TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy)

by Sydney Jamesson

  He leaves the cigar to extinguish itself in the ashtray; a column of smoke weaves its way skywards, carrying with it the aroma of tobacco, but he’s too engrossed in paperwork to notice.

  First he spreads out the photographs of the crash site on the coffee table. An unsightly table cloth of mangled metal and broken bones covers every inch of it. The angle of the vehicle is such that Miss. Richards has been propelled through the windscreen and sprawled across the bonnet like a broken mannequin; a mop of blond hair is splayed out across twisted metal, making the scene look very macabre.

  Inside the vehicle, Mr. Stone is slumped over the steering wheel, still wearing his seatbelt but clearly concussed. The time frame on the photographs is no more than five minutes, but it was ten more minutes before the ambulance and fire brigade appeared to cut him free of the wreckage; and another fifteen minutes before he could be airlifted to hospital. Removing Miss Richards’s body took much longer - she had not survived the fatal accident and there was no urgency.

  With a visual reminder of the event, Mack shifts his attention to the written report, seeking out the specifics about the knife. He wonders if, by any chance, it was the same as Mr. Rizler’s. He’s disappointed to find it was merely an everyday kitchen knife - a woman’s weapon of choice - usually associated with a crime of passion or self-defence. Either way, he’s intrigued.

  After being dusted it for prints, he notes the knife only had her fingerprints on it. Mack nods and purses his lips, trying to make sense of the clues. The black markings across the left side of the steering wheel were the strangest finding of all, as if it had been grabbed by the passenger.

  His curiosity piqued, he flips through the pages to the pre-autopsy report and confirms his suspicions. Her hands were covered in dust or a kind of black powdery compound like soot. It was embedded in her cuticles and had settled under her manicured nails.

  In death she looks grotesque: her pale face, soulless eyes darkened like hard caramel and smudged red lipstick make it hard to believe she had ever been attractive.

  He takes a deep cleansing breath, two swigs of wine, and gazes around the room. The light is fading and the photographs are beginning to blend into a jumbled up jigsaw.

  “What were you doing in that car with him, Elise?” he asks. “This was no joy ride.”

  7

  I’m standing by the kitchen counter top waiting for the kettle to boil, regarding him out of the corner of my eye. He’s never looked better. I can’t begin to imagine what wickedness has been employed to transform bruises into baby soft skin and facial scars back into flawless features. He is restored to his old self, physically at least.

  “I’m making tea. Would you like a cup?” I ask out of politeness.

  “Is it Darjeeling?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll pass.”

  He stands bolt upright, looking out of the enormous floor-to-ceiling sheet of reinforced glass. The darkness has seen to it that the only things reflected in the glass are lamps and furniture but it’s his reflection that takes centre stage.

  I sit quietly, observing the self-absorbed way in which he tips his head to the left and then the right; how he lifts his chin, discovering a chiselled profile polished to perfection by magical powers as old as time itself.

  “Enjoying the view?” I ask, breaking his concentration.

  He laughs, at himself. “Yes, very much so.”

  I want to say “me too” but I don’t. I blow the steam from my tea and sip it slowly, savouring precious seconds of normality before having to face more of his revelations.

  “Go ahead,” he says, picking up on my quizzical expression.

  “With what?”

  “Your questions. You can ask me anything.” He’s straightening the fine denim material on his knees and repositioning his cuffs as if preparing for a photo shoot.

  I settle my cup down in its saucer. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Then I will explain my expectations until such time as a question occurs to you.”

  Expectations…

  Before he can continue, I interrupt. “I’ve seen what you’re capable of. How can you assume someone like me will be able to meet your expectations? It’s laughable.”

  “Your husband saw something in you when you were a child. You spoke to his heart, and the memory of you stayed with him all his life. To the very end.”

  I look away, wounded by his words. “How can you expect me to look at you when you say something like that? It’s like a dagger piercing my soul, don’t you realise?”

  “I didn’t, not until this very moment.”

  “And if I ask you a question, will you answer me truthfully?”

  “Yes. I will never lie to you; it isn’t in my nature.”

  For some inexplicable reason I believe him. “Then tell me what it is you want from me and what I can expect from you in return.”

  “It’s very simple. I want your love.”

  I begin to chuckle. “Oh, that’s all!”

  “It is.”

  “By love you mean sex, I assume?”

  “Well, that usually goes hand in hand with a loving relationship, does it not?”

  “Yes it does, but we don’t have a loving relationship. You’re an imposter, a … a body snatcher…”

  He’s laughing at me.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask, a little shocked by my indignation.

  “Your turn of phrase. I find it amusing.” He folds his arms as if settling in for the night. “You really are quite charming, Beth.”

  “I can assure you, I’m not trying to be,” I declare, shaking my head, and sighing.

  “Nevertheless … do continue.”

  We’re face to face, but now he’s massaging his chin with his thumb the way Ayden does. Feeling the pull of sexual attraction, I have to look away. I reach for my tea and sip it quietly, fearing that my newly-renovated body will betray me. I feel my cheeks flushing and hope he hasn’t noticed.

  “Your husband is a handsome man, Beth. It’s natural that you still have feelings for him of a sexual nature.”

  Shit, he knows what I’m thinking!

  I turn to face him. “Is that another one of your party tricks? You can read people’s thoughts?”

  “Yes, when I choose to. But I don’t have to read your thoughts to know what you’re feeling. Your arousal is detectable in your blushing cheeks, the heat radiating from your skin and the darkness of your pupils.” He rests his hands on his thighs and I wonder if he’s directing my gaze to his body.

  My eyes make the climb from his hands, across his thighs, skim his groin and ascend languidly before coming to rest on his handsome face.

  Ayden’s words come to me and I smile.

  So responsive but so little self-control …

  My expression softens, cold, hard edges melted by a memory. “Did you hear that?” I ask, facing him squarely.

  He nods. “That’s a very endearing quality. It’s refreshing to meet someone with this level of transparency.”

  “You think?” I huff.

  “I know.”

  “You might know about the universe and God knows what else, but don’t presume to know me. And don’t think you can step into Ayden’s shoes so easily. People will be able to tell you’re not him; one conversation with Jake and your cover will be blown. And what then? What of Ayden? Will you leave, move on? Find another handsome body to inhabit and admire through mirrors and sheets of glass?”

  He considers my words but does not venture to speak.

  “You say you want to be loved by me, yet offer me nothing in return. If I’m as transparent as you say I am, then you should know I’ll need some kind of reassurance from you.”

  He arches a brow. “What kind of reassurance do you want?”

  I place my overheated right hand on his arm. “That you’ll bring Ayden back to me.”

  He pats my hand. “You are in no position to negotiate, Beth. It is indicative of my good will that
I’m here at all.”

  “You might see it that way, but try to look at it from my point of view, please. For years I had nothing but my dreams of Ayden finding me to keep me warm at night. It was the promise of him that helped me survive my encounter with a demon. He woke me from a great sleep, and we discovered each other. So profound was our love, it brought you here.” Out of the blue, a line from Sense and Sensibility comes to mind.

  To Love is to Burn, to Be on Fire!

  “Ms. Austen’s words do seem to be quite apt at this juncture.”

  What!

  He strokes his chin again, contemplating a resolution. I look on, wide-eyed.

  “I will make no promises. What I will offer you is an arrangement of sorts. I will consider returning your husband to this somewhat fragile body on one condition.” I attempt to speak but he holds up a single finger and I desist. “That condition being, we live as man and wife for a period of six months, or until such time as I decide to terminate this arrangement. It is non-negotiable and absolute.”

  “Six months! You’re offering me nothing? No compromise?”

  “Why would I? For me to truly immerse myself in the Stone experience, I will need your help, naturally. But it’s in your interest to make my replication utterly convincing.”

  “You’re holding all the cards …”

  “I am indeed.” He pauses to smile assuredly. “But I am hopeful that we’ll be able to play them together.”

  “That could be problematic for me…”

  “How so?”

  “I can’t conceal my feelings. ’So responsive, no self-control,’ remember? I’ll find it hard to lie, especially to those I care about.”

  He shrugs his shoulder dismissively. “Then you must learn, Beth, and quickly. You are forbidden to tell anyone.”

  I finish off my tea and stand. “Who would believe me anyway?”

  “Precisely.”

  I check my watch. “It’s 10 p.m. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” I take a lingering look at my “husband” sitting self-assuredly on the sofa, his right leg across his left knee and his hands resting on his lap. This ‘arrangement’ seems so unfair. I spin around, determined to make it as painless as possible, but dying a little inside with each step. “Okay. I agree.”

  “Good.” He stands and approaches me, seeming larger than life, statuesque in his majestic beauty. “Take my hand.”

  I raise my right hand and he lifts it to his lips. A perfectly plump V shape presses against my skin, making every muscle in my stomach clench and tighten.

  “You are my wife, Beth, and I will try to be the perfect husband; but, rest assured, I will not be toyed with, taken advantage of or played for a fool. Do you understand?”

  Realising the implications of those three special words, I instinctively suck air into my lungs; recollections of soft cord, blindfolds and Ayden’s hands move through me like the aftershock of an atomic bomb, causing an involuntary moan to leave my mouth. Embarrassed, I look away.

  “Beth, look at me,” he urges softly. “You cannot conceal anything from me. What I cannot hear I can feel and what I cannot feel I can see. I can read you as one might a child, and your innocence is a powerful aphrodisiac to me.”

  In Ayden’s eyes I see the colour of the night sky, minus starlight or clouds; the tell-tale indicator of his arousal. Any other time I would succumb to my desire for intimacy, but not now.

  “You can’t expect me to fall at your feet. I didn’t do that for Ayden and I sure as hell won’t do it for you.” I look away. “I’m a human being, not a robot. I can’t turn my emotions on and off at the flick of a switch.”

  “I realise that. Nevertheless, we have an arrangement, do we not?”

  “And that involves you fucking me whenever the mood suits you, I suppose?”

  He tips his head and thinks through his words before speaking. “I will not put any pressure on you to … perform. If that were my intention I would be elsewhere. It is my desire to experience love, not sex. You may be surprised to know that I do, in fact, know the difference.” He releases my hand. “Go to bed and rest. You’ve a lot to consider. Then tomorrow, we will begin our adventure.”

  “Adventure! You think this will be an adventure?” I’m shaking my head in disbelief.

  “How would you describe it, Beth?”

  I lift my head confidently, considering my response. The last thing I want to do is to offend him; he holds all the cards. “It’ll be an ordeal, but nothing I can’t handle.”

  A smile graces his lips. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Where will you be sleeping?” I ask.

  He sniggers, anticipating his response. “In the master bedroom - where else?”

  “I should have guessed.”

  He smirks, finding my response amusing no doubt. “Although I will not be sleeping, as such. Life goes on for me …”

  “That’s a rather insensitive turn of phrase isn’t it, taking into account your job.”

  His smirk widens as he laughs gleefully. “My job? Yes, of course. Forgive my insensitivity. I see your point.”

  Shaking my head I turn to leave. “By the way, what will you do with Ayden while you’re off doing your job?”

  “I will simply leave his body…”

  Taken aback, I swivel around. “Where?”

  “In bed.”

  “Will he be alright?”

  “Yes”

  This I have to hear. “So you never sleep?”

  He raises a brow and shakes his head. “You find that surprising?”

  “Not really, just another thing to add to my list of surprises. I think I may be getting to the point that I’m totally un-shockable.”

  He huffs away that idea. “I very much doubt that. The universe holds many secrets, the least of which is my requirement for actual sleep.”

  “How do you function, then?”

  “I exist. That is enough.”

  I begin to laugh nervously. “Is it? I’ll take your word for it.”

  “That would be wise,” he states with a glint in his eye. “Ask me no questions and I will tell you no lies.”

  “I thought you said you never lie?” I ask mischievously.

  “I did, and I don’t. I was merely being playful.”

  I tip my head over and hit him with a wide stare. “Being playful … and who taught you that?” He smirks in such a sexy way I swear I can feel my pupils dilating.

  “Why you, Beth,” he declares. “Every minute I spend with you is an education.”

  I turn on my heels and walk away. “Oh please ... goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Beth.”

  ***

  An exhausted Golden Retriever waits to be released from her leash, then trundles into the kitchen in search of refreshment. She had only been on a fifteen minute walk but, from her gait, anyone would think she had doggy-paddled across the channel.

  Mack refills her bowl with fresh water and hangs up his coat under the stairs, eager to continue examining the documents. “Don’t drink too fast, Judy, or you’ll make yourself sick,” he calls out, slipping off his shoes before entering the lounge.

  He flips open the file to discover:

  “ITEMS RECOVERED FROM THE DECEASED.”

  It’s a long list, consisting of the items usually found in a lady’s oversized handbag, with one exception: a hand-written note.

  To S,

  When there was nothing but dark shadows in my life, I had you. Your radiance was so bright I was happy to kneel at your feet and lift my face to catch some of that light.

  When the dark shadows took me away I called for you every night until I realised you wouldn’t come. I was alone …

  I have done things in my life I’m not proud of. The years have not been kind to me, and what I’ve done has some from a need for survival. Finding you again after all these years was like winning the lottery; not for the money, but for the feeling that I deserved to win something.

  Even th
en you kept me hidden, concealed like a dirty secret locked away in your basement, but I understood. I know I’ll never be your equal but to find out now that I never meant anything to you is a truth too painful to bear. No one knows better than me how hard it is to come face to face with the truth. For me, the truth has been something that exists in fairy-tales. It’s out there with true love and happy endings, and not meant for the likes of me. I was never worthy of you or your love. I see that now. You have found your princess …

  I have loved only you and I will do so with my dying breath.

  Goodbye.

  Yours always.

  Elise.

  He takes no delight from the document and what can be inferred from her words. It’s a suicide note. Little can be gleaned from her words as far as clues are concerned; not yet, anyway. He flips through the pages for her address. Hatch End is only an hour or so away and something tells him he’ll discover more clues there, but it’s 7 o’clock on a Saturday night and he has a couple of reports to type up. The Richards case will have to wait.

  For his own peace of mind, he prepares to call Cromwell Hospital to enquire as to the condition of Mr. and Mrs. Stone; a star-crossed twosome who seem to have been saddled with some bad luck lately. He knows only too well the path of destruction left in Mr. Rizler’s wake, but to have lightning strike twice in the same week seems suspicious.

  Finding out they were both discharged yesterday comes as a surprise, especially considering the state they were in last Tuesday. He glances at the photo tablecloth and is reminded of Ayden’s unconscious state. He rubs his chin clearly agitated. That sixth sense of his has his brain doing somersaults.

  “Something’s not right here…”

  8

  Standing before the bathroom mirror after brushing my teeth, I scrutinise my face, lifting my hair from my forehead and holding it back. Anyone would think I had just returned from a weekend at a spa resort. Who would believe I had lost a tiny baby and a husband in the space of five days? Only me.

  Yet, here I am glowing; irises the colour of a summer sky, glossy and bright. I’ve become a counterfeit wife; an actress. I might as well be standing in my dressing room, waiting for my cue.