"Oh no, not at all," Kyle said gently pushing the aluminum tab on the can. The escaping air seemed to interrupt the quiet mood of the moment. Nidal didn't notice.
"Well, I had to have you from the first time I saw you. I think you have the most beautiful eyes..."
Kyle pulled her close to him and placed his hands on her small, supple breasts. She unbuttoned his shirt and helped him take off the rest of his clothes. She pushed him down gently and crawled on top of him. Her long, silky red hair fell into his face like flowing water. She reached her climax first and then fell all over him like a limp doll after he reached his. She drifted off to a peaceful sleep and Kyle lay there with his eyes open staring at the ornate white ceiling. Maybe it was the memory of the dream, maybe it was her position in the cult, he thought. He was uncomfortable with the feeling. She awoke and walked over to a stereo unit by the wall. There was a soft click. Billy Joel's "In the Middle of the Night," filled the tiny room. Even her music was dated.
They made love again, but Kyle did not feel any bonding with this woman as he had had with Chantress. If he never saw Nidal again, he would not miss her, he thought. He was merely making the best of a good situation.
"Now that we know each other a little better, what’s your real name?" Kyle asked.
"Janice. What's yours?"
"Kyle."
"I like that name. It has a sense of power to it," she said.
"Were you and the Magus...you know...doing it?"
"At first, then it stopped. It wasn't good for either of us. We work together. I only did it because he asked. Besides, he was married," she explained. "Want another beer?"
"Okay."
She returned with another can of beer and caressed his thigh.
"I don't think I can," Kyle said. "I should be going."
"You can stay if you like."
"Not this time. I need to do some thinking," he said as he gathered his clothes and began to dress.
"Let me give you my number. Call me tomorrow. I have the day off," she said. "I can tell you more about the group. I'll cook you dinner."
She got up and walked into the kitchen. She returned holding a piece of paper and handed it to him.
"What do you do for a living?"
"I'm a nurse over at Ocean Village."
"Oh. That explains the blood."
She gave him a culpable look.
"I never took blood. It was the Magus."
Kyle turned and was about to open the door when he felt her gentle tug at his arm. He turned and she put her arms around his neck and thrust her tongue into his mouth. He didn't resist. She ran her hand down his stomach and into his pants. Her hand stopped when it reached his groin. They kissed for several minutes. Kyle moved her to the sofa again and she helped him get his clothes off again. When he was naked, she got up, took his hand, and walked him up a narrow stairway into a small bedroom. The queen-sized bed overtook the tiny room. A canopy covered in white lace made a roof over the bed. A tiny lamp with a multi-colored Tiffany shade on a nightstand spread a dim, sleepy light throughout the room. A faint odor of perfume floated in the air. Janice pulled the flowered quilt off the bed and climbed under the covers. Kyle followed. They began to make love, first slowly then quickening the pace. Kyle rolled over and was surprised to see himself reflected in the overhead mirrors lining the inside of the canopy.
"Nice," he said.
"I like it," Janice replied.
* * *
Kyle woke up and squinted to a bright white light that filtered through the lace curtains. It was as if the light was alive and actually entered his brain and roused it out of sleep. He went downstairs into the kitchen and found Janice mixing several eggs in a large, orange bowl.
"Hi. Do you like scrambled eggs?" she asked leaning towards him and planting a kiss on his cheek.
"Yeah," he said.
"Good."
Kyle went back into the bedroom and put on the rest of his clothes. He spent most of the day with Janice talking about the cult and themselves and making love. He drove home in a daze. Within minutes of walking into his apartment, the telephone rang. He picked up the receiver.
"Hi, Kyle. This is Vic. Are you working tonight?" said a deep, raspy voice.
"Yeah?"
"All right, I called you last night, but I should have known better. A couple of us went over to The Wall. You were out with your chick, right?"
"No. We split. Got a new one, though," Kyle explained.
"You work fast!" Vic replied. "Who is she?"
"One of her friends..."
"You slime!" Vic said laughing.
"Well, I don't know about her. She's all over me, all the time. It's not the same as Chantress. She's great in bed, but I don't feel anything - its just sex..."
"So? What's wrong with that! I wish I had your problem. Every time I meet some chick, she's married with kids and wants me to play daddy. No, thank you!" Vic said. "She have any kids?"
"No, none."
"Lucky dog."
"I don't feel lucky, though. You know, Vic, for the first time, I miss Chantress. I know that sounds corny, but I had this thing with Chantress," Kyle explained. "At least when we had sex, I felt something. With Janice, there's nothing."
"You are really getting weird on me. Chicks are good for only one thing anyway. Once you start with that serious shit, they start putting the screws to you. Just go with the flow until something better comes along," Vic said.
Kyle was silent.
"Kyle."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm here. You know, I am better off without her. She was like my mother - always nagging, and pushing me to do what she wanted. She wanted to run my life!" Kyle shouted into the phone. "I won't let anyone tell me how to live my life! She was going to ruin my life and I had to stop her. She was a bitch! She punched me in the eye. If she were walking across the street right now, I'd run her over!"
"Whoa! You never told me that! Intense. What are you on anyway?"
"Nothing, asshole!" Kyle shouted back.
"Hey, chill out. I'll see you later at the club. Hang in there, buddy," Vic said.
Kyle slammed the phone down.
"Bitch!" he said.
The Horror - Chapter 27
Chantress sat at a small oak desk in the corner of her bedroom. A small lamp with a black shade lit her face with a soft glow and cast a bright light on the book she was reading. A stack of new books was piled on one side of the desk. The books included several on the New Age movement - Nostradamus' prophecies, holistic medicine, near-death experiences, and heightened spiritual awareness. She skimmed through the pages of a guidebook on New Age, looking for a definition for her newly formed group. In the first section, she found,
New Age follows the teachings and heritage of ancient visionaries who, throughout history, have dreamed of a radically transformed society. New Age promises a spiritual awakening, a fundamental change, a world based on different values. Nostradamus is one of the leading prophets of the New Age movement.
She had already read books by Carlos Castaneda, Edgar Cayce and several by Raymond A. Moody, Jr., MD.
She was looking through the pages of Millennium, a book written about the prophecies of Nostradamus, the 16th century prophet and visionary of the future, when there was a light knock on her bedroom door.
"Come in," Chantress said.
"I don't get it," said her mother, a slim, tall woman in her forties with short auburn hair and round, clear blue eyes.
"Get what?" Chantress replied. She turned to face her mother.
"You never go out anymore. Your friends call, you never see them. Is there something wrong? You want to talk about it?"
Chantress looked back into the pages of the guide.
"It's just that I'm really into this New Age stuff and I'm trying to learn as much as I can," Chantress said. "I have to organize my group, hold meetings..."
"Well, that's no excuse for not seeing your friends. You've been cooped up in here for weeks. The only time
you leave is to go to work. You should get out, honey."
"I'm really into this now."
"And what happened to that nice boy you were seeing, Kyle?"
Chantress' eyes flared white-hot.
"Oh. I'm sorry. You didn't tell me you had a falling out," her mother said trying to conceal her fear.
Chantress heard the concern in her mother's voice and pulled back her anger.
"Yeah, we had a big fight. I threw him out and that's the end of it," she explained.
"Do you want to talk about it? Your father won't be home for a few more hours and I don't have to start dinner..."
"No. I'd rather not. It wasn't very pleasant."
"Okay. Well, that's no reason to stay up here. There's plenty of fish in the sea, and you're not going to get any if you stay up here and read all the time."
"It's just that I don't feel like going out right now. I'd rather stay here," Chantress said.
"Well, I'm here if you need me," her mother said.
Chantress went back to Millennium, but she could not comprehend what she was reading - her mind was an angry, burning fire. It had been smoldering since Kyle raped her. She had tried to put the entire experience out of her mind, but the fire would not go out - it smoldered somewhere hidden in the depths of her mind and heart burning a hole in her sanity, her goodness, her very being. All of her love and decency were transformed into hate and evil like a burning piece of wood is turned into worthless ash after it burns. She put the book down and cried. She cried for herself because she didn't want to become hateful and malevolent like the people she left in the cult. There was enough evil in the world and she didn't want to add to it.
She wiped her burning eyes and began to read the chapter on the coming of the third Antichrist. The first Antichrist, according to Nostradamus and historical accounts, was Napoleon, the second was Hitler, and the third was still unknown. Nostradamus predicted the third Antichrist would appear during the 20th century. She read Nostradamus' eighth century, 77th quatrain:
The third Antichrist very soon
annihilated
Twenty-seven years his bloody war
will last:
The heretics are dead, captives, exiled
Blood soaked human bodies, water,
and a reddened
icy rain covering the entire earth.
What does all that mean? she thought. She continued reading Nostradamus' second century, 62nd quatrain.
Mabus will soon die, then will come
A horrible slaughter of people and
animals,
At once vengeance is revealed coming
from a hundred lands.
Thirst, and famine when the comet
will pass.
She sat back in horror. An icy chill ran down her spine and numbed her very existence. She shivered in fear. She closed the book and sat there staring into the blank wall not wanting to believe the horror she thought she knew. Kyle’s last name was Mabus and as far as she was concerned his spirit had already died.
The Nightmare - Chapter 28
Linda stepped out of the shower and dried off with a white towel - a souvenir of the Holiday Inn in Bermuda, where she and Carson spent ten days on their honeymoon. The towel always reminded her of the honeymoon - the hot, white beaches, burning, ocher sunsets and plenty of good food and happy music played by equally happy Bermudian men and women. She remembered it as a happy, beautiful place. She held the towel close to her as if the memories passed through the towel and into her mind. When she had finished, she hung the towel back in its rack to dry, and then put on a light blue, quilted housecoat that zippered in the front - a gift from Carson's mother.
"You'll need it, honey," she recalled Carson's mother saying when she received the gift last Christmas. "Winters are cold here and it will suit you well in this old, drafty house. I've had one all my life."
Linda forced a smile as she unfolded it from the box and held it up for all to see. How frumpy, she thought. I'll never wear it. Maybe I can give it to my sister. Carson also forced a smile and looked at Linda. When their eyes met, they both knew each other's thoughts. Linda thanked her mother-in-law and later that evening placed the housecoat on the top of a shelf in their clothing closet out of reach. About a week later, a cold front from Canada settled into the area bringing with it twenty-degree weather. A wind came out of the northeast creating a wind-chill factor of seventeen below zero. Linda had the thermostat up to 90 degrees that evening, but the house remained cold and drafty. She went into her clothes closet for a sweater, but couldn't quite reach one on the top shelf. Her fumbling caused the housecoat to tumble down onto to her head. She stared at the pile of material, then picked it up, and tried it on. She was surprised by its warmth and comfort. She had worn it ever since.
The wind whipped off the ocean this night and carried with it a dampness that made the air much colder. The powerful wind hit the old Victorian house rattling the loosened clapboards and putting Linda on edge. She hated when the wind blew off the ocean - it made the house very drafty and cold, and the noise from the loose boards made her feel vulnerable to the violence outside. If there had been a prowler outside, she would never hear him. And she hated when Carson had to work all night. He wouldn't be home until nine the next morning and then he would go to sleep after a few hours and not awake until dinnertime. She wouldn't see him all day since she had to be at her teaching job at eight. She would miss him.
Linda walked down the straight, creaking flight of stairs to the living room and picked up the channel guide. She thumbed through a few pages, checked the listings, and turned on the TV. She flipped through a few channels as she had flipped through the pages of the guide. She wasn't particularly interested in watching TV. She picked up the book she had started the other night. It was No Greater Love by Danielle Steel, her favorite author. She read romance novels like a chain smoker - one right after another. She had hoped to write her own one day, but she wanted to have children first and be there for her husband when he needed her. Each time her friends and family prodded her to start one the words would not flow. She knew it wasn't time yet, and sometimes she wondered if the time would ever come when she felt a great need to express her passions, her emotions, her inner being. She knew that inspiration could not be turned on and off like a light. It came like a dream – unexpected and random. She had no inspiration to write a romance novel; she needed to read them; she needed to start a family, and she needed to take care of Carson. Perhaps, she read them because she secretly wanted her life to be like the heroines portrayed in those steamy books. Maybe she wanted to be alive in the days when men were men and ladies were ladies when women were not treated as equals, but were placed on high pedestals and remained there. Perhaps, as farfetched as it sounded, she had lived in another era in another life. Perhaps, she had been one of those women, who lived during the Victorian age, who was pampered with the mores of the day. She loved things from the past - antiques, old clothing, and vintage jewelry. Perhaps, it was her way of escaping the loneliness of a doctor's wife, of escaping the empty nights, the enduring solitude. She grew tired of thinking of her situation.
She sat down on the colonial sofa with its blue and pink flora-pattern and opened the book. She plucked her bookmark out of Chapter 4 and began reading. A few minutes later, she felt a draft on her neck. She moved to the other side of the sofa and resumed reading, but the draft seemed to follow her. She endured for a few minutes until she began to shiver. She got up and walked over to the window facing the ocean. She pushed the mauve drapes aside and checked the window latch. It was open because the window would not shut all the way - decades of paint layers and a rusty pulley system inside the window frame made it stubborn to close. She looked at the bottom of the frame and saw the window was open only a quarter of an inch or so, but that was enough for a draft to get through and waft around the room. She put all of her 115 pounds on the window frame, but the window did not move. She tried several times until she was ou
t of breath. She went into the hallway linen closet, and pulled out a towel, rolled it up, and placed it on the windowsill to stop the wind. She also took an Afghan from the closet that was a gift from one of Carson's aunts in New Hampshire and covered herself with it as she lay down on the sofa.
Several hours later, Linda put the book down on her chest and fell asleep to the howling wind and constant tapping of the loose clapboards. She slept soundly. Suddenly she heard the window open and saw several figures climb through it. They were dressed in red and black robes with hoods over their heads. They moved closer and closer, seemingly swallowing her in the darkness that followed them. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. She screamed in silence. Then there was nothing. Occasionally she thought she saw figures hovering over her holding red and black candles and her fear mounted. She heard a ringing, but it lasted only a few seconds, then there was nothing. She felt something tugging at her arm, opened her eyes, and saw Carson's face. She could not focus on his eyes.
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