Super Dark (Super Dark Trilogy)

by Tanith Morse

“Why does he think I’m a holy man?”

  I took a deep breath. “That night at the party. He believes you healed his leg.”

  There was a long pause—so long I thought it would last forever. Then Lee burst into giggles. They were infectious. Soon, the two of us were having a full-on belly laugh.

  “That’s the funniest thing I ever heard!” Lee chuckled.

  “I know, Frasier’s really lost his mind, hasn’t he? I mean, how drunk must he have been?”

  “Very drunk,” Lee agreed, wiping away a tear. “Who does he think I am? Superman?”

  This got us both started again, and it was a good two minutes before we managed to regain our composures.

  “It gets better,” I giggled. “Now he’s saying you fixed his bad eyesight and acne. I mean, how insane is that?”

  “Totally insane. So now I’m the genie from Aladdin? Your wish is my command! Ha, I didn’t know I was so special.”

  The weight of anxiety lifted. Somehow, hearing Lee confirm out loud that it was baloney made me realize just how ridiculous Frasier’s theory sounded. This was real life, not an episode of X-Men. How could I ever have allowed myself to get sucked in?

  “What was it you wanted to tell me?” I asked. “Back at the library. You said …”

  “Oh that. Yes. How would you feel about being my muse?”

  “Your what?”

  “My muse. My model. I’d like to paint you.”

  “Oh.” My voice betrayed an edge of wonderment. Obviously, I was deeply flattered. No one had ever asked me to model for them before. But then my old suspicions kicked in. “Why me? I’m not exactly your typical …” I faltered, finding it hard to describe myself.

  “Please say yes. It would mean a lot to me. Honestly, if you want the truth, I’ve been wanting to paint you from the day we first met at the library. I’d already started sketching you when Becky came over and, well, I was sort of embarrassed, so I added her and Frasier to balance things. The truth is, I find your face astonishing.”

  “Astonishing? Wow, that’s a new one. What’s so astonishing about me?”

  Lee’s pearly white teeth gleamed brilliantly in the half-light. “Perhaps that’s not the right word. Let me put it another way. I haven’t seen anyone with a face like yours before. You’re an artist’s dream. When I look at you, I can tell there’s a lot going on behind those eyes—but you mask it so well, I’m constantly intrigued.”

  I was struck dumb. That was the biggest compliment he’d ever paid me, and I had some trouble deciding how to respond. In the end, all I said was: “Thanks. That’s nice of you to say.”

  I could have followed it up by complimenting him, but I restrained myself. Lee knew all too well how sexy he was, and I doubted his supreme self-confidence needed a further boost.

  We turned onto Roseberry Avenue and parked across the road from my house. Lee killed the engine. Thankfully, the rain had calmed to a drizzle, and was now dotting the windshield with miniscule specks of water.

  Adjusting his seat, he appraised me from a side angle. There was a teasing fire in his eyes. “So, is that a yes or no?”

  “To being your muse?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sure, it sounds fun.” I shrugged, trying to make my voice sound casual.

  “Can you do it this Saturday?”

  “Saturday? Um, yes … actually no. My mum’s having a dinner party. I could do this Friday, if that’s any good.”

  “Yeah, Friday’s cool,” he purred, leaning back in his seat so that the top of his face was momentarily lost in shadow. “What time do you get out of school?”

  “Five.”

  “Okay, so I’ll pick you up at the gates at five-fifteen. Then we can grab some food before heading to my place.”

  “Your place?” I gulped. I hadn’t seen that one coming.

  “Yes, that’s where my studio is. Why? Is that a problem?”

  “Oh no, no problem at all.” I laughed nervously.

  Just then, my mother turned onto the street, and we silently watched her totter toward the house. She was dressed up in a black, fur-trimmed coat and red high heels. As she reached the gate, she stalled to rummage through her bag, as if searching for her keys, and then disappeared down the steps to the apartment. For some reason, I felt no urge to call to her, perhaps because Lee was sitting next to me. I didn’t feel ready to make introductions yet.

  “Is that your Mum?” he asked softly.

  I nodded.

  For a second, an expression crossed his face that I couldn’t quite place. Then, hastily, he smoothed it away with a smile. “So I’ll see you Friday then?”

  “Definitely.” I unclipped the seatbelt and climbed out. After waving him off, I hurried inside.

  Without greeting Mum, I raced to my bedroom and locked the door. I needed some time alone to think. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I kicked off my shoes and rubbed my temples. What the hell was I doing? I barely knew Lee, and here I was arranging to go to his apartment after just one date! What planet was I living on? This broke every rule in my book. Was a gorgeous face and charming personality really enough for me to gamble with my safety like this?

  I went over to the mirrored wardrobe and stared blankly at my reflection. Things are getting out of control. After taking deep breaths to calm myself, I started to feel a little better. Maybe I’m just over-reacting, as usual. All Lee wants to do is paint me. What’s so sinister about that? This would just be a bit of harmless fun. And besides, I couldn’t go through life not trusting people. No guts, no glory, as my dad used to say.

  There was a sudden loud beep. Startled, I turned and saw my phone ringing on the dresser. I picked it up and saw the caller ID: Becky.

  Rolling my eyes, I answered. “Hey.”

  “Hey! How you doing?” Her voice sounded hyper, as always.

  “Fine. How are you?”

  “Good, thanks. What are you up to?”

  “Oh, just this and that …” I felt an unexpected twinge of guilt. “Hold on Becks, I just need to plug in my charger.”

  Leisurely, I attached the phone to the wall socket, buying myself some time to get my head straight.

  Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper: “Is it me or was Frasier looking rather cute today?”

  “Yeah, he looked hot,” I agreed.

  “Still a bit of a geek though. I mean, those clothes …”

  “Actually, I think his sense of style is rather fetching.”

  “Fetching?” I heard the smile in her voice and instantly felt at ease.

  “Yes, fetching,” I repeated, emphasizing the word. “He’s got that whole geek chic thing going on, like Brad Pitt in Fight Club.”

  “You think Frasier looks like Brad Pitt?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but he’s definitely a hottie.” Inwardly, I laughed at the inanity of this conversation. Becky’s entire repertoire consisted of boys and cosmetics. Not my thing. But in another way, I was relieved. Perhaps some fluffy girl talk was just what I needed to lift my mood. Plus, it gave me the chance to play cupid.

  “So, do you fancy him then?” I teased.

  “Who me?” She laughed. “Not in the slightest.”

  “Not even a teeny little bit?”

  “Okay, maybe a little bit. He’s got lovely eyes, hasn’t he? You’d never have guessed with those crazy fishbowls he wears.”

  “Because,” I continued, “a little birdie tells me he might just have a thing for you.”

  “No way! Don’t joke.”

  “It’s true. I have it from a very reliable source that Frasier worships the ground you walk on.” I winced. Maybe that was a bit too much?

  “Really?” She couldn’t contain her excitement. “Tell me more.”

  “Nope, that’s all you’re getting for the moment. But put it this way—if Frasier asked you out, would you say yes?”

  “Not sure. I’m still messed up over this whole Lee thing.”

  My back stiffened. “Have you heard fro
m him?”

  “No, and to be honest Sam, I don’t think he even likes me. If he did, he would have at least given me his phone number. It’s ridiculous. I’ve got absolutely no way of contacting him. And there’s something else, too.”

  “What?” For some reason, I felt afraid.

  “Remember how Lee said he goes to Summerwell Art College? Well, I have a friend who goes there, too, and I asked her to check which class he’s in so that she could pass on a message. That girl searched the entire register and she says there’s no one by that name there.”

  “Maybe Lee’s his nickname?” I ventured. “Or a middle name?”

  “Come on Sam, don’t be so naive. It’s obvious he’s been lying to us from the get-go. I mean, he doesn’t exactly blend into the crowd, does he? Do you really think someone as gorgeous as that could go to Summerwell and not be known by people? I’m telling you, he’s being mysterious. Lee’s probably not even his real name.”

  There was a charged silence. It certainly sounded like he’d given us the run-around—but perhaps Lee had his reasons. Perhaps, like me, he was wary of giving too much away. Perhaps he’d been economical with the truth to protect his privacy. Still, lying about which school he attended seemed a bit much and I could relate to Becky’s indignation. It made me wonder what else he’d lied about.

  “Okay, so we’ve established you think Lee’s a pathological liar. If so, then why even waste your time on him?”

  “I know, I know. My head’s telling me to forget it, but— oh, I hate feeling like this!”

  “You and me both,” I muttered.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing. Look, do what you like, but I really think you should give Frasier a chance. He’s a lovely guy and he genuinely adores you.”

  “All right, I’ll think about it.”

  I made my excuses and ended the call. Becky’s indecisiveness was starting to give me a headache. With a sigh, I collapsed on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. So, the plot thickens. Somehow, all this new information only made Lee seem even more intriguing. And now I felt especially nervous about Friday.

  My mind searched through the conversations we’d had, looking for incongruities. There was something about the medallion ring he wore. Lee told me he hated wearing jewelry. But his ears are pierced!

  I’d noticed his ears back at the library, but I hadn’t made the connection. When I’d questioned him at the Winchester about his medallion ring, he’d told me he hated wearing jewelry.

  Why would someone who hated jewelry have his ears pierced?

  Yet another contradiction.

  The boy was a total mystery.

  EIGHT

  Muse

  Last period on Friday was double History with Mr. Treagus. We were working on an essay about the final days of Stalin—and as fascinating as it was, it just couldn’t hold my interest. My mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of my impending meeting with Lee. Every couple of minutes, I’d glance up at the clock. I was counting down the seconds till five, wondering whether or not I was doing the right thing.

  The past two days had been a nightmare of epic proportions, trying to evade both Becky and Frasier. I couldn’t deal with any more of Frasier’s hare-brained theories, and Becky was hell-bent on getting me to go to a party tonight. Using the cunning of an M16 agent, I’d managed to dodge them both by hiding out at the gym during lunchtime and leaving class early each day. They probably knew I was avoiding them, but I didn’t care. All I could focus on right now was this date with Lee. Everything else would have to go on the back-burner.

  When the bell finally rang, I packed up and raced to the bathroom to get changed. I’d brought a duffel bag containing make-up, hair gel, jeans and a black fitted sweater. I didn’t want to overdo it, but I was getting my portrait done, so thought I should at least make an effort. After applying a little mascara and lip-gloss, I worked some gel through my hair to create the same style I’d had at Taffin’s party. The one Lee had liked so much.

  When I was satisfied that I looked the part, I headed out to the main hall, which led to the front of the building. A twinge of nerves hit me as I approached the reception desk. I was praying that Becky wouldn’t still be lurking about somewhere. The last thing I needed was another interrogation.

  As I turned into the hall, I was relieved to see the place mostly deserted, except for one or two teachers who were still in their classrooms working overtime. It seemed that on Fridays, most students wanted to leave the building as soon as possible to embrace the weekend and freedom.

  Five minutes later, I was standing outside the steel entrance gates, scanning the street for Lee’s Lotus. It was quarter past. Glancing left and right, I couldn’t see any sign of a bright yellow vehicle. Then I heard a low, hollow beep and saw what I thought was Lee’s car parked quite some distance away. Cautiously, I followed the direction of the sound until I was clearly able to see that it was, in fact, him.

  “Why did you park so far up?” I demanded, climbing in the passenger side. “I could barely see you.”

  Without answering, he turned the wheel and set the car in motion. Within seconds, we were on the main road heading east.

  “Well?”

  “I didn’t think you’d want everyone watching me pick you up,” he replied evenly. “Plus, I’m sort of dodging Becky at the moment.”

  I snickered. “Right, so now we’re on the run, are we? Sort of like Bonnie and Clyde.”

  “Bonnie and Clyde,” he murmured, trying it out for size. “I like it. Yes, I suppose we are.” He glanced at me. “I presume Becky doesn’t know about us meeting?”

  “No. Why should she? It’s none of her business.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” He turned sharply at a corner and I cursed myself for not fastening my seatbelt. “So nobody knows you’re with me tonight?” He emphasized the word “nobody.”

  I shook my head. “No, I haven’t told anyone.” The instant I said it, all of my old paranoia came flooding back. Why was he so interested in whether I’d told anyone? Had I just climbed in a car with Jack the Ripper or something?

  A slight smile crept across his flawless lips. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite.”

  We both laughed, but it didn’t seem funny. I noted that we were now heading to a part of town I wasn’t familiar with, and I wondered how easy it would be to find my way home, should a situation arise.

  “Let’s have some music, shall we?” He turned up the volume on the stereo. Thankfully, it was just some ordinary pop track from the radio and not that spooky Irish folk music he loved so much. Inagoul combined with my deep misgivings would have been too much to take.

  For twenty minutes, we journeyed in virtual silence, driving through the dark backstreets of Elmfield at a leisurely pace. Lee chose a convoluted route. Is he purposely trying to confuse me about where we’re going?

  Eventually, we pulled into the underground parking garage of a fancy apartment building located on the edge of Elmfield Park; it was ten stories of glass-plated perfection that wouldn’t have looked out of place in somewhere like Canary Wharf. Lee’s parents must be loaded to afford a place like this.

  We circled the half-empty garage for a couple of minutes before finding a free space next to a shiny red Volvo. He locked the car and led me across to the elevator, which took us up to the top floor. When the doors parted, I followed him down a long corridor with thick, pile carpets as green and shiny as a freshly mowed lawn.

  We stopped in front of a door marked twenty-six, and he took out a bunch of keys to open it. He led me into a huge living space with an open plan kitchen cordoned off by a black chrome partition.

  I drew in a sharp breath. The apartment was absolutely stunning, superbly furnished with angular, futuristic furniture complimented by a high glass ceiling that opened up into the night sky and windows that provided a panoramic view of the park.

  On one side was a large seating area with a TV the size of a small cinema screen, and on the other
a makeshift art studio, complete with white sheets and an expensive-looking easel. Off to the far right, a pair of glass doors led out onto a veranda where a telescope had been set up for star-gazing.

  “Welcome to my humble abode,” Lee declared, dropping his keys on the sideboard. “What do you think?”

  “It’s beautiful,” I blurted. I just couldn’t help myself. It really was.

  “Thanks. Glad you like it.” He slid off his jacket and hung it on a hook behind the door. Then he reached over and gently helped me off with mine. Smiling graciously, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed on the sofa, openly appraising my surroundings. Before me was a glass coffee table on which rested an expensive laptop nestled beside a stack of letters. Hanging on the wall was an enormous print of a monkey dressed in combat gear, throwing a hand grenade.

  “Is that a Banksy?” I asked, wide-eyed.

  “Yeah. Do you like his stuff?”

  “I love his stuff. That’s one cool print.”

  “Thank you.”

  I continued my inspection of the room and noticed that one corner was almost entirely covered with boxes: a Kenwood stereo system, an Xbox, and coffee maker, among others. I got the feeling that he hadn’t been living here very long.

  “Do you want coffee?” he asked, crossing toward the kitchen area.

  “Yes, please.” I leaned against the plump sofa cushions, relishing the feel of soft leather against my skin. Then, for a moment, I felt completely at ease, listening to the steady grind of the coffee maker in the distance.

  Presently, he returned carrying two steaming hot cappuccinos, which smelled heavenly. Taking a seat next to me, he handed me a cup, and I cleared space on the table for it to stand on. In my haste, I accidentally knocked some of the envelopes on the floor. As I stooped down to pick them up, I noticed a credit card sticking out from one. Hurriedly, I placed it back on the table, but not before getting an eyeful of the account holder’s name: Stuart Weaver.

  Funny.

  As soon as I saw it, I thought about the conversation I’d had with Becky about her snooping at Summerwell Art College. Did this finally prove that Lee was indeed a pseudonym? Was Stuart Weaver his real name?