Magic, Mystery & Zombies: YA starter set

by Elle Klass

  My eyes grew three sizes as I took in the room. The entire city twinkled in front of me through the opened curtains. Creams, gold, and shades of red completed the décor.

  He pointed towards the mini bar. “Please help yourself free of charge, it’s stocked.” He walked to a cabinet and opened it revealing a TV. “If you need anything ask for me, Didier. I will make sure you are taken care of.” He spoke American well, but the words rolled off his tongue with an alluring French accent.

  Stunned, I searched to find the words, tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. “Thank you.” I mustered in a near whisper.

  After he left, I checked out the rest of the room. In the bathroom a basket filled with designer lotions, bubble baths, soaps, shampoos, conditioners, and deodorants sat on the marble counter. Towels wearing the hotel emblem hung in tidy triangles from a golden bar. I squeezed my hand around a towel, its softness and thickness squished between my fingers. The stocked mini bar contained liquors, wines and snacks. Juices, sodas, various foods, and several types of cheese lined the shelves of the refrigerator. I plopped on the bed. My butt sunk into the fluffy mattress and I feared I might disappear into it. I sprawled on the bed, spread my arms and legs like a snow angel and stared at the ceiling.

  My mind and body focused on my lost love. He would have liked this place. I took out a picture of him and ran my finger across it as if I could touch him. Then I pulled a pillow to my face and cried into its creamy softness. Tears flowed for my lost friend, lover, and family member.

  I forced myself to get up and bee-lined to the mini bar, grabbed a few of the small bottles of wine, and ran a steaming hot bubble bath. The bubbles came just below my ears, and I sank into their effervescence as I drank and thought. I needed to know more about Einstein; where had he come from? Who was he? Who was Justine Holmes? That decision was mine. I needed to make an identity for her, bring her to life. My new life would be everything my other life hadn’t been, and I would live in the lap of luxury. After drinking the few small bottles of wine I grew happy and excited about my new life. I would put my past behind me. The only exception was finding more about my beloved Einstein.

  After the bath I wrapped myself in a creamy-soft towel and melted underneath it. I meandered over to the mini bar again and grabbed a bottle of clear liquor with a vanilla scent. I pulled off the top and swallowed the contents of the bottle. Ewww! I chocked and gagged involuntarily. My mouth and throat were on fire, and the heat sank to my stomach, which burned. The room spun around me, and I fell against something soft.

  I awoke with a pounding headache, reached for the absent covers, pried my eyes open, and attempted to focus. As my eyes adjusted, I saw a wooden table leg staring back at me, a strong hint I was lying on the plush carpet. My body didn’t want to move, so I lay there staring at the ceiling. I remembered where and who I was as my eyes acclimated to my surroundings.

  Through the curtains, the bright morning sun filled the sky. At the bar sat a small coffee pot, bags of coffee, and a plate of pastries. I had no memory of the pastries from the previous night. What time did I pass out? What time was it now?

  I reached in my bag, and pulled out Einstein’s wrist watch, it displayed seven fifteen, Friday morning. My plane arrived Wednesday evening, I settled in the room that night, now it was Friday? I remembered synching his watch to Paris time upon my arrival which meant I slept over twenty four hours. Never in my life… I let it go as caused by jet lag.

  I made a pot of coffee and devoured the delicious pastries while contemplating how best to find information on Einstein. By nine thirty I headed towards the lobby, showered, dressed, and with an idea. I asked the concierge for an international paper, assuming the global news was a good starting place for my research. The concierge, Jean the same man from Wednesday, presented a paper, which I accepted. I caught the elevator back up to my room; the ride was smooth and silent.

  I read and read but found nothing mentioning a hit and run in small town Alabama, maybe the hotel had guest computers. Einstein the computer whiz taught me how to surf the net. I journeyed back to the lobby and asked Jean.

  “Does the hotel have guest computers?”

  “Non.” He grabbed a crude map off a clear display rack and directed me to a café a few blocks from the hotel.

  In the café I searched the net, looking for recent deaths, hit and runs, murders, and accidental deaths. Nothing! I typed Alabama newspapers in the search bar. Bingo, there it was. Now I had a starting point! I looked through recent articles and found it. Young man hit by car… driver fled scene… mysterious 911 call… thought to be driver… young woman.

  I continued reading and searching, The young man identified as Burke Childrone… reported missing. His parents, owners of Childrone Publishing, flew into town to take his body… detectives worked around the clock. My mind spun. His name was Burke, and he came from a wealthy family. Why did he leave? Did he leave of his own accord? Why else would he leave? Answers, and new questions. I continued to search for missing persons. An investigation followed his disappearance. His parents hired detectives to find their son. At one point the police suspected his parents’ of foul play. No evidence against them surfaced, so the police took them off the suspect list. Einstein, or Burke, disappeared into thin air. He left for school in the morning and never returned home. The police and his family presumed him dead. I knew the truth. He blended into the streets filled with runaways.

  A French woman with stern eyes interrupted my research when she walked to my table and pointed towards the clock. My cue the café was closing, and I needed to leave. I gathered my notes and left. Evening settled, and a wave of brilliant lights moved across the city.

  As I strolled to the hotel an overwhelming sensation that someone was following me flooded my soul, and hunger pains gripped my stomach. I attempted to reason that my new knowledge clouded my judgement, but my sixth sense told me different. A café to my right offered a place to evaluate my surroundings, regroup, and eat. It wasn’t wise to continue my journey to the hotel with a spy following me. I took a seat outside and glanced over the menu, everything looked delicious. I ordered the special, a Parisian meat pie. It turned out to be tasty. As a homeless runaway I learned to live off the land, so to speak, meaning dumpsters, teaching me not to be picky.

  I scanned the surroundings and spied a man with a bald patch on top his head standing beneath a tree a few yards from me. Mr. Dancy Eyes? Was it the same man, or my imagination going wild? His eyes bounced like a dime machine ball and he refused to look directly at me. Would someone follow me here to arrest me for my crimes? Could they arrest me on foreign soil? I didn’t know the answer to any of my questions and didn’t think it a coincidence he stood within eyeshot of me. Soon as I finished my meal I threw money on the table and left.

  Jumpin’ Pumpkins!

  I walked and walked ducking through alleys and shops attempting to confuse and lose him. When I no longer felt the sting of his bouncing eyes on my back I headed to the hotel. I spent so much mental energy evading him I’d gotten lost then I remembered the crude map Jean gave me; I unfolded it, checked street signs, and plotted the course. When I reached the hotel I wound my way up to my room, dropped on my bed and thought of my discoveries.

  Ring! Ring! The phone blasted and my body jumped in an involuntary lurch, falling off the bed. I scrambled to my feet, and picked up the phone, as if it would blow up in my hands.

  “Hello?”

  “Miss Holmes, this is Didier. How is your stay?” His French accent melted the words off his tongue, and my anxiety disappeared.

  “I’m great, and yes, all my needs are met.”

  “If there is anything more I can do to make your stay unforgettable, don’t hesitate to ask.” Is it customary for hotel owners to call their guests?

  “Thank you.” I placed the phone on the receiver.

  Within minutes of hanging up the phone a knock rattled the door. Room service? I hadn’t placed an order. I grabbed a doll sized sta
tue seated on a table, in case Mr. Dancy Eyes stood on the other side, and opened the door. To my thankful surprise it wasn’t Mr. Dancy Eyes, but a bottle of complimentary wine and a bouquet. The delivery boys’ eyes scanned the statue in my hands, and he pushed the gifts toward me as if to block my blow. With a sheepish grin I set the statue back on the table and took the vase and wine. A card on a stick hidden amongst the flowers read Invitation. I opened it and read, Join me at the restaurant downstairs for dinner under the stars tomorrow, Didier with a yes and no box underneath the print. The boy handed me a pen. I marked the yes box and gave it to him. After all, now I was glamorous Justine, and lived an exquisite life. He nodded as he caught it by the corner then scurried to the elevator.

  I spent the following day shopping for glamorous Justine clothing and date material – sexy and beguiling. Stylish clothing stores littered Paris, which oddly gave me a hidden sense of security while shopping for dresses and designer shoes. My lesson for the day was understanding the difference between designer names and knock-offs. The never-ending assortment of fashions included something for everyone’s taste. I bought an eye-catching green knock-off dress that my budget allowed. The front came down in a V across my chest displaying the round curves of my breasts beneath and the back fell in long, shallow layers. It was alluring and most definitely Justine.

  I met Didier at the hotel restaurant as the note instructed. We ate dinner while the wine flowed. Charm surged from every word Didier spoke. His dark brown hair fell below his ears with thick waves scattering across his head, green halos surrounded his coffee-colored eyes. I’m sure he had no shortage of women chasing him and wondered what he saw in me.

  I wanted to be in the present with him but my mind raced to the reason I was in Paris, Einstein. Memories of him swarmed through my mind. By contrast, his straight blond hair hung long with split ends frizzing the bottom from lack of a good haircut, most often he wore it tied back. Deep solid dark chocolate wide eyes sat the perfect distance from his nose, and his build tall and lean. Didier was at least three inches shorter with muscles exploding beneath his shirt sleeves, and a couple years older, my guess early twenties. After dinner we walked around Paris. Romance blossomed from every inch of the city blooming into vibrant flowers of passion.

  Didier told life stories, and I weaved a lie about growing up in Texas. I made up the life I wished I’d lived because it would be easier to remember such a lie. About Einstein I was honest without giving more details than necessary. “My boyfriend passed away, a car wreck. That’s why I’m here, it’s been difficult, and I needed to get away.” I dammed up the river waiting to gush behind my eyes.

  The sympathy in his voice gave away his genuine concern. “We’ll work on that. There is much to see here, and if you’ll allow me, I will show it all to you.” The breeze rustled the leaves on the surrounding trees creating music which sang to my ears – freedom and a fresh beginning.

  Over the next few days we spent a lot of time together sight-seeing. The Didier tour of Paris. He adored art and took me to the Musée Picasso and Musée d’Orsay. I admired the art and the hand that painted it, however, most of it didn’t make sense to me, although I didn’t express that to him. Instead, I encouraged him to teach me lessons about the art.

  He took me to the Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame, and we went to Les Catacombs, tunnels and tunnels of dead people, spooky. We went to Parc Floral, one of the most stunning sights I had seen in my entire life, color and sweet aromas exploded from every angle. French people celebrated death and life and admired art and fine wine. The longer I stayed the more in love with Paris I grew. Nothing appeared real leading to the pseudo-perception that Justine was untouchable melting into the atmosphere and mystery that shrouded Paris.

  After a week of wining and dining, Didier stole my breath away. He took me to a penthouse room in his hotel, blues and creams popped from the décor while silks and velvets covered the windows and furniture. The fluffy carpet squished beneath my feet, and the room was large enough it took up half the space on the top floor. Thin cream sheers held up at the corners with gold pins surrounded the bed. A massive entertainment system with items I didn’t understand what they were or how to work them sat to the right of the bed. In the center of the huge room two blue velvet chaise lounges faced the entertainment center with a small table tucked between them. A two burner stove, full size refrigerator, and breakfast bar completed the kitchenette. Long blue velvet curtains held up with gold rings covered the large picture windows puddling on the floor beneath them. A wrought iron chair was visible between the cracks in the curtains.

  I padded to the curtains and pushed them aside revealing a twin wrought iron chair and small round table. The terrace extended longer than the length of the room, overlapped the next room, a small gate separated the areas. The entire city twinkled before my eyes while my mouth dropped to my feet in awe. I opened the door and took a seat allowing myself to dissolve into the breathtaking view. A few weeks ago I couldn’t have imagined being in a room this elegant, much less dating it’s owner.

  From behind, Didier wrapped his arms around me, his mouth caressed my cheek kissing it softly, startling me. He zapped away my loneliness in that single moment, I no longer felt like a paper character in a fictional book. His gentle kisses danced across my neck, leaving a warm patch that sent tingles through my spine. I hoped this wonderful dream would last an eternity.

  “How do you like the room?” He asked in his silky voice.

  “It’s more beautiful than any room I’ve ever seen.”

  His mouth widened into a smile. “Good, this is your room to stay in as long as you are in Paris. You don’t need to worry about anything; it’s all taken care of.”

  The poetic way he said it played a melody in my ears. The dam now opened wide, and a river of tears streamed from my eyes. Could I live here in this luxury? I was nobody, a girl who came from a small shack with no hot water! I lived on the streets and ate trash! He knew none of this, just the tale I wove - the life of Justine, not Cleo, or my alter ego before Cleo. I stood up, turned towards Didier, wrapped my arms around his neck, perched on my tiptoes, and whispered, “Thank you” in his ear. I refused to turn away such luxurious living accommodations when I had no income, and from such an exhilarating man.

  He wiped the tears below my eyes. “Why do you cry?”

  “Your generosity.”

  He folded me into his arms and kissed my lips, his tongue playing tangle games with mine. Warmth radiated through my body and the word “love” came to mind.

  Fears and Facts

  Didier inherited his parent’s riches, their hotels, money and holdings across Europe when they passed away, making him a man of extreme wealth. He enjoyed spending time with me because I was, ‘not demanding like most women, but lighthearted and always in awe of the small things in life no one else notices’.

  I had little experience in philanthropy, but I wanted to feed the birds, and give money to the vagrants. This interested him. I didn’t want to see people suffer in the same way as myself. I wanted them to buy a warm meal, not find a cold half eaten one in the trash. He traveled and occasionally took me with him. He taught me how to golf – a huge sport in France. I found it therapeutic to hit the little ball pretending it was Einstein’s murder or a paparazzo and watch it fly.

  As the woman by his side, I gained overnight unwelcomed popularity and publicity. The tabloids, newspapers, internet, and TV splashed us across their covers and headlines. My life spun without warning into an unfamiliar world I didn’t understand. The paparazzi buzzed with action, the flash of their camera’s blinding my eyes. They invaded our space and made private moments public. Everybody wondered who I was, Didier’s mystery woman. He did his best to keep me out of the public eye, but the more places people saw me with him, the more popular and frightened of them I became.

  The times I didn’t travel with him I spent hold up in the penthouse trying to figure out the entertainment system. This amused him, so
meone my age, or the age he thought, who didn’t understand technology. I lived as a hermit with the curtains drawn when he traveled. On occasion I pulled back the heavy drapes and sat on the terrace to read. I didn’t go out much without Didier; he could handle the paparazzi, but they scared me. They lurked around corners, waiting to snap pictures. The publicity was far more than I wanted and anxiety ate a hole in my gut. What if someone recognized me? In my mind, the tabloid headlines read Justine, thief wanted for extradition.

  He gave me a personal laptop I used to further research Einstein’s disappearance and death, and our crime spree. The police hadn’t linked him to the burglaries across the country, or discovered who made the 911 call the night he died. The police found Einstein’s killer, and the courts prosecuted him to the fullest extent whatever that meant. Frank Tomey confessed to driving drunk that night and accidentally killing him. I knew better. The car aimed in my direction, Einstein pushed me, saving my life in exchange for his. The killer Frank Tomey didn’t mention seeing, anyone else with Einstein. Was he that drunk? My sixth sense didn’t think so. The killer was after me, not Einstein. But why? The police didn’t buy his drunk story either or at least not one detective, John Young, who kept searching. Einstein’s parents were wealthy and Detective Young pursued the case with vigor. He found no connection to Einstein’s family, but rather a connection to another wealthy family, the Briggs. Their wealth and power became a brick wall, halting his investigation. Secrecy engulfed the family.