, during the walk back to my car.
No point in thinking about any of that now. As I hopped the fence into Lucas’ yard, it was easy to forget all about Reed and his hustling charm. It was late, probably nearing midnight, but that wouldn’t deter me. I was dedicated. Dedicated was a good word because it implied a noble cause.
Alright, so pursuing Lucas at this hour wasn’t exactly noble, but it was really brave. I adjusted the puzzle box, tucking it up under my armpit before knocking softly.
I was seized by doubts—obviously my common sense had kicked in. I couldn’t help but wonder how I was going to explain myself to Lucas. Unfortunately he didn’t allow me enough time to concoct a reasonable story, opening the door just then.
The TV imprinted the hallway walls with flashes of soft color, the noise of it a gentle hum from the living room. Good, he’d been awake then. “Did you get this for me?” I asked brazenly, waving the puzzle between us.
I could see very little of his face, the buzzing porch light offering up meager visibility, but I thought he looked decidedly uncomfortable. “I was out buying stuff. I saw it and thought...” His voice trailed off. Not a good sign. He was trying to downplay the gift, but didn’t men usually crow about these things? Francesca’s dates always did.
“I like it,” I said, trying to pretend my voice hadn’t cracked. “Do you want to...?” I gave the box a shake, hinting.
“What?” he asked blankly.
“Do you want to put it together?” I asked in exasperation. Clarifying, “With me.”
“I’ve never done one be—”
“Good,” I cut in. “Then compared to you I’ll be really good at it.” I stepped into the kitchen without having to push my way past. Lucas had opened the door as I moved forward, offering me access. I breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wasn’t telling me to go away. I was beginning to suspect that he was just as clueless about these things as me. It was like a touch and go mating ritual, except more awkward.
Deciding the situation needed a leader, I asked, “Can I have an apple juice?”
He shut the back door, flipping on the kitchen switch. “I don’t have juice.”
“Yes you do, it’s in the fridge door. I found it while cleaning.”
He opened the fridge, and after staring at the shelving for a moment, extracted a palm size juice box. I briefly considered grasping it clumsily so our fingers would touch, but decided against it, having not yet regressed to such a state of juvenility.
Lucas ushered me into the living room. His coffee table was big enough for a puzzle, but it was covered in oily gadgets that needed tinkering. So instead I dumped the puzzle out in front of the fireplace where the carpet had been replaced by tile. It was a nice flat surface, bigger than we’d need, plus it offered an unobstructed view of the TV screen.
I instructed Lucas to separate the edge pieces from the center ones. We worked in companionable silence. After a few minutes my knees went stiff, so I changed position. Lucas looked comfortable enough with his back to the wall and his legs sprawled out. As was his typical fashion, he wore a pair of cargo shorts and nothing else. It was a bit distracting, and I couldn’t help but ask, “Are you always half-dressed when you have guests over?”
He paused, looking down at himself. “I can put on a shirt if you want,” he offered. His forthright manner convinced me he hadn’t even thought about his appearance. There was no pretension to him. He would never say one thing while doing another. He would never lie. I didn’t know him at all, but I knew that for certain.
“No, don’t bother. I don’t really mind.”
I continued to ask him questions, simple things. We talked about his shop in Brunswick and some of the people that worked there. I got the feeling he didn’t want to talk about his family, though I wasn’t guessing based on his emotion o
r expression. In that respect he was a blank slate, and it was impossible to read something that just wasn’t there.
He asked me some questions in turn, about my job, my hobbies. He didn’t pry, just gave me the opportunity to talk. I thought everything was going well. I was no longer nervous like a rabbit, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. So I nearly choked on my apple juice when he asked me why I’d run off after kissing him. Seriously, he asked just like that.
We each had a different approach when it came to puzzle making. Mine was trial and error, constantly fitting the pieces together until I made a match. Lucas was the opposite. He’d stare at the unfinished puzzle for minutes at a time before fitting together an entire section.
So he’d just finished the whole purple plant when he casually asked, “So why’d you run off after kissing me?”
As I said, I nearly choked on my apple juice. I stared at him wildly while wiping my mouth, wondering what to say. I wasn’t above lying, though he obviously hadn’t fallen for my ‘I tripped onto your mouth’ scenario. In the end I told the truth. “It’s your fault!” I accused. “You’re too tall! And you didn’t lean down! What’s worse than not leaning in when someone kisses you? Nothing! Nothing is worse than not leaning in when someone kisses you.”
Yelling at the man you intended to woo was not something I would suggest, though Lucas handled it well. Really well, in fact, he apologized. “I’m sorry. I won’t make the same mistake twice,” he said in a low, rough voice.
I hardly heard him. My cheeks were flushed with the flames of mortification, my breathing fast and shallow. Throwing a fit in front of Lucas was... the worst. I stared at our semicomplete puzzle without really seeing it, unable to look at him. “I’ve got to go,” I said a little too loudly.
“We’ll finish it later,” he replied.
I was halfway to the door, unable to answer. He caught up quickly, his hand on my shoulder, turning me around. “Always running off,” he said. And then he was kissing me.
He leaned, his hands on my neck, my waist. The pit of my stomach shivered and I felt warm all over. I never knew just how intimate kissing was until that moment, the vulnerability.
I wasn’t sure what was expected of me, so I just mirrored his movements, letting him lead. And when he pulled away, I found myself clutching his shoulders just like the women in my romance novels did.
“A definite improvement,” I said, tugging my shirt down. It had risen up at some point, showcasing my waist. “I guess we’ll be seeing more of each other,” I said, before slipping out the door.
* * *
I drove toward the village on the tip of the island, passing the Parlor and continuing south on Mallery Street to Neptune Park. I had to circle around a few times before a parking spot became available. Soon I’d have to give up my usual haunt all together. Summer was coming, just a hot, sticky breath away, bringing in the crowds and cramming the island full.
I usually followed the sidewalk that ran parallel with the shore, connecting Mallery and Beachview until it ended at the lighthouse, but not today. Today I was feeling ambitious. Pushing through a crowd didn’t seem nearly as daunting as it usually did.
I wandered up the road, heading toward the general store for a snack. Two clerks behind the front counter were having a disagreement, though they tried to hide it, hissing in soft tones when my back was turned. I assumed they were married since they looked so comfortable arguing together.
I was torn between Starburst and Skittles, trying to make a worthwhile decision when I got mad, really mad. I wasn’t going to get a better opportunity to hone my skills, so I settled in, covertly watching the couple with interest. There was no need for my stealth. As a simple disagreement escalated into a screaming match of epic proportion they forgot me entirely.
I tried to pin down the minor emotions. The man was impatient, no that could be the woman too, or even me. But indignant definitely belonged to the wife. They weren’t arguing in English, but I could tell by her body language that she felt wronged. And when the husband started talking at her, I got a whiff of pride. But from the daggers look she gave, I thought it unlikely she was feeling proud to have married him.
They’d probably disagreed about something small. The husband saying he knew better with all the experience he had, hence the pride. I liked to imagine the wife rebutted with ‘I know how much experience you have, I’ve been working next to you the entire time.’ But what the hell did I know? I could be wrong about all of it. Emotions, body language, they could only tell you so much, and it was never enough.
Now it was time to test myself. That was the real reason I came to town each week. I grabbed a pack of Starburst and headed toward the register. My goal was to act normal under the onslaught of emotion, namely the frothing anger. I did better than the couple, that was for sure.
The argument broke off at my approach. The man rang up my purchase while pretending I didn’t have a face. Sweat broke out on his bald pate and his fingers shook slightly. His wife stood back, staring at the back of his head, her lips pressed into a grim crinkled line. It was painfully apparent that they were both fuming. In contrast I had the steely discipline to act indifferent. Each week my control improved. This week was no different. I was in such a good mood over my success that on the way out I offered them a cheeky goodbye.
I’d accomplished enough this trip, it was time to go home and get ready for work. I fumbled to open the pack of Starburst, wending my way without paying much attention. So it came as something of a shock when I got snatched right off the sidewalk.
Chapter 24
I guess it would be more accurate to say that I was preoccupied, not merely inattentive or careless. I was thinking of Lucas and obsessing over our kiss. He was a good kisser, an expert really. It didn’t make sense. Why was he so awkward when it came to talking, but not with kissing? Logic would have it that he was a scoundrel, but I wasn’t going to listen to logic. I felt it best not to worry about it.
Something I would worry about was how things hadn’t gone as expected. It hadn’t been like in the movies where two lovers embrace while an orchestra crescendos, cuing the couple to fall into a mindless passion. I’d felt the passion part, but my mind had never shut off. I’d been worrying about my breath, what he was thinking, his bare chest, and all while we were kissing! Appalling and totally unexpected, someone should really warn you that no matter how great a kiss, you can always multitask, finishing up your grocery list while touching tongues (though I swear I didn’t do that). I was just saying it was possible was all.
Mostly I thought about my parting words. I told Lucas we’d be seeing more of each other. At the time I’d just meant, you know, I’ll see you later. Upon further consideration I worried he might misinterpret my meaning, thinking it had been a sassy sexual innuendo, like I’d suggested getting naked. Shit. He probably thought I was a floozy. Lucas thinks I’m a floozy. That was what I’d been thinking just before I got snatched.
I had no warning.
A kidnapper should feel something before he did the deed, right? If anything he was calm. Calm just like the night he bashed me and Reed over the head.
His arm snagged around my chest, pinning my elbows to my waist. He walked backwards, dragging me into a smelly side road. I recognized the place. I sometimes parked there because no one would complain. There was no point. I’d only be blocking the dumpster and a few back doors. This alley was for foot traffic, and it didn’t see much. No doubt the reason Beagban chose it, no witnesses to see me die. Of the dying part I was certain. In his other hand he held a knife.
A nine inch long butterfly knife, the blade slim as my pinky, rested just under my chin. I dropped the pack of Starburst as he pulled me further from sight. His deep harsh voice sounded from just behind my ear. “Do you know where we are?”
My thoughts were too frantic and frightened, I was unable to reply. r />
He turned me, pivoting so I could see down the alley. “Around that corner is where I killed a man,” he rumbled in my ear. “Stabbed him to death,” he whispered, the sound hoarse and grating.
I began to shake.
“Did you think you were safe?” he ground out, his voice choked with rage. “Did you think your boyfriend would stop me?”
I could only whimper. His arm had constricted around me, tightening with each moment that passed. I could barely breathe.
“I killed them, I killed them both! Did he tell you that?” he raged. His hands began to tremble, the knife nicking me softly as he lost control. “I took their guns, shot ‘em with their own guns!” he bragged hysterically. “But not before I bashed in their faces with my fist.”
That was when I noticed it, the reek of blood. Blood, the sticky substance that layered him like a second skin. His hands were stained, everything I saw was stained, even me.
The arm that held the knife was a sodden mess, wrapped in wads of cloth to stop the flow. He hadn’t gone to the hospital after I put a blade in his bone, hadn’t even cleaned it. The fresh stench of blood and sweat told me more than that he’d merely neglected tending his wounds. Beagban had killed, and it had been recently.
He shook me brusquely, unmindful of the knife scratching away at my throat. “I’m going to kill you both!” he promised.
I began to hope, filled with a comforting relief. I blinked my eyes open. They were warm and swollen, filled with tears. The ghost floated at the far end of the alley, coating the shadowed crossroads with a soft mist. He couldn’t help me now, I knew. Was he trying to console me, ease me to the end?
“I’m going to kill you both!” Beagban shrieked. “You’re dead! YOU ARE DEAD!”
Three scrawny figures dressed in sagging black rounded the alley entrance just then, stopping abruptly with eyes gone wide.
Beagban growled. Being interrupted only ratcheted his anger up a notch. I hunched over, gulping in air the moment he loosed me. Then his fist was tangled in my hair, pulling me upright sharply. Only when my chin was pointing to the sky did he whisper in my ear, “I’m going to chop off your arms before I kill you.” And then I was flying through the air.