Hidden Worlds

by Kristie Cook

  “I noticed,” he grins.

  “So?” I ask.

  “It will work on everyone else. You’re special. Let’s go,” he orders.

  My feet feel like lead weights as I get out of the car. Clutching my stick and taking a couple of deep breaths, I approach the front doors. Reed holds one open for me, and as I enter, I hear music piping from the speakers near the back of the store. It’s an instrumental version of Blinded By The Light. Usually something like this would appeal to my macabre sense of humor, but right now, I don’t find it amusing.

  Moving forward slowly, I’m ready to turn and run for the door at a moment’s notice. I think Reed can tell that I’m freaking out inside because he puts his arm around my shoulder reassuringly. “Where did you find the light?” he asks me softly with his mouth near my ear.

  My cheek instinctively brushes against his, causing a shiver to run through me that has nothing to do with being afraid. Our eyes meet, and I blush before pointing to the back aisle of the store, near the refrigerated section. He holds my shoulder, pressing me to his side as we go to the back. I stop directly beneath the light that had kicked my butt yesterday. Dread, like a sickening drug, seeps into every cell of my body while I wait beneath the light for something incredibly bad to happen to me.

  Seconds creep by and … nothing—the light isn’t even flickering menacingly. After a moment, I let out the breath I’ve been holding, smiling at Reed in relief. He smiles back at me, and my heart skips a beat. Then, a loud crash from the front of the store registers in my mind.

  My feet leave the floor as I rocket backward through the air with spine-snapping force. Just when some instinct prepares my body for the impact of hitting the refrigerator doors directly behind me, I slow down and my back rests gently against the cold, hard glass. I press my hands against the glass of the door, feeling moon-white from nausea. Ahead of me, Reed’s broad back shields me from whatever is in front of us. With my legs trembling, I gaze at Reed’s hands on either side of mine; they form a protective barrier around me, paper-clipping me to him. In my next panting breath, Reed straightens up and turns to me with an untroubled expression.

  “It’s okay,” he says slowly, “it was only the clerk making coffee. She dropped the metal filter.” I blink, but otherwise, I can’t move … or think. Reed’s eyebrows pull together in concern as he says, “The tin urn made a loud noise.”

  I rest my hand on his chest, before cautiously peeking around him. Coffee grounds litter the floor by the coffee maker. “Coffee?” I whisper.

  Reed’s face lowers, and his warm cheek rests against mine. I don’t know if the caress was accidental or intentional, but it is comforting … sensual. As I straighten, I realize that it was Reed who had pulled me back as if I were a dry leaf blown by a cyclone. How was that possible? my mind whispers to me. I feel cadaver-cold from the frosty doors at my back, or maybe it’s from trauma.

  Some sort of survival instinct must be setting in, because I manage to say, “Hope you didn’t want any coffee—it will probably have grounds in it. Have you seen enough?” I ask rhetorically, before saying, “Okay, let’s wrap it up.”

  Reed takes a step back from me, allowing me past him. I pick up my stick that I’d dropped. “Snacks, Evie,” Reed reminds from behind me, “you said you’d bring Twinkies.”

  I pause at the Hostess display before snatching a box of Twinkies from the bottom shelf. On the way to the cashier, I nearly stumble, remembering that Reed hadn’t been close enough to hear me promise my friends Twinkies. Reed follows me to the counter and produces his wallet to pay for the Twinkies.

  “Hey, this is supposed to be my treat, remember?” I ask him numbly.

  “No, this one’s on me,” he replies with a sexy smile that warms me as he adds bottled water to the counter.

  “Anything else?” the clerk asks.

  Before I can tell her no, Reed’s persuasive voice echoes with an eerie hiss. “Yes,” he says, “give me your surveillance disk.” The coins slide from the clerk’s hand, clattering and bouncing on the counter. She goes to the back room of the store. As Reed picks up his change, the clerk returns with the disk. “Is this the only one you have?” he asks in the same voice.

  As if in a daze, the clerk answers, “Yes.”

  “You will not remember this,” Reed says, taking the disk from her hand.

  Turning to me, he holds his other hand out for me to take. I put my hand in his as we leave the store together. Reed opens the car door for me, and I get in. When he is in his seat, he breaks the disk into several pieces, placing them in the console of his car. I think about what must be on the disk. It would show how fast Reed had moved once we’d heard the crash of the filter. Not only that, it would show how he placed his body in front of mine, ready to defend me. He’d been serious when he said he would try to protect me.

  “I guess I really didn’t need my stick after all,” I say understatedly.

  “No,” he replies.

  “You should probably get the disk from the night before—see what’s on it,” I say as I shiver.

  “I already did. It goes blank just after you enter the store,” Reed states.

  “Oh.” I say numbly. “Thank you—for what you just did,” I add gratefully.

  “There was no threat,” he states dryly.

  “Yes, but we didn’t know that, did we?” I counter.

  “I won’t lose you,” he says softly.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t help me …” I begin.

  Reed’s dark-green eyes meet mine as he quotes, “I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I’ll go to it laughing.”

  “Moby Dick,” I say drily, “but you don’t remind me of Stubb.”

  His smile is sublime as he starts the engine. It makes a warm firefly-glow in my heart. We pull out of the store parking lot, heading in the direction of my dorm. Unwrapping a package of Twinkies, I hand one to Reed as he drives down the street.

  He sniffs the cake warily. “You weren’t being facetious about these things, were you? You really want me to eat this?” he asks me stoically.

  “Yes, they’re yummy,” I say, taking a bite of the other Twinkie in the twin pack. He tentatively bites the Twinkie, chewing it thoughtfully. “You know what would go great with these?” I ask him, licking the cream filling off the tip of my finger.

  “No, what?” he asks, arching his brow at me inquiringly.

  “Cognac,” I say, smiling at him as I chew my Twinkie.

  “Don’t let a Frenchman hear you say that,” he says, and we both laugh.

  “Will I be as strong as you one day?” I ask, thinking of how effortless his actions in the store had been.

  His brow wrinkles thoughtfully. “I don’t know. You’re different from me, but it’s possible,” he says. I close my eyes, trying to imagine having that kind of power. His tone becomes serious as he says, “But you aren’t strong yet. You have to make sure you never go there without me, Evie. I’m very serious about this. Promise me,” he insists.

  “Reed, did you just call me Evie?” I ask in shock, my eyes flying open to look at him.

  He’s watching me closely, and I wonder if his butterflies are as powerful as mine are. I’m fighting the attraction that tugs me towards him. I have to get away from him soon. He’s making me want something that I can’t define. It’s no longer a kittenish desire to be near him; I’m beginning to feel feral inside.

  “Promise me, Evie,” he says again. It isn’t just that he called me Evie, it is the way he said my name—the seductive tone that he used.

  “You never call me Evie,” I say softly. “You always call me Genevieve, and you usually say it like I’m annoying you, like I’m insignificant.”

  “Maybe you are growing on me after all,” he replies in a gentle tone. “And you’re hardly insignificant,” he says, frowning as if he is seeing something from another perspective.

  “Say it again. Say my name again,” I ask him in a hush tone.

  �
�Promise me, Evie,” he says, and the sound of his voice feels like a caress.

  “Nothing happened in the store tonight. No flashes of light, no threatening monsters, nothing …” I trail off again, fighting the pull of our attraction.

  “Evie,” he utters sweetly.

  “I promise,” I say breathlessly, feeling myself blush.

  “Thank you,” he smiles.

  “What is our next move?” I ask, trying to stay on track and not be dazed by his lovely face.

  “We wait,” he replies.

  “Wait? Wait for what?” I ask in confusion.

  “For you,” he replies cryptically.

  “For me? What am I going to do?” I ask in bafflement.

  “It shouldn’t be long now,” Reed goes on.

  “What shouldn’t be long now?” I ask. He only smiles at me like a child would at a new toy. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” I ask, feeling frustration.

  “Can’t,” he says calmly.

  “Then what good are you?” I tease him as he pulls into a parking space at Yeats. “Hope you enjoyed that Twinkie because you’re not getting another one until you start talking.”

  “So, what mischief are you planning with your blond companions?” Reed asks, ignoring my comment and changing the subject.

  “I can’t tell you,” I reply coyly, not letting him get away with it. “All I will say is that it won’t be long now.”

  “Just be careful, Evie. With all that’s going on, you don’t need to go out and court trouble,” Reed replies with concern, stating the obvious.

  I want to ask him if he’d define having just gone to the 7-Eleven as courting trouble, but he is being nice to me now, and I don’t want that to change. “It’s called having fun, Reed. You should try it sometime,” I say with a playful smile. “I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow at practice, okay?”

  “Okay, I’ll see you at practice,” he says softly, and then he does something that I would never have expected if I’d lived a million years. Leaning across the seat, he touches my hair. With a curious smile, my eyebrow arches in question.

  Reed’s fingertips skim my cheek in a whisper-soft caress, eliciting an airy-sounding inhale from me that betrays the perfect danger of the moment. He begins leaning toward me slowly, almost as if he hopes I will have the strength to save us from what is about to happen. No such power exists within me, so I wait to feel his kiss. As Reed brushes his lips gently to mine, a flush of warmth filters through my senses. Closing my eyes, I savor the wistful sweetness of his lips while my heart beats ponderously in my chest. Feeling my fingertips resting against his cheek, I wonder briefly how they got there. That thought flees as I move closer to him, losing my way when heat sends me free falling into hidden fires.

  Drawing back from me, Reed’s eyes meet mine; his are sage green and at their centers, midnight. My fingertips feel cool against the warmth of his skin as they slip behind his neck. Leaning forward, I graze my lips over his again, and like a stone wall slowly battered by the elements, something collapses between us. He pulls me to him urgently, and then … hellfire. Every kiss I’ve ever had before this one was a dusty, broken toy in comparison. I crave him. I’m not the one who ends the kiss. I have no control over the fervor that has overcome me. Reed gently, but insistently, ends our kiss.

  Resting his forehead against mine, Reed murmurs, “Evie, we are in trouble … there is no doubt.”

  “Trouble, why?” I rasp with my arms wrapped securely around the back of his neck.

  “Because I will never be able to stay away from you,” he replies shamelessly, nuzzling my neck just below my ear.

  “Ohh,” I say, half in reaction to his lips on my neck. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “You should go,” he says, holding me tighter.

  “Yes … I have that thing …” I reply, pressing my cheek to his and hugging him as if I’ll never see him again.

  “Okay … I will see you tomorrow,” he says. “Goodnight, Evie.”

  “Goodnight,” I sigh, pulling away from him, but our hands stay entwined until the last possible second as I get out of his car.

  I smile at him before I close the door, and I stand there in the parking lot while he pulls away. Walking back to the dorm, I near the lamppost illuminating the sidewalk. I almost jump out of my skin when I notice someone standing just beyond it.

  “Russell!” I say, feeling my whole life spin out of control when I see the look on his face. He looks like someone had died. No, that isn’t it—he looks like someone who has been betrayed, like he just had to pull a knife out of his own back.

  “Save it, Evie, I saw ya,” he snarls, starting to walk away.

  “Russell, Reed was helping me …” I lamely try to explain.

  “Helpin’ ya? Helpin’ ya do what?” he asks as he stops and faces me. “It looked to me like he was helpin’ himself to ya. Unless his voice has started workin’ on ya, I’d say ya were enjoyin’ it.”

  A blush stains my cheeks as I panic. “I meant, before that …” I trail off. I can’t even be honest with Russell about what happened at the 7-Eleven. The less he knows about all of it, the better. Isn’t that what I had decided in order to protect Russell? But it doesn’t feel like protection, it feels like betrayal, and something in my heart feels cut as if it bleeds because I’ve hurt him.

  “Ya mean there’s more to this than I just witnessed? Well that’s a relief, Genevieve,” he says sarcastically before adding, “why don’t ya enlighten me on what you have been doin’ all evenin’ with the guy who was just yer enemy a couple of days ago.” He waits for me to speak, but I can’t. “No … ya got nothin’ to say to me?” he asks.

  “I’m sorry, Russell,” I say simply. My throat tightens and aches.

  “Yeah, yer sorry,” he replies in a low, sarcastic tone.

  Russell’s shoulders slope as he walks away, leaving me to my feelings of shame and remorse.

  CHAPTER 11 - PARADISE LOST

  I skip breakfast in the morning so that I can avoid seeing Russell. I still feel raw from what happened last night; the kiss with Reed had been nothing short of amazing, but the betrayal I saw in Russell’s eyes haunts me. Buns and Brownie had tried hard to cheer me up the night before, but I still feel absolutely awful about hurting Russell. It isn’t only that. I feel lost, too, like a string around my heart is unraveling and slipping through my fingers.

  I decide to go to my Art History class early so that I can talk to Mr. MacKinnon. I find him setting up his slides for his lecture. Sam is sort of handsome, now that Buns mentioned it, in a bad-boy of the teacher’s lounge kind of way. With dark hair and blue eyes, he has a scruffy five-o’clock-shadow thing going on at seven-thirty in the morning.

  “Excuse me, Mr. MacKinnon, may I come in?” I ask tentatively from just inside his classroom doorway.

  “Ah, Genevieve, is it?” he asks, looking up from the projector. “Yes, please come in. Have you come to tell me that you will sit for me?” he asks confidently.

  “So, you’re a mind reader as well as an artist,” I reply. “I’m sorry I made you wait for my answer.”

  “That’s quite all right. It just shows that you’re wise beyond your years to question and not to take things at face value,” he compliments. “When can you sit for me?”

  “Tuesdays and Thursdays are good, since my afternoons are free. I have field hockey practice in the evenings,” I say.

  “Good, how’s three thirty until five sound? The afternoon light will be perfect for what I’m thinking about doing with you,” he says, scrutinizing me for whatever it is that he has in mind for the portrait.

  Feeling a little shy, I say, “I can do that. When should we start?”

  “Today, if you can. I’ll have my assistant, Debra, ready to take some pictures this afternoon. Three thirty,” he says, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically.

  “I’ll be there,” I reply. “Can I help you set up the projector?”

  “Oh
… this … someone mixed up my slides. I’m going to be talking about the Paleolithic, Venus von Willendorf, but for some reason, my slides are out of order, you see …” he says, pointing to the screen at the front of the room, “I keep getting stuck on Hieronymus Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights. Some call it The Millennium.”

  I try to hide my surprise because the painting is somewhat scandalous … umm, I mean high-art. “It looks very involved,” I say, gazing at the oil painting that depicts what seems to be a series of three separate paintings linked together.

  “It’s a triptych, which in this case is a heretical painting in three sections done in oil on wood. You see, the middle section is the largest, it’s a square, and two separate rectangles flank the square. The rectangles can be folded like shutters. Of course, when one does that, there is another painting on the other side. This one has a scene of the creation of the Earth, on what is believed to be the third day,” he explains.

  “What do these paintings depict?” I ask in fascination.

  “The left is said to be the Garden of Eden at the moment God presents Eve to Adam,” Mr. MacKinnon says enthusiastically as he waves his hand toward the left portion of the screen. “The middle panel is still the garden, but without God present and vastly more populated with fantastical creatures and highly creative nudes. And the right is a Hellscape that depicts damnation.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” I say, somewhat speechless.

  “Yes, Bosch was well ahead of his time, you know, he painted this in about 1503. It is said to be his masterpiece, but I’m more partial to his Last Judgment triptych. Let me see if I can find the slide … ahh, here it is. The left panel is called Paradise. If you look at the bottom portion of it, it seems to depict Paradise and God creating Adam and Eve. In the middle of the same left panel of the painting is the temptation of Adam and Eve. It shows them being driven out of Eden by an angel of the Lord. At the top of the left panel, we see Heaven where God is seated and the angels are driving out the fallen angels. You see them there,” he says, pointing to the screen where painted angels battle among the clouds, “they’re at war with each other.”