Wandering Soul

by Cassandra Chandler

  “This is the file with everything I’ve written so far,” she said. “It’s only a rough outline and notes, really. Tap it twice, and the file will open. Or you can press the key that says ‘delete’ and the file is gone. I’ll promise you I will never try to write it again.”

  “You identify so strongly with this character who would do anything for his art, yet you would destroy your work so willingly?”

  “You’re more important.” Elsa hadn’t meant to speak with such intensity. She tried to cover it up, but only made things worse. “Besides, for most people, it’s not about the art. It’s about the longing for love and acceptance. That’s something everyone can relate to.”

  Dante watched her silently for a few moments, then he said, “At the very least, I should like to read it first.”

  “If you tap on the track pad here, you can open the document. Read it whenever you want.”

  “Thank you.”

  She thought he might get so distracted by the laptop that he would forget about watching the movie, but she wasn’t so lucky.

  “I believe I am ready to proceed.”

  Elsa leaned forward to put the laptop on the coffee table. Dante reached out and took it from her, then set it aside for her.

  “If you do not mind, I would like to avoid Winston’s ire. I do not doubt he would make good on his threat if you were to injure yourself again. Indeed, I should not resist his punishment.”

  “He shouldn’t have said that. Especially not on your first night here.”

  Dante ran his fingertips over her laptop, an unconscious habit that sent shivers down Elsa’s spine. She couldn’t keep herself from imagining those long fingers skimming over her skin.

  “There is something else you should know about the night I arrived.”

  “Okay.” When Dante didn’t continue, Elsa said, “You can tell me anything.”

  “You were quite cold when you collapsed. Winston and I were gravely concerned. There were few resources with which to warm you. We resorted to what was most readily available.”

  “I don’t see a problem with that.” She remembered stacks of blankets on the bed when she woke up.

  He turned, his gaze focusing on her with an intensity that made her shift in her seat.

  “The primary heat source for that first night was…me.”

  “You?”

  Elsa’s mind immediately filled in everything he hadn’t said. Her skin prickled as she could almost feel Dante’s arms around her, his body pressed against hers, the heat of his chest at her back, his long legs twining with hers. She’d only had time to set out a pair of pajama bottoms for him. He probably hadn’t even been wearing a shirt.

  “I assure you, I was a complete gentleman,” he said. “Garrett and Winston can attest to this, as they were present as well.”

  Nothing could dampen the pure desire that flooded through her body. All she could think of was Dante next to her. Dante in bed with her. Dante half-naked with her.

  “I think I’d like some tea.” She reached toward the glass as he did. He was probably trying to help her again, but their hands collided.

  A shock ran up her arms from the contact, lighting her up even more. She had the strongest urge to grab his arm and pull him down on top of her. She took deep, even breaths to try to rein in her libido.

  No wonder he seemed so comfortable carrying her around and touching her. That contact was nothing compared to spending an entire night in bed together.

  How could she ever look at him again without picturing that night? And how could she ever stop herself from wanting more from him than she had any right to ask?

  Chapter Eleven

  Any hopes Dante had that Elsa’s interest in him went beyond the academic drowned in the darkness of her eyes, the way she gasped for breath. She must be revolted at the thought of sleeping next to him.

  “I apologize.” His voice was colder than he had expected. “I should have confessed this sooner.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong.” She curled her legs up under her and leaned against the arm of the couch. Pulling away.

  He was not surprised by her reaction so much as how disappointed he felt. The dream of Elsa desiring him had taken root within his mind despite his misgivings. He could not even offer to leave. Where would he go?

  At the very least, he could ease her discomfort by completing this task as quickly as possible.

  “Perhaps we should proceed.”

  “I suppose so.”

  She pointed at a shelf she had shown Dante earlier that was full of movies. The bottom half of the shelf was a cabinet with closed doors.

  “There’s a made-for-TV movie version on the far right inside the cabinet. I think that’ll be the best one to start with.”

  It did not take long for him to follow Elsa’s instructions and begin the movie. She had told him to think of it as a theatre in a box. The metaphor was charming, though unnecessary. Dante had already read the texts on video recordings.

  Seeing the technology at work was much more exciting. Elsa was inured to it, however. By his reckoning, she was asleep before the second act had even begun. Her head slowly listed to one side, until it was resting on the arm of the couch.

  Dante waited until he was certain she was deeply asleep before pausing the movie and shifting her so that she was more comfortable. He gently lowered her arm to her side and covered her with the blanket that was neatly placed over the back of the couch.

  It was difficult not to linger, watching her sleep. The rise and fall of her chest and the soft sounds of her breathing soothed him, even in his current state of uncertainty. Perhaps especially so. It reminded him of his first night in this time, when he had held her in his arms as she slept.

  Everything had seemed much simpler then, and the absurdity of that nearly caused Dante to laugh aloud. He contained himself, ensuring he did not wake Elsa.

  He smoothed down a few errant hairs on the side of her head and was about to return to his seat, but she sighed in her sleep, brushing her cheek against his hand. He let his thumb trail along her warm skin, then down the line of her jaw.

  Her breath distinctly quickened, her lips parting, as if waiting to be kissed. Mesmerized, Dante leaned forward, wondering if her lips would feel as lush as they appeared. He felt her warm breath on his face before he marshaled himself.

  He stood abruptly, taking a few steps away from her as he collected himself. What was he thinking? Taking advantage of a sleeping woman… Perhaps this legend was not as far from the truth as he would like.

  Dante sat back down on the couch, putting as much distance between them as he could. He took a deep breath and pressed the button that would resume the movie.

  So much had happened in such a short amount of time, so much progress made. And he himself had somehow become part of the legends of this world, however tangentially. He could scarcely believe it.

  Whatever else she was, Giselle was a master storyteller. She had begun to spin her tales as soon as she joined Heinrich’s theatre, leading Dante along and using him to invoke Klaus’s jealousy and hasten their marriage.

  Dante had often overheard Giselle telling admirers about the reclusive savant who dwelled beneath the theatre and built apparatuses for each production. She painted him as a tortured soul that Heinrich had brought into his home out of the kindness of his heart. She also called Dante a deformed monster who coveted her from the shadows.

  A dozen people had seen Heinrich’s fall, had watched as Dante clung to his father’s arm, trying to pull Heinrich back onto the scaffolding. When Giselle first said that Dante pushed Heinrich to his death, the voices of protest were strong. Gradually, they diminished.

  Her story had begun to take root even before the fire. Had it only been two short days ago? And yet, it was a century away.

  The memory of Heinrich’s deat
h spawned a sharp pain in Dante’s chest. Dante clutched one hand above his heart, the other covering his eyes, willing himself back under control.

  It would not do for Elsa to awaken and find him so distraught. She might think that it was because of the movie, but no. The more he thought of it, the more the legend made sense. His reputation had died along with his father.

  Dante did not need to torture himself with more of the tale. He stopped the movie, switching over to the television. The images were equally overwhelming at first, though in a much different manner. They distracted him from the morose train of his thoughts.

  He watched for several minutes, listening to the new vernacular. Television would be an excellent tool for adaptation. Perhaps as important as the books she had commissioned for him.

  The laptop sat before him, holding yet another book with knowledge that could assist him. Not a view into this time, but into how Elsa herself saw Dante—what she thought of him.

  One moment, it would seem she could not be close enough to him. The next, she would pull away. Dante hoped her manuscript might provide some clarity on the matter.

  He picked up the laptop, marveling at how light it was. The screen was mostly dark, a moving display of lights that looked like sentient fireworks flying across its surface in mesmerizing patterns. He watched it for some time before finally tracing his fingertip over the track pad’s surface, as Elsa had before.

  Immediately, the screen flickered to life, the fireworks replaced with a static view of a monochromatic background with a square in the center asking him for a password.

  Elsa had not mentioned a password.

  He had avidly read all of the books he could on computers and he understood the premise easily enough. He did not want to wake her to have her open the document for him. Not only was she still exhausted, but he preferred to read this in private.

  All he had to do was use what he knew of her. Admittedly, that was not much. He first tried Leonardo’s name, then Winston and Garrett, hunting out the letters and pressing each in turn. None of them worked. Dante thought for some time before typing in phantom, but it also did nothing.

  Strangely, that reassured him. He glanced over at Elsa’s still form, watching her take slow, even breaths. Fortified by that peaceful sight, he turned back to the computer. He had not exhausted the list of names he could try, but, on a whim, decided to enter his own next.

  It worked.

  Dante sat back, stunned by this revelation. Elsa had selected his name as her password. Not the Phantom’s. Dante’s name.

  He felt as if a weight had been removed from his chest. She had said that he was more important to her than her book. Knowing this, it was easier for him to believe her. And he wanted to believe her.

  But more than that, he wanted her to see the man that he was, not the legend he became.

  He opened the document, eager to see what she had done with the myths surrounding his life. Skimming through the outline, he found extensive notes that she had marked as backstory. Rather than dealing with the legend, they primarily focused on his parents.

  There was a lengthy section regarding his mother and her “bright and loving spirit”. Several examples of her kindness were briefly described, most of which Dante was unaware. Elsa wrote about Dante’s mother with such warmth.

  Her notes also spoke of Heinrich’s relationship with Dante’s mother in great detail. Dante had no idea his father had been so loving, but again, Elsa had documented several events where Heinrich had made a special and sometimes stunning effort to convey his feelings.

  Elsa also set forth the beginning of Klaus’s hatred for Dante, the jealousy Klaus had felt at the birth of his younger brother. There were references to what Elsa called “the event”, but those sections were strangely obscure.

  When Dante reached the section regarding the fire in the theatre, he read the paragraph over at least a dozen times, refusing to believe. Finally, he set the computer away from him on the table and leaned back from the screen. He covered his eyes with his hands and rested his head on the back of the couch, trying not to think on what he had read.

  It was some time later that he felt Elsa shift next to him, her hands on his arm.

  “Dante, are you all right?”

  He took a few slow breaths, not daring to uncover his eyes until he had composed himself somewhat.

  “Is this true?”

  “Which part?”

  “The fire. That Klaus and Giselle set it on purpose.” Saying the words aloud sickened him. Everything Heinrich had worked for, gone. Everything he had wanted to give to his sons, nothing but ash.

  “The theatre was bankrupt thanks to Klaus. There was an insurance policy, and Giselle wanted the money.”

  “But they died.” The horror of discovering their bodies returned—the loss and futility. As did the memory of Elsa, pulling Dante from the inferno.

  “Things didn’t go according to their plan. Klaus was drunk, as usual.” Her voice was sharp with a bitterness Dante did not understand. The edge dulled, as she continued. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to read this alone.”

  He finally removed his hands from his face so he could look at her. She was kneeling next to him, one hand on his shoulder and the other upon his arm. Her color had much improved and she seemed better able to support herself. Still, she chewed on her lower lip, strain pinching the skin around her eyes.

  “How do you know all of this?”

  “I was there. Klaus couldn’t work the lock on Heinrich’s safe. By the time he and Giselle loaded up the lockbox, the fire had spread. Klaus succumbed to the smoke and Giselle… Well, you saw what happened to her.”

  “I had no idea they had sunk so low.”

  “Not even when they accused you of killing Heinrich?”

  “You know of that too?”

  “Yes.”

  How should he be surprised anymore? Dante shook his head. “I could understand their confusion. As you said, Klaus was often inebriated, and with Heinrich’s death… It all happened so fast. To this day, I blame myself.”

  Her hand tightened on Dante’s arm and she rose on her knees, her face quite close to his. Her brow furrowed and her lips pulled down at the corners. When she spoke, her voice was like steel and her eyes flashed as hot as the fire from which she had pulled him.

  “Heinrich’s death was not your fault.” She paused, fretting her lower lip. When she spoke again, her voice had softened. “He was dead before he fell off the scaffold.”

  “You were there that night as well.”

  “You saw me.”

  “I was not certain what I saw.”

  “I am.” Her grip loosened on his arm. She sat back on her legs, leaning against the couch as if her outburst had drained her. “I think he had a heart attack. There was nothing you could have done to save him. You almost died trying to pull him back onto the scaffold, but he was already gone when he fell. I could see his face.”

  She shivered, her eyes staring blankly over Dante’s shoulder, as if she was viewing the memory instead of the room around them. Dante impulsively reached for her, cradling her face in his hands so that she looked at him instead.

  “Think no more upon it, I beg you. It was a horrible moment, and one that is best left behind the both of us.”

  In his mind, the memory was blurred. Too many emotions warred within him. Heinrich had only just told Dante that he was Dante’s father moments before falling from the scaffold. Dante had learned more by reading Elsa’s notes than Heinrich had been able to explain.

  Knowing that Dante could not have saved his father was an added balm to his soul. He had so many reasons to be grateful to her, though he dared not express his thanks.

  Elsa smiled gently at him and nodded. She let out a sigh, gripping his hands and pulling them from her face, though she did not let them go.

&nbs
p; “It must have been strange for you to see me.”

  “Not so very strange,” he said, returning her smile briefly. He was unsure whether to continue, but she was being so open with him. Dante wished to reciprocate. “You glowed with the same light as the night you pulled me from the fire. I thought you were an angel come to take Heinrich to Heaven.”

  “I wondered why you came with me the night of the fire,” she said. “I was afraid when I came back for you that you wouldn’t trust me. I guess you thought it was safe to trust an angel with your life.”

  Dante let out a short laugh and shook his head. “In that moment, I thought my life was already forfeit. I did not trust you with my life. I trusted you with my soul.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The next day, the invisible weights bogging down Elsa’s energy were gone. The emotional ones were heavier than ever. Making it through dinner with Garrett hadn’t been the gauntlet she feared. It had actually been pleasant, and a much-needed boost after what Dante had confessed.

  Putting his life in her hands was bad enough, but his soul?

  What he said didn’t change anything. The bottom line remained. He was depending on her, and she was going to come through for him. She would help him establish himself, hopefully they would become friends, and that would be enough for her.

  She dressed as quickly as she could, then headed to Dante’s room. He wasn’t there or in the kitchen. Elsa went to check the entertainment room and noticed the doors to the studio were open.

  When she reached the doorway, she saw Dante leaning over a canvas on the easel in the painting corner. The doors to the patio beyond were wide open, letting in a cool morning breeze.

  “Good morning.” He smiled brightly when he saw her, then went to the sink to wash out his brush.

  It took Elsa a few moments to recover from that smile, from seeing him in the morning light streaming through the windows, from…everything.

  “Good morning,” she finally said. “Am I intruding?”

  “Not at all. I believe I have finished the piece.”