by Sarah Noffke
Damn this woman. She’s too smart for her own good. I sigh, like I’m annoyed. “Whatever. What’s your bloody point?”
“My point,” she says, straightening and gliding around her desk, “is that you and I have an unmistakable connection. I’ve seen the future and you’re mine. I will make you happy. I will make you feel appreciated in the ways you’ve never felt you needed. And you, well, you’re the one man who is worthy enough to stand beside me. You’re the only one I want to love me without my insistence to make you. You and I, Ren, belong together because we can make anyone love us and yet we only want each other. We want the one person who understands how it feels to wield this power. Yes, you have Dahlia and there’s perks to that relationship. She makes you feel human, isn’t that right?”
Vivian pauses and waits for my answer, but I don’t grant her one. I only narrow my eyes at her.
“However, I can do something that she can’t and no one ever has. I can make you feel like the god you really are. You’re not a monster. You’re my man. With you, this isn’t about control. Everyone believes in something. And I believe in you. You are my faith. When I repent it’s your name that I say. You are my heaven and I’ve never been a religious person but for you I want to be saved so I make it to the afterlife,” she says in that voice that makes her words sound like music.
This broad is good. On most men the combination of her tantalizing appearance and perfectly constructed words would hook them immediately. Most men are idiots though. Easily sucked in by the beauty of the beast with a Y chromosome. However, a lioness is also alluring, and they can tear out a man’s throat.
I unfasten my suit jacket, pulling it back slightly before tucking my hand in my pocket. Vivian’s eyes catch the movement before swiveling back up to mine. She tucks her chin and gives me a look that reminds me of a hungry jackal.
“So what do you say?” she says.
“Well, we could go through a long discussion on the subject. I could argue with you all bloody day. I could take you to dinner to determine if we have this chemistry that you’ve described. I could even insult you a few dozen times just to see if you can be dissuaded,” I say.
“But…” she says, a purr in her smooth voice.
“But I’ve never been a man who wasted my own time with games. Especially when I know how this game will end,” I say, stepping forward, putting only inches between us. The look on my face is formulated to make her believe me. To never question my next move. This seduction business really is too easy.
I reach out and place my hand on the side of her neck. Her skin doesn’t feel like anything I’ve ever felt. It’s too smooth. Too perfect. Not warm or cold. And it’s soft and yet strong.
And then her voice streams through my head, using my telekinesis linked to touch. I saw this all in a clairvoyant dream. Not how it ends but you here. I want you and want you to want me. And I won’t use my controls on you. I will only hope you make the right decision.
“I’m not the one who has to make the next decision. I’ve already made mine,” I say aloud.
“What’s the decision you want me to make?” she says, her voice now a breathy whisper.
Under my hand I feel her pulse. It’s strong. Fast. And somehow doing something to me. Hypnotizing me. I draw in a breath and steady myself on feet that feel like they’re slipping away. Then I focus all my attention on her dark blue eyes. “Vivian, will you marry me?”
She doesn’t startle. Her pulse doesn’t pause or speed up. Only a long slow smile spreads on her red lips. “You know I will, Ren Lewis. I’ve already committed my life to you, but now I want to commit my body to yours.”
Chapter Nineteen
Vivian is curled up in a silk robe in front of the fire, her feet rubbing back and forth against each other like she has a minor itch on her instep.
“When will I see you again?” she says, as I pull off my thick sweater and smooth down my button-down. It’s snowing in Oslo, Norway, which was one of the reasons Vivian chose it for our honeymoon. She knows I prefer the cold and hate the outdoors. And truthfully watching snow fall outside the cabin windows for the past few days has been strangely relaxing. Actually doing only a few things for the last few days has been nice. I’ve never taken a vacation. Refused to go on them with Dahlia, but when a man marries a woman he’s required to do a few things. Fortunately the few things she’s required haven’t been a problem for me. And again there’s no remorse in how I’ve spent the last few days. I’m an agent for the Lucidites. This is how an agent lives. We have to do things. Sometimes unpleasant things. Sometimes things against laws and moral codes. But when I removed myself from this situation and looked at it as the Head Strategist, I knew exactly how I’d assign an agent such as myself. I’d have him use his status with Vivian to get on the inside, which in this case meant me marrying her.
“Soon,” I say, leaning down, anticipating the steps that precede a goodbye with this woman. Her mouth is soft and slow on mine.
Vivian pulls pack, but just an inch. “I’ll miss you,” she says.
“I know what you’ll miss,” I say, and the playful tone of my voice surprises me.
I turn at once and take a seat on the king-sized bed we’ve shared.
“You better hurry up and generate your body, or I might take advantage of you,” she says.
“There’s no might about it,” I say, giving her a wink before lying down on the plush comforter.
My last thought as my conscious mind takes a journey is a startling one. I just fucking winked.
***
“I’m convinced that God put women on this earth to destroy men,” I say, my elbows pinned on my legs and my head in my hands.
A soft chuckle. “Ahhh, but they are the creators of life,” Dr. Raydon says.
“No, they’re the ones perpetuating the fucking cycle with their childbearing and their sexual ways,” I say.
“I’m going to trademark that position, the Ren’s frustrated stance,” he says, trying to be clever. I loathe it when people try to be something, like funny or smart. If people just stopped trying all the time to be crafty and cool then I wouldn’t hate them so much. “You haven’t moved from that position in over an hour,” the doctor observes.
I lift my head, feeling the sobriety of the moment pounding in my skull. “I guess that’s your not-so-subtle way of telling me our time is up. Next time just tell me to get the bloody hell out of here,” I say.
“Not at all,” the doctor sings, his voice always light. “I’ve got plenty of time for you. I was simply making note of your nonverbal cues since you refuse to talk matter-of-factly about what’s bothering you.”
“Nothing is bothering me. I’m exhausted from fucking a woman nonstop for the last three days and that’s all,” I say, my voice hoarse.
“Oh yes, from having intercourse with a woman who isn’t your betrothed,” he says.
“What are you from, the bloody Renaissance time period?”
“I do like things and words from before my time,” Dr. Raydon says. “And I was simply trying to say maybe you’re exhausted also because of the emotional implications of your infidelity.”
“Don’t be absurd, although I’ll admit there’s more on my mind. There always is. Currently, I’m trying to muster any remaining strength to confront a daughter who is tearing my life to pieces with her own unique brand of dysfunctional,” I say, thinking of Adelaide and that hollow look in her eyes which day by day looks to be deepening.
“Not to mention you want to help her, but that would take showing a part of yourself you’re afraid of,” he says, and I don’t really appreciate how bold he’s getting with his observations. He should be too afraid of me to be so blunt, like the rest of the population.
“Unlike most of the guys who sit in this chair, I’m not the scared type. I’m a man who knows all parts of myself and showing them isn’t the least bit scary. I don’t have skeletons in my closet or repressed memories. I’m just a fucking monster and we bot
h know it,” I say.
“And you think this monster is the reason you could so easily be intimate with another woman when you truly love Dahlia,” he says, rather than asks.
“Intimate? Really? Can you not make me throw up and just say it straight out? I shagged Vivian. A lot,” I say, one of the recent memories playing across my eyes.
“And you’re not remorseful about it. And that’s exactly what bothers you,” Dr. Raydon says.
“Nothing is bothering me,” I almost yell.
“Then why are you here? We aren’t scheduled to meet until next week, Ren.”
“Well, I… It’s just…” Wait, what the fuck is going on here? Am I at a loss for bloody words? I’m practically stuttering. “I just missed your mustache. I’m thinking of marrying it.”
He chuckles. “That would be bigamy.”
“Add it to my list of sins. I’m trying to rack up as many as I can before God summons me,” I say.
“Ren, I’m afraid this will have to be our last session.”
“For how long?” I say, taken aback by the sudden change in topics.
“Forever,” he says, breaking the one word into two.
“Wait, you just said you had all the time in the world for me,” I say, feigning hurt.
He eyes the clock on the wall. “Today I do. Tomorrow I leave the Lucidite Institute for good.”
“You what?” I say, pushing forward in the chair. Now I’m perched on its edge. “You can’t do that.”
He smiles and I just catch the apology in his eyes. Or maybe it’s pity. He feels sorry for me. For abandoning me and my therapy. Oh fuck!
“I enjoy my work in this practice,” he says, waving his arm around at the walls covered in diplomas and paintings of calming landscapes. “Dream Travelers have unique problems and it has always made sense for me to counsel my own race.” Dr. Raydon has a practice inside the Institute, as well as in Los Angeles. This helps in his efforts locating lost Dream Travelers, like Vivian.
His eyes trail off with a dreamy quality until he’s gazing fondly at the ceiling. “I help my patients in my practice, but I have figured out a way to create real change for people.”
“Sell poisoned drugs to the poor so we can cross them off the class system?” I say.
A real smile perks up his mustache as he nods. “Helping people with their problems is one way to fix things. But another is to inspire them. Even better is to show them the greatness that resides within them.”
“Doc, you can totally tell me, are you drunk?”
“Ren, you intervene in most cases before a tragedy happens. I try to help people after they have problems. But where is the person, or better yet the organization, that’s inspiring, creating lasting change? Circulating the greatest force known to man. Love. That’s really the only long-term solution. We can’t always intervene and we can’t fix everyone but we can spread love,” he says.
“So you’re starting a brothel? Good on you,” I say.
“I’m starting a circus,” he says through a laugh.
“Oh, bloody hell. You’re fucking kidding, right?” I say.
He shakes his head with a giant proud smile.
“You’re fucking abandoning a viable practice and the opportunity to get inside my head to employ a bunch of scary clowns?” I say.
“I am,” he sings.
“And you’ve actually deluded yourself into believing this will make a better world,” I say.
“Well, to be honest, there’s not going to be any clowns. And yes, I do think this venture will make a better world, or at least make everything it touches better. You see, I’m going to first use my recruiting skills to find Dream Travelers who need help. My mission is to make them superstars and then inspire crowds, thereby restoring magic in their lives. The shows they see will make them want to be better. Make them want to spread love. Because love is contagious, it just needs a vehicle so it can spread,” he says, and I realize he’s completely sold on this. He’s invested. He’s delusional.
“This is a horrible idea. I forbid you to waste your time failing at this,” I say.
“Oh, Ren, I’ve enjoyed my time with you as well and I’ll miss you dearly.”
“For fuck sake, Doc. You’re actually good at what you do, which is rare.” My voice steadily rises, which at first is a surprise to me. “How can you throw away all this?” I say, flinging my hand at the diploma that holds his credentials as a psychiatrist.
“If you think I make a good doctor, just imagine how amazing I’ll be as a ringmaster,” he says, his eyes staring off again, a twinkle in them.
Chapter Twenty
“Sir, she asked not to be disturbed for one hour,” the meathead guard says when I approach the door he’s guarding.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Is this your way of telling me you want to smack your thick skull on the marble?” I say to the guard.
He lifts his fat hand and rubs the back of his head, probably feeling the permanent bump from the last time I hypnotized him and made him pass out.
“Sir, I’m just stating what I was told. Dahlia was adamant,” he says.
“I’ll show you fucking adamant,” I say.
He holds up his hands, a fear in his dull eyes. “I’m just relaying the message. I’m not stopping you,” he says, stepping out of the way.
“No, Chuck, because we both know you can’t stop me,” I say, opening the door.
Meditation music plays overhead, the lights are dim, and a mint smell greets my nose.
“Ren, that order applied to you as well and you know it,” Dahlia says, her words muffled since she’s lying face down, her head in the opening of the massage table.
The masseuse smiles politely at me before continuing her work on Dahlia’s lower back.
“No, it didn’t and stop playing daft games, dear Dahlia. We both know you’re dying to see me,” I say.
“It’s true, I am,” she says, again her words muffled because her jaw is restricted. “But I haven’t had a minute to myself for weeks, let alone a solid night’s rest. My muscles are tight.”
“She’s right,” the masseuse offers, again looking up at me before pumping oil from the bottle buckled to her waist.
“I know one way to work those knots out,” I say, earning a blush from the girl.
“Yeah, sex sounds good. Probably in a day or two, once I’m rested up,” Dahlia says.
I huff. “A day or two? Woman, you expect me to wait around here for you to rest up? Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been shagged?” I say.
The girl now tucks her chin, probably to hide her embarrassment.
“Well, it’s been as long for you as for me,” Dahlia says, also like me not shameful about having this conversation in front of the help.
“No, not as long for me actually,” I say.
“Oh, did you finally cave and get some hookers?” Dahlia says, a joke in her voice.
“Ha-ha,” I say. “Hookers are so beneath me.”
“So I want to hear, how are Adelaide and Lucas doing?” Dahlia says.
“Lucien,” I correct her. “And hell if I know. I’ve been gone and just got back. Came straight in here to see you.”
“You came to interrupt my first bit of rest, you mean,” she says.
“Well, of course. I rearranged my schedule to ensure I was here during your first bit of relaxation.”
The masseuse moves around to the other side of the table, her attention now on Dahlia’s shoulders.
“Well, where did your travels take you? I’m assuming you’re still working the Smart Solutions case.” Her voice fluctuates from the pressure the girl is pushing into her body.
“I am. I’ll have it wrapped up soon,” I say, meaning it.
“Oh good. The sooner you don’t have to work with that blonde bimbo, the better.”
I shift my weight on my feet, a nervous gesture I’m glad Dahlia can’t see with her head down. She hasn’t been comfortable with this case since I told her ab
out Vivian’s obsession with me. I thought it was interesting. Dahlia did not.
“So where’d you have to go for business? Usually you don’t have to stay overnight,” Dahlia says.
She’s right and observant. My dream travel ability and proximity to GAD-Cs make it so I’m either home or in the Institute at night.
“It was more of a vacation,” I say, again shifting my weight, unsure how to stand properly all of a sudden.
Silence. The masseuse doesn’t notice, but from the way I spy Dahlia tense I know she isn’t digesting this easily. “Since when have you, Ren, taken a vacation?”
“Well, I never have actually but when you go on a honeymoon, that’s apparently what you have to do,” I say with a dramatic sigh, which does little to ease my growing tension.
Dahlia’s head flips up, her face red and creased in places from the massage table. Still she’s beautiful.
“What? Why were you on a honeymoon?” she says.
I roll my eyes at her. “Oh, duh. Obviously because I got married. You are tired, aren’t you?”
She whips her head up and looks at the girl and jabs a finger at the door. “Out,” Dahlia says to the masseuse.