Mystical Circles

by S. C. Skillman

  But before Rory could reply, Patrick pulled him aside, clearly intent on developing the theological discussion he’d just opened.

  Meanwhile, Juliet’s attention was drawn once more by Laura’s predicament. She lay flat out across the three chairs which Al had thoughtfully placed there for her, while he kneeled near her head, and cradled it in his arms. Juliet went to join them. “Managing, Al? Need any help yet?”

  It seemed not; for as she drew close, she realised they were busy quoting poetry at each other.

  “I was much too far out all my life and not waving but drowning,” lamented Laura.

  “Cool, baby. But try this,” said Al. “I read beneath the innocence of morning flesh concealed, hinting of death she does not heed.”

  “Mmm. Powerful words. Who wrote them?”

  “A fellow American. Weldon Kees. They think he jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge in 1955.”

  “Oh Al, why do we need to be so depressing? Let’s go to bed instead,” mumbled Laura.

  Juliet felt a light pressure on her shoulder. Turning, she saw Theo. He put his free arm around Zoe.

  “Good night, Juliet,” said Zoe pointedly.

  Juliet stepped forward, keen to delay them. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Theo,” she said.

  “Yes?” he prompted her. What was the matter with him? His eyes, when they rested upon hers, were unsmiling. Had she offended him in some way?

  “Enjoy the recital, Theo?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Rory did very well.”

  “Do you still feel Llewellyn was wrong to organise it?”

  “Misguided,” he said. “If the group continues what he’s set in motion here tonight, it will fall apart.”

  She stared at him, dismayed. “You think so?”

  “Certainly. Craig needs to bring it all together again quickly. If not, Don’s worst fears will be proved true.”

  She studied his calm face. “Theo?”

  “Yes?”

  “What did that visionary friend of yours do next?”

  “Went away and discussed his ideas with close friends at his church,” said Theo. “But it wasn’t possible to take things any further. No money.”

  She waited.

  “I did tell you that before, Juliet,” he added softly.

  Zoe stood looking from one to the other.

  “Come on, Zoe,” Theo said. And they left.

  Putting her recording equipment onto the bedside table, and throwing herself onto her bed, Juliet thought about what she’d seen and heard this evening. But hard and fast conclusions escaped her. Why wasn’t Craig there? He should have been. He needed to wrest back control. But there’d been no sign of him.

  And what of Zoe’s idea that Craig had fallen for her? If this was true, Juliet needed to make a quick decision. But what was she going to decide about Craig? None of it added up. She jumped to her feet and began walking to and fro across her room. Right now, Don seemed a far better option. She thought of Craig as dangerous and unreliable. Don she saw as a haven, a safe place to run into.

  But then there was Llewellyn. Surely he hadn’t tried to upstage Craig just to get into her good books? That was an appalling thought. At this, there came a knock on her door. She glanced at her watch. It was half past eleven. “Yes?” she called.

  “It’s me, Juliet.” It was Llewellyn’s voice.

  Ah! Her opportunity to set him straight! She pulled the door open.

  “Do you mind?” The poet came through. Amazingly, he still looked fresh and invigorated by the evening’s events. He stood regarding her. “Zoe not with you?”

  “No, of course not. Why should she be? I would hope she’s in bed.” And so she probably was; but not on her own, either.

  “Come in.” She remained standing, and didn’t offer him a seat. After the example given him by the other members of the group tonight, she was taking no chances.

  “Couldn’t go back to my room without a word with you, Juliet,” he said. “I imagined you sitting here, perplexed. And I know I’m the one to settle your mind.”

  “Are you?” She meant to approach this in a reasonable manner. No point in upsetting him by her efforts to make him face the truth. But, having decided this, she burst out, “What are you up to? Craig runs this community, not you.”

  “He’s running it all right. Running it into the ground. Recently, I’ve had a strong sense that the Wheel of Love may be starting to fall apart.”

  “So why are you hastening the process?”

  “How can you say that, Juliet?” he remonstrated. He searched her face for a few moments. “The community was heading this way well before I got the idea for my little experiment.”

  “Your little experiment as you call it may turn out to be the one thing necessary to puncture the wheel once and for all.” Hands on hips, she glared at him.

  He wore an injured expression. “You’re testing me, Juliet. Surely you admit this evening has opened something up in everybody.”

  “Yes, but has it been for the good?”

  He considered this. “I believe so.”

  “Perhaps,” she went on, “you should have left them for Craig to sort out. Heaven knows, they’re in enough of a mess as it is. It’s not a task I’d gladly take on, for one.”

  His eyes held hers. Did he resent her criticism? He gently interlocked her fingers with his. “I apologise for my arrogance.”

  For a moment, this disarmed her. Then she gathered herself together again, and withdrew her hand. “Apologise to the group, Llewellyn, not me.”

  “Oh no, I won’t do that. They enjoyed it,” he said. “And they voted for me.”

  Juliet fell silent, stung by his unexpected defiance.

  “I’ve been watching you, too, you know.” Llewellyn pressed home his point. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I mean, you and Craig.”

  Not another one! This flash of a knife blade had come entirely without warning. “There’s nothing between me and Craig. Why won’t anyone believe me?” She felt mortified. She wanted Llewellyn to go. But instead, he remained, the expression in his eyes growing tender.

  Before she could translate the meaning of this, he’d stepped quickly forward, and pulled her to him. “Juliet, it’s not that… I want you to know… if you say you care nothing for Craig, is there a chance for me?”

  Her heart hammered against her ribs. She couldn’t believe this. Pure panic shot up inside her. “You, Llewellyn?” she gasped, momentarily paralysed.

  “Yes. You know, Juliet, since I came here, I’ve written poems about everyone. But none more than you.”

  “I’m glad I’ve inspired you, Llewellyn. Read me some tomorrow. But go now.”

  “No, no, Juliet. You can’t mean that. What about tonight?”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” he said. “My heart has made its mind up and I’m afraid it’s you.”

  Her mind in a whirl, she pushed him away. “No, Llewellyn. Quote poetry all you like. To someone else. But no, it won’t be me.”

  He nearly lost his balance. But when he regained it, he was clearly undeterred, and spoke once more, with fresh resolve. “Juliet, Craig’s no good for you. It won’t work. You’d ruin your life. And here am I, offering myself to you.”

  She flared up again. “I told you, you’re mistaken about Craig.” Even as she spoke these words, she realised how they could be taken the wrong way. “Drop it, Llewellyn. You’re wasting your breath. I’m not interested in you.” Her arms and hands were trembling, and her face was on fire.

  “Please, Juliet. I want you so much.” He seized hold of her again.

  “No, Llewellyn! Let go. And leave my room.”

  He behaved as if he hadn’t heard. “You care about me, I know you do,” he insisted. “You’re irresistible.” He began to nuzzle her cheek, her ear and her neck with his lips. She struggled, but his hold tightened.

  “Let go, Llewellyn,” she cried.

  “No, Juliet. You’re intelligent, beautif
ul, and have passion inside you,” he continued. “Why, don’t you realise how perfectly creativity and sensuality go together?”

  “I very much expect they do,” she said; “with the right person. And that’s not me, Llewellyn.”

  “Oh yes it is.” He began to expertly manoeuvre her back towards the bed. She tried to fight him off, but her strength was no match for his. He pushed her onto the bed, and threw himself on top of her. She tried to scream but he silenced her with kisses. “You see,” he said after a pause for breath, “you and me, Juliet... we were made for each other.”

  At that moment there came a loud hammering on the door. Startled, Llewellyn loosened his grip, and Juliet managed to wriggle out from under him and hurl herself across to the door. She wrenched it open and just had time to register the appalled face of Don, who had clearly glimpsed the dishevelled poet behind her, before she gasped, “We’ve all had too much to drink this evening. Time for bed.”

  Don sprang into the room and grabbed Llewellyn. Before she had time to register anything further, Don had propelled him through the doorway into the arms of Craig, who’d been just outside with Don, ready and waiting.

  Walking into the kitchen the next morning, Juliet found herself alone with Rory again. Sprawling at the table in a listless fashion, resembling Lord Byron as little as possible, he stirred a teaspoon around in a glass of water. He wore a badly creased T-shirt which looked as if it had been slept in.

  She felt emotionally drained. Surely Rory wouldn’t try anything so early in the morning? She’d almost lost the will to worry about him any more. And Llewellyn’s advances last night had left her in a state akin to shell shock. “Good morning, Rory.” She sat carefully at the end of the table nearest to the door, with her Nagra and mike.

  His only response was a grunt, whilst he continued stirring. Odd, she thought, especially as he was the one person she supposed to have thoroughly enjoyed yesterday evening’s events. Might he already be starting to regret the fact that Craig had been ousted from power?

  She set the mike up just beside the muesli packet, and turned it on. “Did you enjoy the poetry workshop last night?” she asked politely.

  “I did,” he snapped.

  “That was a powerful poem of yours,” she observed.

  “Thanks.” He still looked moody.

  “But you don’t seem too happy this morning.”

  Rory sipped at his glass of water. “No. It’s Craig. He’s disappeared.”

  She felt mystified. “We’re not that far into the day. He’s probably just gone for a walk.”

  “After last night,” said Rory, looking unconvinced, “you’d think he’d be well in evidence, trying to claw back control.”

  “Perhaps.” Well, she thought, he’d definitely been trying to claw back control in the small hours from Llewellyn, outside her bedroom door.

  “Instead, Craig has vanished,” went on Rory. “What kind of a leader is that? I used to believe in him.”

  And yet you voted for Llewellyn, she thought to herself, but didn’t say. She still couldn’t tell if he might react badly. She considered him, thoughtfully. This was a new Rory, confiding things he’d never admitted to her before.

  “So, now,” he said, “we look to Llewellyn to lead us.”

  Before Juliet could query this, the door opened, and Laura weaved her way in. She wore a little floral printed jersey dress with a fleecy cardigan which made her look like something out of the five-to-sixteens fashion section of a major household catalogue. Her hair looked as unmanageable as ever. Juliet watched her as she found her way to the kettle. “Good morning, Laura.”

  There was no reply.

  “Ah, I see things are a little slow in moving this morning,” said Rory.

  “Surprised?” Laura asked. She and Rory exchanged a fierce look.

  “Nothing would surprise me about you now, Laura,” said Rory snidely.

  “Still sore about last night?” she demanded.

  What was all this about? Juliet looked from one to the other in bafflement, but kept the mike live.

  Laura, meanwhile, filled the kettle, produced a small plastic bag and removed a sachet from it. Having made her herbal tea, she sat beside Juliet, took a sip from her cup, and said, “I enjoyed last night. Up until the point when Al was about to go and get us some champagne. And was accosted by Rory.”

  A hand gripped Juliet’s heart. Oh no. Not again. What was Laura about to tell her?

  Laura lifted the cup to her lips.

  Sleek and dangerous, Rory rose from his seat.

  “Please sit down, Rory,” said Juliet firmly. He obeyed, to her amazement.

  “All right, I’ll tell the story,” he said.

  Juliet steeled herself for a completely distorted account. At least she might have got a reasonably accurate report from Laura. Oh well, perhaps she could ask her quietly later. She nodded, and checked the levels on her recorder as Rory spoke.

  “At precisely eleven-twenty,” he said, “having just escaped a fate worse than death, fending off an attack by both Beth and Oleg as I passed the bathroom….”

  Laura frowned. “I didn’t know about that.” She sounded slightly piqued.

  “Maybe you didn’t,” said Rory, “but it happened. Anyway, I found myself opposite Laura’s bedroom door. It stood wide open. Inside Al was trying to convince her he didn’t want to take advantage while she was drunk….”

  “That’s because he’s a perfect gentleman,” declared Laura, her cheeks glowing at the memory. “So when I told him not to worry because I wasn’t that drunk...”

  “I went in to help,” claimed Rory.

  Juliet could see Laura’s colour rising. She held out a warning hand. But it was to no avail.

  “So what business was it of yours?” Laura cried.

  “Everything’s my business,” Rory maintained. “And so, Juliet, back to my story. The next thing I knew, Al rugby-tackled me.”

  From the sound of it, Juliet didn’t blame him.

  “Then,” continued Rory, “before I knew what was happening, Al had fallen on his face on the floor, and Laura had thrown herself onto me.”

  “Rubbish,” Laura said hotly.

  “It was a bit like Potiphar’s wife in Genesis, trying to seduce Joseph,” said Rory. “I thought, this is it, shut my eyes and recited the Lord’s Prayer backwards.”

  “You totally misunderstood the situation, Rory,” said Laura.

  He shot a poisonous look at her.

  Juliet felt she’d heard quite enough by now to build up a pretty clear picture of what actually happened. Rory’s interference had been totally inappropriate, and Al’s response had been understandable. But she wasn’t going to say that to Rory now. Instead, she hastened to defuse the tension between Rory and Laura. She appealed to them both. “Whatever happened, it’s all over and done with now, and no one’s been seriously hurt.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” said Rory.

  Juliet glanced at him. His eyes held a manic glitter. Oh dear, she thought.

  “I have been deeply psychologically damaged by last night’s events,” announced Rory.

  Laura and Juliet looked at each other.

  Juliet took a deep breath. “Don’t you feel, though, Laura,” she said quietly, “that last night’s antics would never have got so out of hand if you’d all respected Craig’s leadership and not encouraged Llewellyn to take over?”

  This met with stony silence. A few moments passed. Then Laura got up from her seat. “Llewellyn’s in charge now,” she said. “End of subject.” And she flounced out of the kitchen before Juliet could stop her. As she closed the door behind her, Juliet jumped to her feet, turned the mike off, and picked up her recording equipment. She wasn’t going to risk another moment alone in the kitchen with Rory in an irate state.

  She was about to follow Laura, when she heard the sound of smashing glass behind her. She spun. Rory had seized his tumbler and lobbed it across to the other side of the kitchen, where it h
ad struck a cupboard door and fragmented.

  Juliet froze. “Go easy on the glassware, won’t you, Rory.”

  He stood up, and prowled in her direction. She sprang towards the door and put her hand on the door latch. “I’ll stay and listen to you, Rory, if you keep your distance,” she said.

  He stopped. “All right.” He moved back a few inches.

  Warily, she stepped forward again.

  “Sit down then,” he said.

  She did so. But every sense was on guard.

  “You’ve been disingenuous about Craig,” he said, taking another seat, much closer to her than she liked. “You came to undermine him, and now you leap to his defence.”

  “I came to do interviews. I only meant to listen, not judge. I shall be sad if the community falls apart.”

  “I don’t believe you.” And he reached out and snatched hold of her right wrist. He held onto it so fiercely his knuckles whitened.

  “Let go, Rory!”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Rory, I’m warning you…”

  “Warning me of what? You have no power over me.”

  She managed to twist away from him. “Rory, this is totally unacceptable. Why do you betray my trust in you like this?”

  Once more she was on her feet, and hurrying to the door. She was just about to leave when she heard a voice behind her – high-pitched, terrifyingly vulnerable, childlike. It sounded nothing like Rory. It was not the voice of a grown man.

  She turned, trembling. All the time she was amazed at her own ability to give him these second and third chances.

  He sat, head in hands, back at the table. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in the same strange voice. His shoulders were heaving. He was sobbing his heart out.

  She felt numb with shock and fear and pity. She swallowed several times before speaking. “Rory, what is it?” she asked gently. “Tell me about it.”

  Gradually he became more composed. “My problems,” he blurted in a voice that sounded like his own again.

  “And what are they, Rory?” she asked.

  “Come and sit down again first,” he pleaded. “Show me you believe I’m not a monster.”