Blood of Anteros, Page 4

  “Awe, relax. You know there’s no one who can be more quiet than us.” I knew he was right, but still...I didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention.

  “I just don’t want to rock the boat because I need this to work and you’re not helping.” As I said the words, I knew I needed to relax because the Emersons liked me.

  Solomon placed a hand on each of my shoulders, the same way he always reassured me, and said, “My friend, the buzz killer, it’s going to be fine. You’re going to be fine. This is going to work out, so stop worrying already, would you?”

  I knew why I was so anxious and it had nothing to do with the time of Solomon’s arrival. “Well, I’ve already had one kink I didn’t expect and it has me on edge.”

  Solomon paused a moment, waiting for my offer of information, before asking, “Okay, what is your kink?”

  “There’s a girl living in the house with the Emersons. She’s their granddaughter.”

  “And?” he asked and waited for my explanation. When I didn’t respond, he continued, “That is a problem because...why?”

  “I don’t know yet because I haven’t met her. I don’t smell anything in the house that would lead me to believe it’s a dangerous situation, but I am incredibly uneasy about this.”

  He laughed at me. “You are always worried, unnecessarily. When you accomplish what it is that brought here, you are going to laugh at yourself for ever doubting it was a bad idea, so enjoy your time here because you deserve it.”

  He didn’t get it. I needed to explain further. “I know I’m a worrier, but something strange happened the day I met the Emersons and I haven’t been able to shake it.”

  I knew he was becoming irritated with me, but I was nervous about telling him how I had lied by omission all of these years, not to mention how I was spooked by a little girl’s portrait. It was a lot of information to offer up. “Just tell me already, Curry, minus the girly drama. What happened?”

  “The wife, Mrs. Emerson, is an artist and she invited me into her studio when I interviewed with her.”

  Solomon interrupted and said, “Oh, dude, don’t tell me some kind of kinky story that’s going to engrave a graphic image in my mind forever.”

  “Shut up and listen, wise guy. I was looking at one of her art pieces. It was a portrait of a little girl on the beach, but I wasn’t just looking, I was studying it. I became mesmerized by it and thought I heard a whisper, so I asked Mrs. Emerson if she said anything. It wasn’t her, so I concluded my imagination was in overdrive and I returned to looking at the painting. I stood there staring into the eyes of the girl and I heard the whisper again and heard exactly what the voice said. I ask that my misplaced heart no longer wanders, lost and wounded, and finds it’s way into the arms that love me.”

  Solomon looked at me strangely and said, “You’ve lost me. I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “There’s something I never told you about the day you found me.” I turned my back to Solomon because I couldn’t bear to look at him when I made my confession. “I was moments away from meeting my true death in the sun. I planned the whole thing. I was going to kill myself and seconds before I should have died, my heart made a plea for my lost soul. The words I heard whispered to me were the same words I pleaded as I thought I was going to die.” I turned to gage his reaction to hearing my confession.

  “Why didn’t you tell me, you know you can tell me anything? Have we not been as close as brothers all these years?” he questioned and I saw the pain and disappointment in his eyes. I felt shame and could say nothing. He continued, “This could be what saved you that day, instead of Marsala angering the gods or it could be the combination of both. I don’t know, but whatever it was, you have not fulfilled your destiny yet, and there’s more in store for you. I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”

  I knew he expected an explanation, but there was only one admission that could be made. “I was too ashamed to tell you.”

  “Ashamed of what?” he asked.

  It was embarrassing to admit my weakness. “Everything. I was going to kill myself because I was too weak to break free of a woman. I was being controlled by her and I was powerless to do anything about it.”

  His frustration was showing more. “You know that was not your fault and I thought you had worked through that and moved on.”

  My words fell short of making him understand. “I have moved past it now. My feelings today aren’t the same as they were, but I need you to understand how I felt back then, so you can understand. When I met you, you were so together and I was a complete mess, one that you took on like a charity project. Don’t misunderstand me, I appreciate everything you did for me. You saved me and I love you like a brother for it, but I wanted to be strong enough to save myself.”

  I knew he thought I still didn’t get it because I saw it on his face. “Curry, I haven’t always had it together. I was a mess, too, but Sebastian showed me how to save myself and I showed you how to save yourself. You have never been able to see the forest for the trees.”

  “Sol, it’s not how I feel today because I did get over it years ago. I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. I was too ashamed to admit my weakness to you when you found me and as time passed, it was never the right time to bring it up. I never thought is was important and I was more than glad to forget about it.”

  I saw the understanding in his eyes and he knew I spoke the truth. He was my mentor and I couldn’t lie to him. “I believe you, friend, but these events are signs of what is to come. I don’t have a prediction and the gods don’t intend for us to know right now, so their plan will be revealed in it’s own time.” He started laughing and said, “Since you share a house with this child that has spooked you, I feel certain the plan will include her.” It was just like him to find humor in my situation and take the opportunity to be a comedian.

  “She’s not a child,” I explained.

  “Now, I’m confused again. I heard you say you were looking at the portrait of a child, one that spooked you I might add.”

  “It was a portrait of a child that is now an adult.”

  “That does change things. How old is she?”

  “I don’t know because I haven’t met her yet. She isn’t home and I only discovered she was living here today.”

  “Well, don’t worry yourself. It sounds like there is definitely something to this, but you are powerless to control it if it is the will of the gods.”

  I knew he was right and it was out of my hands. With much effort, we could coexist with humans, but that was the extent of it and anything more went against nature’s way. End of story.

  We moved the rest of my things inside and he wasted no time leaving me with the mess. He said it was good for me to figure this out, like a human, but he didn’t fool me. I knew he just wanted out of some work.

  Evening turned into late night and the hours passed quickly while I put things in their place. I was forced to think and make decisions about where a human would place things and this made it easier to keep my mind off of the girl and the adult she had become.

  The basement had no real style, so I was free to make it my own. All the walls were light khaki, making it easier for me to choose masculine colors and the furniture I chose was modern with clean lines. I made the largest room my living area and art studio, where I would spend the majority of my time. My new living room was filled with an oversized dark brown leather sectional and I knew I would never have company to fill the seating, but I liked it.

  The smaller room was my new bedroom and I chose bedding in light blue and brown, with the assistance of a salesperson. She called it robin’s egg and chocolate and although the names weren’t masculine, the colors were. It looked inviting and I laid down on my freshly made bed to try it out. I had not enjoyed the comfort of my new bed for long when I heard the sound of a vehicle coming up the drive. It parked on the East side of my bedroom and I knew it was Chansey.

  I lay silently while I listened cl
osely. She exited the vehicle, gently shut the car door and walked softly to the back steps as she tiptoed up each one. I heard the click, as her key unlocked the door, and the slow turning of the knob as she opened it. Quiet as a thief in the night, she slowly pushed the door closed and locked it behind her. I couldn’t decide if her stealth like ability was considerate, or sneaky.

  She tiptoed down the hall like a graceful ballerina and the next door opened, then closed quietly. I heard her soft footsteps cross the floor directly above the ceiling over my bed, along with a click, the turning of a lamp switch. I recalled the bedside lamp and knew she reached her destination, the bedroom I once called my own.

  I knew she was preparing for bed when I heard the stretch of newly laundered cotton as she pulled it over her body, followed by the sound of the running water through the pipes around me.

  The bed frame squeaked lightly as she laid down on the mattress and she repeated the clicking sound as she turned off the lamp at her bedside. She tossed briefly, then became still with her respirations deep and steady. I knew those sounds well; she was asleep.

  I intentionally invaded her privacy and I was a creep. I unsuccessfully tried to convince myself that my super hearing gave me no choice, but I knew better. I was a skilled liar, but never to myself. It was curiosity, not investigation, that lead me to eavesdrop on the girl sleeping above me.

  I waited anxiously for the dawn of morning. My mind needed a brief escape from the unrest caused by my inner battles. While I tried to defend my actions to myself, I drifted into a slumber with the first sign of dawn, and for this, I was grateful.

  Chapter 6

  I slept almost four hours, a record for me. I never slept more than ninety minutes and I felt incredible with a refreshed mind and renewed desire to experience the life intended for me.

  I wanted to spend the day outdoors with my camera because being home inspired me. I wanted to photograph some sunny landscape, but remained somewhat wary of the coastal sun exposure. Although I felt my tolerance building even more since I arrived, I cautiously opened the exterior door and slowly migrated through the door to the outside world awaiting me. The morning sun shined brightly from the East and a large Live Oak shielded me in it’s shadow like a protective mother. I left the protective shadows and stepped into the rays of sunshine, feeling a mild, tolerable sting to my skin that lasted briefly before disappearing.

  I went inside, grabbed my camera and began my photographing expedition in Anna and Grady’s garden behind the house. A cooperative bee allowed me some close-ups, while he pollenated some jasmine, but his cooperation was only temporary. Four shots later, he was gone.

  While I stood covered in my blanket of sunshine, a hummingbird caught my attention as he fluttered by and stopped to hover over a bright flower, drawing his nectar. He ignored me, as he drank the sweetness he desired and I envied his ability to drink what he craved without consequences. While I foolishly stood envying the hummingbird, I missed the shot, and was busy mentally kicking myself when something different caught my attention.

  I was captivated by a singing voice, accompanied by a strumming guitar, and I wanted a closer listen. I was drawn like a sailor to the siren of the sea and I followed the source of the beautiful sound, toward the front of the house. I rounded the corner of the house slowly, in search of the voice and it’s owner, and stole a glance of her from where I hid.

  She sat on the edge of a patio chair on the front porch and sang softly while she gently strummed an old, worn guitar. Her face was lowered, watching her fingers caress the strings of her guitar. Long layers of dark waves fell forward, creating a veil, preventing me from seeing her face.

  I remained just out of sight, as I listened to her angelic voice. The tempo was slow, her lyrics sincere, and I saw she believed what she was singing as it radiated from her heart.

  I knew the urge was wrong, but I was powerless to stop myself as I raised my camera for a closer view. I focused in on her for a better view, then without thinking, I photographed her without her knowledge or permission. I watched and waited for her to lift her chin, allowing me to see the view I craved.

  While she sang, I was discovered by a pair of fluttering butterflies and was reminded of a time in my past. As if I had stepped back in time more than twenty years, the pair stopped briefly, landing on my arm. The duo left quickly and whirled in circles, chasing one another, until they reached the singing woman.

  I was shameless as I photographed them fluttering leisurely around her while they waltzed to her song. They tired of their waltz and came to rest on her left shoulder and I stole that shot as well. After going unnoticed by the woman, they departed on their way.

  I remained still and unseen while I wondered if this Chansey? If so, I had done it again, and robbed her of her private moments, making me a creep and a thief. I should have left because any decent person would salvage her remaining privacy. I willed my feet to walk, but they were unwilling to obey. There would never be another debate regarding the existence of my conscience because I heard it screaming at me loud and clear. As much as I wanted to give her this private moment, I found I was unable to tear myself away from her voice.

  The front door opened and Anna joined her on the front porch. My fear of being caught spying persuaded me to tear myself away, sending me out of sight at lightning speed. This was not the introduction I wanted and I stood at the side of the house with my back pressed against the wall while I contemplated my next move. While I argued with myself, Grady forced my hand prematurely by walking toward me at the side of the house where I hid, leaving me with no choice, but to retreat to my apartment before I was discovered.

  From the safety of my apartment, I strained to hear the rest of her song, but discovered she no longer sang. She and Anna were having breakfast together on the front porch and I forced myself to not intrude upon their conversation.

  While I explored my options, I began to import my latest photos and spoke to myself like a lunatic. Should I go to the front porch and introduce myself? I didn’t want to interrupt their breakfast. It didn’t seem like the right thing, so I decided to wait since I was certain Anna and Grady would properly introduce us.

  I watched the photos appear on my computer screen and confirmed she wasn’t a figment of my imagination. She was real and I became anxious and breathless as I thought about meeting her.

  In the middle of what appeared to be my first panic attack, a knock at the door interrupted me. I opened the door to find the owner of the beautiful voice and she said, “Hi. You must be Curry. I’m Chansey.” Like her grandparents, she extended her hand and I took it in mine, then heard the mysterious whisper again.

  “I ask that my misplaced heart no longer wanders, lost and wounded, and finds it’s way into the arms that love me.”

  She didn’t hear the whisper, or if she did, her face never showed it. I awkwardly continued holding her hand until she pulled it away and watched me like I was some kind of weirdo. “My Granna sent me down because she said you had some questions about the internet connection. You need the Wi-Fi Network and password?”

  I studied her flawless ivory skin and rosy glow. Her lips were full and stained a shade of deep scarlet and I was surprised when I didn’t find Anna’s crystal blue eyes or Grady’s deep brown. Her eyes were her own, a beautiful hazel with greens, browns, and golds fighting for dominance in each iris. She wore a fuchsia shirt, so green was winning today.

  I said nothing and proved her initial assessment of me to be true; I was some kind of weirdo. I offered nothing but an awkward google-eyed stare and she took her hand and waved it in front of my face. “Hello? The lights are on. Anybody home?”

  How embarrassing. I can add idiot to my current reigning title of creep, eavesdropper and stalker. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “Do you need it?” she asked.

  “Do I need what?” I managed to ask.

  “Do you need the network and password?” she asked. After a short hesitation she
added, “For the WiFi,” so my idiotic self would be clear about what she meant. I’ve never played a fool so well.

  “I do.” It was a miracle of the gods. I put two words together and formed an answer.

  “My Wi-Fi network is Butterfly Waltz and the password is windfall1989.” I just looked at her dumbfounded. Could this become more bizarre? She continued, “Maybe you should write that down.”

  “Um, I don’t have a clue where a pen and notepad would be,” I confessed, while looking around idiotically at the scattered boxes.

  She walked over to my art supplies and found a black permanent marker. I expected her to write the information on one of the many boxes scattered around the room, but I was wrong. She walked over to me and took my hand in hers. She turned my hand over, palm side up, and wrote the words ‘Butterfly Waltz. Windfall1989’ across my inner forearm.

  Until I arrived here, it had been decades since I had felt human touch. The Emersons’ touch didn’t feel like hers and I couldn’t recall ever experiencing a sensation such as this. The brush of her skin against mine was enchanting and I was overcome by the oddest sensation. I would almost swear I could feel her seeping underneath my skin and when she removed her hand from my arm, I felt a magnetizing pull to move with her. I resisted the urge, for fear of frightening her. Her touch was brief, but incredibly intoxicating and contagious, making me want to touch her again, just to see what would happen.

  “I have a strong feeling that may be one of few things you don’t lose in this mess,” she laughed. “I’ll be upstairs if you have a problem connecting.”

  She was gone as quickly and abruptly as she arrived. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, searching for her fragrance hanging in the air, but the only scents that lingered were jasmine and lavender with a mild hint of vanilla. This wasn’t right. My room was impossibly void of blood essence and that should never be the case.

  I spent the next hour driving myself mad, replaying Chansey’s introduction in my head. By the thousandth time I replayed my reaction to her, my behavior still had not improved and I wanted to stop thinking about how foolish she must find me. I needed a distraction.