"Too quickly," he muttered.
"What?"
"How about I make us a real meal while you're nibbling on that cheese?" He saw her eyes brighten. The brown irises were a warmer, more earthy shade than before, and the fire had cooled into promising embers.
It was impossible for him to avoid. He touched her shoulder.
"Mmmmm. I love that smell," she said.
"What smell?"
"Hyacinths."
Carl briskly pulled away his hand. He hurried to the sink, turned on the faucets, and scrubbed his hands with soap.
7 - A Loaf of Bread, a Jug of Wine . . .
Megan watched Carl scrub his hands. She thought that he would rub them raw if she didn't do something to stop him. As she rose from her chair, she popped another slice of cheese into her mouth. This man intrigued her. Kind of sexy for an old guy, she pondered. Bite your tongue, Megan chastised herself. Certainly he didn't consider himself old. Through the window, sunlight flashed into her eyes as she approached Carl.
There was blood on his hands. He had broken open several calluses.
"Do you always scrub down like a doctor before cooking a meal?"
Carl turned to Megan, looked at her, then at his hands. A few seconds of silence passed before he laughed.
"Hand me the towel over there, Megan."
She glanced across the kitchen in the direction he had pointed. As she went for the towel, she heard the water stop.
"So what are we having to eat?"
Megan and Carl worked together in the kitchen, scraping vegetables, trimming meat, and baking bread. By the time they were finished, the kitchen was a mess, but Megan found the food delicious. Carl poured several glasses of wine for Megan as she drank, munched, and giggled. She was used to having pizza and beer on Friday nights at college, but the heady, mellow feel of the wine was new.
"I feel kind of warm and safe right here." She pointed to the middle of her abdomen. It was twilight, and she recalled the foreboding she had felt the previous day at that time. "I dreaded being alone last night in the woods. All sorts of weird ideas went through my head. Newspaper accounts of young girls found dead in the country and supernatural tales of demons preying on innocent female victims."
"Why are you doing it, then?"
"Because I started out to do it, and I'll finish it."
"I hope at least you'll accept my hospitality for tonight."
Megan was relieved, but also wary of this seductive man. He wasn't the kind of handsome that girls tittered over, yet there was something charismatic and bold. She had been so entranced in studying him that her body jolted when she noticed he was returning the stare. Megan gulped down some wine, trying to think of a cool reply that would also allow her to stay the night without any commitment to more than sleeping under his roof.
"You can have my bed. I'll sleep on the couch in the living room," he said, as if reading her mind.
"There's my bedroll."
"The couch would be more comfortable for me."
"No, I meant I can sleep on the bedroll in the living room. I don't want to take the bed away from you."
"Okay."
Megan was disappointed. The bed had felt soft that afternoon, especially after she had slept on the ground the past several nights.
"Something wrong, Megan?"
Everyone told her that her face gave her away. They said it was the pout of her lower lip that signaled her black moods.
"No," she said, bringing her napkin up to press against her mouth.
When Carl stood, Megan started piling the dishes.
"Leave them and come into the living room with me."
Megan guessed that piling the dishes was easier for her than the task of standing. She was lightheaded. The alcohol also anesthetized the knee wound, she realized as she stretched the injured leg. Was this the buzz the others at the dorm had talked about? Her limit had always been one beer and five slices of pizza; it seemed she enjoyed eating more than imbibing. Tonight had been different. She had cleaned her plate; still, she hadn't eaten more than her share. However, the wine bottle was empty, and Carl had only been sipping from his glass.
''Ummm. Maybe we could take a walk?"
Carl looked at her closely.
"Not used to drinking?"
"Just beer. A little air might help, and perhaps some assistance in standing," she said while making an effort to rise.
"Bed might be a better place for you," he said, approaching her.
"No! I don't want to go to sleep. I'm enjoying your company too much."
Megan watched a smile broaden Carl's wide features.
"Give me your hands, Megan."
She did. With her palms touching his, Megan staggered to the soles of her bare feet. It was the first time she noticed that the two of them were almost the same height. She had known he wasn't very tall, yet hadn't considered the fact that they were almost equals in any aspect.
He pulled her close to him, leaning his face close to hers, and spoke. "You smell irresistible."
Her palms started to sweat.
"Must be your own soap."
"There's no perfume in the soap I make, but there is a sensual fragrance to you."
Time to leave, she thought, yet she allowed him to breathe softly upon her ear.
"I feel dizzy. Too much wine. I need some air, please."
She felt his sigh against her earlobe. Megan pulled back her hands and tried to wobble through the kitchen threshold on her own.
"Here, take my arm," he called, swiftly moving to intercept her at the doorway.
Megan smiled at him, then clung to the sleeve of his cotton shirt while trying to ignore the hot flesh beneath it.
Carl and Megan walked out onto a redwood deck and down several stairs until Megan could feel the earth beneath her. She listened to her feet slap against the dirt with an unsteady rhythm. Carl was silent. Megan glanced at him to judge his mood, but it was too dark to obtain a clear view of his features. Perhaps she should test the waters to see how annoyed he might be. She tried to conjure up an innocuous question that would not imply anything in particular. As her mind raced through the possibilities, she lost awareness of her surroundings until the sweet smell of hyacinths exploded her senses. That's it, she thought.
"Your hyacinths smell lovely."
Carl's arm stiffened, and he tried to move her forward when she stopped to luxuriate in the fragrance.
"Come, Megan."
Megan let go of his arm and turned in the direction of the aroma.
"You've planted them over there, haven't you?" She started to move off the path. Carl lifted her off her feet and carried her back to the house.
He was angry; she could feel the tension spread across his shoulders into his arms, hard fingers digging into her thigh where the robe had parted.
"I'm sorry," she whispered like a repentant child. She had meant to reduce the strain between them; instead, it had been increased.
Carl's shoes hit the steps, climbing with determination. He crossed the deck and entered the house, but didn't release her until they were in the bedroom, where he literally dropped her onto the coverlet. She had liked it better that afternoon, when she had been deposited with obvious affection.
"You will sleep here tonight."
"But it's still early. I'd like to see the garden," she protested, rebellion automatically countering his command.
Carl shook his head.
"When you are able to walk on your own without assistance, then you can explore my property." Carl started for the door, then halted to turn toward Megan. "By the way, there is no garden." He left with a slam of the door.
No garden? she thought. Maybe he meant a planned garden. Perhaps someone else had planted the hyacinths, and now they grew wild. That must be it.
Megan pulled the coverlet down on the opposite side of the bed, then scooted her rear onto the sheet so that she could pull down the other side. Mmmmm, sheets, she thought. Clean sheets. Megan plumped the two
pillows on the bed and got under the top sheet. Was it safe to sleep naked? she wondered as she touched the belt of the robe. She laughed at herself.
"If he was going to rape you, Megan, he would have already done it." She brushed a hand across her mouth, sealing her lips. After all, she didn't want to give him any ideas.
Her hands unknotted the belt. Slowly she slipped out of the robe. She tried to throw it onto a chair near the window, but it landed instead on a small Persian rug. She cursed.
Could she pick the robe up? she wondered. She should, she knew. Not very polite to fling other people's clothing on the floor. Mother didn't think it polite when Megan threw her own clothes on the floor, but that was just a minor dispute between the two women.
Megan slipped to the edge of the bed and dangled her legs off the side. Taking a deep breath, she stood and shut her eyes as the room seemed to spin around her. When she opened her eyes, she fixed her sight on the robe and walked.
Bending down to pick the robe up was an additional problem, which Megan solved by using her foot to slowly bring the garment up to her hand. Her body wavered on one foot for a few seconds as her tongue protruded out and to the side of her mouth, as if assisting in the balancing act. Once she felt the nubby material in her hand, she dropped her foot back down onto the rug. Gingerly, she reached out to place the robe on the wicker chair in front of her. Ordeal completed, Megan moved to the window to the right of the chair. It was shut tight. She shook her head. A wonder he didn't suffocate in this room, she thought. Megan pulled up the window frame and smiled as the breeze swept the room with the essence of hyacinths.
8 - No Sense Denying the Hyacinths
In the study Carl sat scrunched down in his chair, legs spread wide across the worn Oriental rug. His arms lay heavily on the armrests. His body was still except for the rise and fall of his chest.
He hadn't expected to sleep on the couch that night, but then, he hadn't expected Megan to sleep there, either.
Carl sat up and slid open the bottom drawer of his desk. He pulled out a sketch pad and charcoal pencil. After thumbing through a few rough drafts of Beverly, he found a blank page. He closed his eyes and visualized Megan, how the red curls dipped down on her forehead, the smooth surface of her skin, the almond shape of her eyes, lids heavy with long lashes lifting them romantically halfway. Her eyes always looked as if they were hiding a secret.
Carl's own lids opened slowly. He stared at the page. He'd need more time. It was crucial that he see more of the frame of her body. If he could get her to stay a few more days, he would have no trouble in examining her body in detail. Carl always had been lucky when it came to women.
A door squeaked. Carl got up and went into the hallway, catching Megan creeping out of the bedroom, clutching the navy robe around her. Under the dim hall light, Carl was stunned by the contrast between her pale legs and the dark material draping her body, a body he lusted after and envied for its obvious health.
"How's the knee?" he asked, trying to pinpoint some flaw.
Megan jumped.
"Oh! I didn't expect to see you."
"It's my home."
"Yes, but I didn't want to bother you."
Carl reminded himself that he wanted two things from this girl: sex and life.
"I shouldn't have been so abrupt with you before. I was angry with myself for giving you too much to drink. Are you feeling better?"
Megan nodded. "Just thirsty."
He smiled, wondering whether the night could be salvaged.
"Go back to bed. I'll bring some water."
He could see that she was ready to refuse, but then her throat moved as though she were swallowing her pride.
"Okay," she said in a juvenile manner.
Off she went to bed, as Carl flipped off the wall switch for the light in his study. He hoped he wouldn't be returning to that room tonight.
In the kitchen Carl let the faucet run for a few seconds before filling a glass. She was vulnerable. He had seen her stare at him with the sexual curiosity of a novice. Actually she had gawked, relying on the heaviness of her lids to hide the passion simmering beyond the stares. He must be sure to touch her hand as he passed her the water. Perhaps he could chance sitting on the bed; she was too insecure to reprimand him. A few soft touches, a fluffing of the pillow below her head . . .
Carl put the glass on the counter and rubbed his chin. This was the first time he had ever planned out his pursuit. It had always been natural for him. It was different this time; there was desperation inside of him. Beverly was different from the prior women; she haunted him. He would have to dispose of her sooner than the others. He couldn't trust her to run out the journey to the end. While she still had a spark of life, he would douse her with kerosene, burn her down to ash and bone, then put the remains in a weighted sack and carry them down to the river.
He wished there were some flowers nearby that he could bring Megan in order to topple the barrier between them, but he'd have to forage through his backyard for wildflowers. It was too dark to consider that option.
Carl took a sip of the water himself. Too warm, he thought, and decided to add an ice cube. On the way to the refrigerator, he passed the table on which the dirty dishes were piled. He noticed an ant crawling across one of the plates, exploring, popping in and out of unseen mazes in its haste to find food. Carl pressed his thumb down on the ant; then he wiped the finger on a napkin, leaving an unrecognizable smear. He threw the paper napkin into the garbage pail.
After retrieving some ice from the freezer and plopping it into the glass, Carl made his way to his own bedroom door, knocking before entering. Without waiting for her reply, Carl opened the door and stepped into the room.
His hand shook, spilling some water onto the floor. The sweet hyacinth fragrance so permeated the room that he could feel his gorge rise into his throat. After swallowing several times, he realized that Megan had taken the glass and was asking if he was all right. Turning to her, he saw the open window behind her and shoved her aside as he raced to it. Carl grabbed the top of the frame and pushed down, but it was stuck.
"You bitch!" he yelled. Finally the window gave under the weight of his palms. The glass shook as the frame slammed down on the sill.
From behind him he could hear Megan repeating the words "I'm sorry." He wanted to shut her up and toss the meddlesome girl out of his home, but only she could free him from that wretched woman.
Unable to think clearly in the midst of the swirling fragrance, Carl left the room and made sure he closed the door softly. Megan had been shocked enough for one evening.
Once in the hallway, Carl was able to evaluate the situation. If he didn't calm Megan down, she might leave during the night. He couldn't allow that. He would never allow her to leave until he had drawn her.
"Megan," he called.
She opened the door. One of her hands held the doorknob; the other still clutched the water glass.
"Come into the living room and let me explain." He didn't know how to make her understand his behavior, but he had to revive her interest and trust in him.
"Maybe it would be best if we slept before we talked."
"No, Megan. I don't want you to be frightened." He looked into her eyes. "Will you be able to sleep tonight after what happened in there?"
She shrugged her shoulders. He could tell that she didn't want to deal with the problem, perhaps was planning her getaway.
"Please, Megan. I've been alone here for a long time. I was numb until you came. I've been able to talk and laugh with you tonight. Don't take that away from me. At least, let me explain my . . .'' he paused, "eccentricities."
"You were angry."
"Not with you."
"Who is the 'bitch,' then?"
Carl realized he should have used the plural of that word, but was relieved he hadn't.
"The hyacinth smell reminds me of an old love, who left for someone else."
"She planted the flowers?"
There was no se
nse denying the hyacinths now. Let her look for the ghostly plants. Carl nodded.
He watched Megan's eyes grow soft, her lips part, and he could see that one of her front teeth was slightly crooked. He made special note of that.
"You know, instead of this water, I'd like some juice. I noticed you had some oranges on the kitchen counter. Why don't we squeeze some and maybe have a second helping of tonight's dessert?"
Mary Ann Mitchell - Drawn to the Grave.html Page 5