Dark Touch

by Elle Lewis

  Rain pelted the hood, my breath the only other sound in the still silence of the car. I couldn’t get James out of my mind. This insane supernatural nightmare was the reason I met him. But that was not the reason I wanted to be with him now.

  I glanced at the clock on the dash. It was almost seven. There was as good chance he was at St. James Cathedral, which was only just a few blocks away from where I was sitting. The priest mentioned seeing him Wednesday night. I put the car in gear and started driving, unsure if I was doing the right thing. If I only have a few days until Darrow gets his hands on me, can’t I allow myself this one thing?

  My thoughts went back and forth like a ping pong ball as I mentally debated with myself, but I kept driving towards the church. I didn’t just want to see him, I needed to. What Millie said struck a chord. Never take a moment for granted. I did not want to spend my last few days being withdrawn and distant. I had spent most of my life that way. If there was an opportunity to change, a window of redemption, despite how small, I wanted to take it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  HIS STORY

  I parked close to the chapel, which was excellent because it was still pouring. Again, I jogged through the rain, wondering why the hell I lived in Seattle and never carried an umbrella. I ran up the thick cement steps, opened the large door and slipped inside.

  I scanned the chapel. I spotted James in an isle to the far right of the pews. He was speaking quietly to the blue-eyed priest. I didn’t want to interrupt their conversation, so I stayed where I was, dripping onto the soft carpet. I began to shiver.

  James looked up, seeing me. His light brown eyes widened a little, and then filled with intensity. He spoke a few more words to the priest, shook his hand, and then began walking towards me. Tonight, he wore a long sleeved black shirt made of a soft thin material with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a grey undershirt showed at the neckline and towards the bottom. He had on a pair of washed out blue jeans with black sneakers.

  He stopped just a few inches in front of me. “Let’s go outside,” he said, quietly.

  I nodded. Once again, I followed him out onto the church steps. James stayed close to the church doors so that we wouldn’t get wet and as soon as I was beside him, he wrapped his arms around me.

  “I was worried about you. Why didn’t you call?” he asked.

  Being held by James made me feel tense and nervous for all of two seconds. I melted into the curve of his body, instantly relaxing. “I’m sorry. A lot happened.”

  “You’re shaking and freezing cold. I have a blanket in my truck, come on.”

  He pulled away but wrapped his hand around mine. We ran down the steps and to his truck parked at the corner. The white Ford F250 pickup had a big truck bed and a front cab with room for two. He opened the passenger door for me and I climbed in. The truck was not brand new but not too old either. It was clean, the black leather seats carrying the lingering scent of the outdoors.

  James got in and turned on the ignition, putting the heat on full blast. He grabbed a flannel blanket that was rolled behind the passenger seat and wrapped it around me.

  I tightened it around myself greedily.

  “Better?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Much better.”

  “I thought something happened to you,” he said.

  The light inside the truck was dim. The only illumination came from outside street lights and the gentle green glow of the dash. I studied him in the poor light, noting his five o’clock shadow. It made his already defined jawline even more prominent. He was easily one of the most attractive men I had ever seen.

  “So…what happened?” He looked at me expectantly.

  I pulled the blanket closer around me. “This morning, the pain beneath my skin, it… exploded out of control. It was excruciating. I don’t know how long it lasted. But after, I was drained. And then the dream…” My voice trailed off. James stayed quiet while I gathered my thoughts. “James, he is getting help from others like him. Twelve exactly. And they will be coming for me soon.”

  “And you know this because of what you saw in the dream?”

  “Yes,” I said firmly. “Things are going to get worse. I don’t want to drag you into this any further.”

  “Is that why I haven’t seen or heard from you all day?”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt,” I said.

  “That’s not your call to make, Sloan. I chose to get involved and I’m choosing to stay involved,” he responded.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked.

  I stayed quiet, my stomach twisting with nerves. James moved closer to me, putting his arm over my head rest so that we were only inches apart.

  “I want to be involved because of you, Sloan,” he said quietly but seriously. “It’s not the situation. It’s you. You have depth that I rarely see. I’m…drawn to you. In a way that I have not felt in a long time.”

  His deep voice flowed over every inch of my skin. All I could do was look at him as he continued to talk.

  “I have lost every woman I have ever cared about. And whatever this is…” He pointed at himself and then me. “Whatever is happening between us, I am not going to run from it. I don’t care about anything else, including those black-eyed monsters.” James cupped the side of my face with his hand and leaned in closer, his eyes becoming gentle. “Is this okay?” he asked, tentatively.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “If you don’t feel the same way, just tell me.”

  I stayed quiet as he leaned in further, his lips brushing mine. I let go of my usual inhibitions. Impending death can do that. I kissed him back, softly at first but then with more passion. His lips were nicely shaped and soft, and he smelled incredible.

  The kiss quickly deepened. As soon as I felt his tongue glide across mine, the last of my hesitation fell away. I let go of the blanket and wrapped my arms around his neck. The next few minutes became a blur as I abandoned myself to the moment. James responded to my fervor. The chemistry between us was electric, passionate, and so fucking hot. We ended up in the driver’s seat, with me straddling him. My hands were twined through his hair, and his were underneath my hoodie, gripping the bare skin of my waist.

  My lips moved to his neck, and I began kissing along his collarbone. I slid my hands underneath his shirt. His stomach was hard, the muscles well defined. I trailed a finger under the stretchy band of his boxers.

  “Sloan.”

  “Yeah?” I mumbled.

  “You’ve got to stop.” His voice was thick with desire.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re driving me crazy and I really don’t want our first time to be in the front seat of my truck,” he said.

  I smiled, my lips still pressed against his neck. “Are you sure?”

  He laughed. “Yes.”

  I put both of my hands on the seat and pushed away so that I could look him in the face. His hands moved to my back, holding me in place. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” he said. “But...you deserve better.”

  I shrugged. “It’s a pretty nice truck…leather seats, power windows…”

  He gave me a crooked smile. “You’re fucking hilarious—and a tease.”

  I smiled brightly and untangled myself from him, returning to my spot on the passenger side.

  James rolled down the window, letting air flood into the front cab of the truck. It had finally stopped raining. The cold air was sharp and refreshing, helping to tone down the sexual tension. Now that I was thinking clearly, I was glad James had better self-control than me. Having sex in a parked truck on the street
would not have been one of my finer moments. I took a second to fix my hair, redoing the bun, my cheeks flushed.

  James turned on the radio, keeping the volume low so it was just background noise. His hair was a tousled mess.

  “Do you have to work tomorrow?” he asked.

  “No. I quit my job.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Really?”

  “Yeah. What’s the point? I don’t want to spend my last few days in an office.”

  James got very still and serious. “Don’t say that, Sloan. These will not be your last few days.”

  I wished that was true, but I didn’t want to upset him by saying it aloud so instead I folded the flannel blanket into a square and changed the subject. “Why do you come here so often? How did those two women know you would be here that night?”

  James sighed, and rested his head against the head rest, exposing the long lovely stretch of his neck. “Are you sure you want to hear this story? It’s long and sad.”

  I scooted a little closer to him. “I do. If you’re willing to tell it.”

  James pushed the driver seat chair back so that he could stretch his long legs, and then lowered the seat back as well. Once he got settled, James looked at me. “Alright then. I might as well get comfortable.”

  I smirked.

  He rested his hand gently on my knee. “My mother came to this church before I was born. Father Marcus, the priest you saw me talking to tonight, he knew her well. She always came in for Sunday mass and Wednesday night service. I think she came so often because this was one of the only places she ever felt safe…the one place where nothing could harm her, you know?”

  I nodded.

  “When she had me she named me James, after this Cathedral.” He smiled a little. “My mom originally grew up near Spokane and she didn’t have the best family. From what I know about them, they were abusive drunks. She left home at a young age and moved to the city, and of course, she married a guy that was just like her own family…an abusive alcoholic.” He shook his head sadly. “She was so beautiful, Sloan…smart, funny...to this day I don’t understand why she was with him.”

  James paused for a second. “Shortly after I was born my parents moved to Oregon. My dad had this big shiny Harley Davidson that he would ride in the summer. One day, when I was ten, he got on his bike and never came back. I remember feeling relieved. Even at ten years old I knew we were better off without him. The next few years were the best of my childhood. I mean, we never had a lot of money, but she was such a good mother.” A look of pain crossed his face. “When I turned thirteen, she was diagnosed with cancer and died a year later.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Me too,” James said sadly. “I was devastated. Child services became involved. My father couldn’t be located, and my mother’s family was not deemed suitable to raise a kid. Neither was my Father’s family. I ended up in foster care. The family I was placed with was good to me. They were kind and patient. But I was fourteen and angry. At the time, I couldn’t see that I was in a good place. I gave that family hell for about a year and then when I was fifteen, I ran away. In my fifteen-year-old brain I decided I could do better on my own and that I didn’t want or need anyone. I packed a bunch of stuff in a green army back pack…comics and a flashlight, some cash and clothes…as if I were going on an extended camping trip.” He shook his head as he recounted his youthful stupidity. “Now that I’m older, I can look back and see that I was not only angry but afraid.”

  “Of what?” I asked.

  “I was afraid to get close to my foster parents, especially my foster mother. Not only could she not take the place of my own mother, but I thought that I would eventually lose her too. I left before that could happen.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “I ended up on the streets. I made friends with other kids; we camped out, lived like lost boys. No rules, no anything. It was crazy and free. Sleeping under the stars, snatching food, stealing,” he laughed quietly. “We were crazy, man.”

  His words held me captivated. James spoke with emotion, nostalgia, and a passionate reminiscence that spun vivid images in my mind. Despite the sadness of his past, he seemed calm and peaceful.

  “Eventually, I made my way back to Washington,” he continued. “I missed my Mom. I wanted to be where she grew up. She had told me about St. James Cathedral many times. I wanted to see it.”

  He looked at me, warmth filling his eyes. “Being here makes me feel closer to her. When Father Marcus found out who I was, he immediately wanted to help. I gave him a hard time at first, but eventually I came around. He was patient but also persistent. When I turned eighteen, Father Marcus helped me get my GED and the job on the fishing boat, which got me off the streets. But before that—from sixteen to eighteen—I was homeless, living on the streets of Seattle. That’s where I met Elody. She was an abandoned kid too. We became inseparable and I loved her, a lot.”

  Everything clicked in my mind at that moment. The things he had told me before took on new meaning.

  James became quiet for a few moments. The music played softly in the background, filling the silence. Finally, he said, “I became good friends with Lilly and Old Lucy. After Elody died, Lilly’s guitar music was the only thing that could help me sleep. She would play for me all night, just like she does for Lucy. I stay in touch with them, bring them sandwiches; blankets. Lilly knows my fishing schedule. I tell her when I’m going out and when I’m due back. That’s how she knew where I would be Sunday night. This is the first place I go after we dock.”

  “Why did she call you Old Joe?” I asked.

  He gave me the smallest of smiles. “It’s a joke. A nickname she gave me. My last name is Josephson. She calls me Old Joe in an ironic way, because I was extremely young to be living on the streets.”

  “How old are you?” I said.

  “Twenty-four.”

  “And who is Hunter?” I asked.

  He snorted. “An asshole that works with me on the boat. Most of the time he is an okay guy, but he is a practical joker. We sleep in a crammed room down below, a bunk bed type set up. And I sometimes talk in my sleep.” He got serious. “I have dreams sometimes, about when Elody died…and uh, I must have mumbled something about a man with black eyes and wings one night. Hunter thought it was fucking hilarious and set up a bunch of pranks. After I threw him overboard, he finally stopped.”

  “You threw him overboard?” My eyes widened.

  “Yeah. Cap’ was pretty pissed at me but I hauled him out of the water and we called it even. Anyway, when I saw you I thought he had set something up. And yes, he would go to those lengths. The guy is a pain in the ass.”

  “Do you ever talk to your foster mother?”

  He nodded, “Once I got myself established, I reached out to her. Apologized. She was very understanding. We talk a few times a year, but I wouldn’t say that we’re close.”

  “Was there anyone else, after what happened…anyone else that you…loved?” I said.

  “Not for a while.” He shrugged. “I did the guy thing, dated here and there, but it was always casual. Never serious. Then, I met someone when I was twenty-one and she caught my attention. I began to develop feelings for her, but when I finally told her about my past, she broke it off. I guess a man that used to live on the streets wasn’t up to her standards. I haven’t been involved with anyone since.”

  “You were right,” I said.

  “About what?” He asked.

  “We have a lot in common,” I said.

  I studied him. Irony is so cruel, allowing me to develop feelings for someone in that last few days of my life. How is it possible to experience happiness alongside such sa
dness? I leaned over and kissed him, long and slow, hopefully letting him know his past would never be an issue for me.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SUNRISE

  The sky began to lighten. Soft pink and purple hues emerged in the wide expanse of sky, the colors reflecting in the water of Puget Sound. The water was still and serene, an occasional small wave rippling across the glass like surface. In the distance there was a ridge of dark forest, and beyond that, a range of whitecapped mountains.

  It was breathtaking. After hours of dark sky and silver stars, the loveliness of the sunrise was glorious. I wanted to paint it.

  James sat beside me, the sunlight of early morning shining in his caramel eyes. We were nestled comfortably on the deck of his sailboat, beneath several blankets. It was still chilly but tolerable. Every so often, I would rub my left fingertips together, the pain a constant annoyance.

  Last night, while sitting in his truck at the church, I mentioned not wanting to sleep. The dreams were becoming too intense. James quickly suggested a solution—stay up all night and watch the sunrise from the deck of his sailboat. I readily agreed and followed him in my Jeep to his place on Shorewood beach.

  James lived in a small one-bedroom wooden stilt house that rose several feet above the water. A large wooden deck wrapped around the back of the house, a small grill and two yellow chairs the only items placed in the wide space. The house itself was bright red, with white trim around the windows. The drive in was on a pebbly dirt road, through a thick expanse of forest, allowing the place privacy. Trees clustered in a thick line in front of house, but once on the back deck the view opened in an incredible expanse of the Olympic Mountains.

  James docked his sailboat at a community port a few miles from the house. After a quick tour of the house, James packed some food and we were off to the port. We spent the night talking underneath the stars as the sailboat rocked beneath us. It was blissfully silent. The only sounds were the cold breeze and the lapping of the water against the boat.