“I know,” the stranger replied with a slight nod of his head.
“And you are . . . ?”
“Amused,” he countered, though he seemed less entertained than he claimed to be.
“Really?” The frustration at being the source of his personal amusement was evident in my tone. “Did you come here solely to harass me?”
“Hardly,” he replied, looking at my stack on the table. A flicker of genuine interest sparked in his eyes. “I came for the books.”
“Well, then,” the words tasted bitter in my mouth even before I said them aloud, “don’t let me keep you.”
A small smile erupted on his lips as he looked to my pile of books and then back to me. “No problem. It’s just a lot to carry. . . I was going to offer you a hand.”
Of course he was. My redheaded temper had gotten me into trouble yet again.
“Oh,” I said, feeling like a repentant child. “I brought a book bag with me and most of these are pretty small.”
“Indeed,” he replied, running his fingers through his jet black waves. “You have some great texts there. Kerouac and Salinger are two of my favorites.”
“I’ve always wanted to read Catcher in the Rye!” I exclaimed a bit too enthusiastically.
“Now you can.” He smiled down at me as he turned around to walk through the stacks, calling over his shoulder, “And the name’s Merrick.”
“Merrick,” I repeated aloud, tasting the name on my tongue.
He stopped and turned around to face me once more, his mysterious sage gaze penetrating mine.
“Yes?”
“Oh,” I stammered, unprepared for him to have overheard my verbal sampling. “I was just curious about your t-shirt. Who’s The Machine and why do you feel the need to Rage Against them?”
If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn that the slightest chuckle escaped his lips.
“The machine would be the status quo, I guess,” he replied, shaking his head and turning to go. “And most everyone feels compelled to deviate a little from time to time.”
Mesmerized by both him and his words, I watched him walk away, each step feeling like a call to some part of me to follow after him. He seemed to be the impossible combination of every powerful male lead and bad boy antagonist that I'd ever encountered on paper, and for whatever reason, however irrational it might have been, I wanted to know more about him.
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I pulled the Salinger novel from my personal collection, remembering this as one of the many I was not allowed to be caught with at the convent for fear that Mother Superior would find and destroy it. My intention was to start reading it that very evening, followed by every other book that I’d always wanted to read but couldn’t.
I quickly glanced around the library―there was no sign of Merrick. That mysterious man both intrigued and annoyed me, and I found myself uninhibited regarding both emotions in his presence. I knew there was something beneath his dark façade, but I wasn't sure I wanted to know exactly what it was.
8
“There is pleasure in the pathless woods, There is rapture on the lonely shore, There is society where none intrudes, By the deep sea, And music in its roar.”
I chanted the familiar words of Lord Byron as I walked along the rocky beach, looking for sea glass and listening to the sound of the waves that crashed ashore. My love of both literature and nature came from Sister Mary Constance. When Mother Superior gave her the task of naming me as an infant, she could never have imagined she’d end up with a child named after a quivering tree from a poem by Lord Alfred Tennyson.
Constance, however, had a way of surprising those around her.
I was grateful for the times when I was able to walk alongside the ocean, hear her song, and reconcile things in my mind―the exact way that Constance would have. Those quiet moments afforded me the feelings of nostalgia I rarely allowed myself for fear of drowning in them.
Looking up from the shoreline, I noticed how far down the beach I’d wandered. As soon as I turned around, I saw that someone was headed in my direction. Although I couldn’t determine who it was, I was slightly relieved that I could tell the person was wearing colors other than black. That night was to be my first date with Julian, and I didn’t want anything or anyone to ruin that―not even my mystery man. My nervous excitement was already starting to get the better of me and I didn’t need to add to it. The figure in the distance grew closer and closer, and, from what I could tell, it was a middle-aged woman. She appeared to be staring at the sea. Relaxing a little at the sight, I peered off into the deep as I ambled along, in no hurry to get back home. My breaths were in sync with the breaking waves, slow and even as the woman and I finally crossed paths. Her long stringy blonde hair hung limp and clung to her head, which, along with her earth-toned sundress, made her look as though she were what Constance often referred to as a “free spirit.” Content to smile at the woman and be on my way, I kept right on walking as she approached. She, however, placed her hand out directly in front of her as if to halt my momentum.
It worked.
My feet stopped dead in the rocky sand while my eyes appraised the woman. At first glance, I had only noticed her hair and clothing, but, upon further inspection, it was clear that her amber eyes held the same faraway look that the homeless man’s had only a few nights before. As I attempted to keep walking, her melodic voice abruptly halted my footsteps.
“Chosen,” she began with a lilt, the distant expression still on her face. “Trust in the light that resides inside to be your one and only guide.”
Staring at this woman in bewilderment, I was in shock that another stranger had come into my path with an unusual message for me to decipher. I attempted to make sense of what she was saying to me, but I found myself in a state of confusion. By the time my brain had fully digested her words, I turned to find that the woman was nearly out of sight, walking directly into the sea towards a distant sandbar. She was in no real danger, other than getting hypothermia if she didn't dry herself soon thereafter, but still, I contemplated going after her. What stopped me was the message she'd just given me that turned over and over in my head. The more it repeated, the more it sounded like the incoherent utterances of a drug addict. Although I hated to think that of someone, it seemed highly likely. I'd seen many of them over the years in the soup kitchens and shelters I had volunteered in.
I called after her just as she arrived at the far off bank of sand, but received nothing in response. She just stared at the sea as though it were lulling her home. Uneasy with the entire encounter, I slowly made my way home. She had essentially just told me to trust my own judgment, so that's what I did.
As I retreated, I thought more and more about her enigmatic words and the fact that she had begun her brief message by addressing me as “Chosen.” It didn't sit well for some reason, giving me goosebumps all over. What was it about that particular word that continually gave me such an ominous feeling?
I did my best to control my mind and not let it run wild as I stayed my course and headed back to my apartment so that I could get ready for my first date with Julian. I convinced myself that I wasn't going to let her hallucinogenic ramblings stand in the way of my would-be-perfect evening. A smile took over my troubled expression as I remembered Julian's angelic face and pushed her words away.
9
Walking the short distance back to my apartment proved to be an uneventful experience―thank the Virgin Mary. Any other unexpected episodes of peculiarity would have likely pushed me over the edge of reason no matter how grounded the thought of Julian made me feel. I fished the key from my pants pocket and trudged up the steps, breathing a sigh of relief at the safety I found in my familiar surroundings.
Something about the corridor, however, was different than I had left it. Anxiety crept into my chest as my eyes fell upon a black bag too large to escape notice that had been placed precisely in front of my door. My heart began to beat wildly, considering the alread
y preposterous events of the morning. What other mayhem could this day possibly hold in store? Stopping that train of thought dead in its tracks, I remembered Sister Mary Constance’s words of wisdom: no matter how bad things are, they can always get worse. That piece of sage advice did nothing to ease my fears regarding the unidentified object standing between me and my apartment.
The black satin handles of the bag appeared to have some sort of tag attached to them so I converged upon it slowly, eyeing the package with an appropriate level of suspicion. Leaning over it, I peered at the printing on the card and found that it appeared to be Julian’s handwriting. Having seen him write out several orders at the café, his script was fairly recognizable to me.
The bag was in my hands before I was even cognizant of my actions. Reading Julian’s note caused my heart to calm in one manner and soar in another. It read: Didn’t want you to have to worry about anything today. Can’t wait to see you. Julian.
The door to my room couldn’t open fast enough. Gently placing the package down in the middle of my bed, I kicked off my shoes and tossed my coat over the arm of the chair before climbing atop the mattress. I pulled the soft handles apart and carefully examined the contents of the posh-looking sack before reaching my hand in to pull out a pair of jeans. Next came a long-sleeved blue tunic, followed by the most amazing brown leather jacket. Standing up, I threw it over my shoulders and pushed my arms through the sleeves. It fit like a glove. Julian couldn't possibly have known that I'd wanted a leather jacket since the first time I read The Outsiders. And now I had one.
Squealing with delight, I hopped back onto the bed and continued unwrapping my present. I nearly gasped as I pulled out a very expensive-looking pair of knee-high brown leather boots. Less-than-delicately shoving my feet into them, I marveled at the feeling of having brand new shoes to call my own. Always the one to receive hand-me-downs from parishioners at the convent, the experience was more than a little overwhelming for me. As my giddiness lingered, I started to fold up the bag when yet another item fell out. It was a lavender pouch, and, when I unzipped it, a world full of lip-gloss, blush, and other foreign substances abounded. I promptly closed the zipper before I drowned in the sea of makeup spewing forth from it.
Makeup?!
A wave of panic washed over me as I grappled with the notion that Julian envisioned an afternoon with someone looking far more like Helen of Troy or Scarlet O'Hara than plain old me. Deciding I would never be a contender without a shower, I hauled my acquisitions over to the closet and hung up the outfit, while gently placing the boots front and center on the floor. The small cosmetics pouch found a home on the bathroom counter, and I quickly peeled out of my clothes and climbed into a scalding hot shower, eager to try on the new ones hanging in the wardrobe. I tried desperately to expedite the process; however, it proved to be an exercise in futility. Showers were always a lengthy process once my insanely long locks were involved and something about washing my hair always felt like a chore to me. Perhaps it was because it took at least twenty minutes to accomplish.
While I fell into the normal routine of sudsing and rinsing, the earlier events with the lady by the sea invaded my thoughts yet again. With disturbing clarity, the advice from the unusual woman replayed in my head, her curious stare focused on me the entire time she delivered her strange message. Allowing the water to wash the last of the conditioner from my hair, I closed my eyes and prayed that it would have a cleansing effect on my brain as well. The encounter had been another that was beyond strange, and I just didn't want to think about anymore. I simply wanted to enjoy my first date with Julian.
Julian, who clearly expected me to look beautiful.
I winced slightly at the mere thought and turned off the shower. After I stepped out and draped a towel around myself as well as another around my hair, I decided to handle the situation like a semi-mature individual instead of the pathetic little creature I felt like. Slipping into the brand-new clothes left on my doorstep earlier that morning, I towel dried my hair and ran a comb through it before adding some Moroccan oil a woman at work gave me to keep the frizz away.
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, armed with an array of supplies to assist with my mission. The clock on my nightstand provided a rush of hysteria along with a shot of adrenaline at the reminder that Julian was to arrive in less than twenty minutes. Was I really in the shower that long? Fewer that twenty minutes separated me from my first official date.
With Julian.
As excited as I was to see him, I couldn’t help but be equally nervous about the idea of going on my first date. I was terrified I would do something completely mortifying, and he would realize that I was plain old Jane Eyre to his sophisticated Mr. Rochester. Attempting to put those thoughts out of my mind, I opened the small makeup bag on the counter and stared at the contents. They brought about an entirely new sensation of trepidation.
I tried to focus on the task at hand by pulling out a compact of blush. I prayed that makeup was as magical as girls made it sound while I swiped the brush across the compact before lightly dusting the apples of my cheeks. Next up was mascara. I eyed the wand hesitantly as I removed it from the tube. It was positively frightening in appearance, like a medieval weapon of some kind on a much smaller scale. Taking a deep breath, I leaned in close to the mirror and swept the black brush through the upper fringe of my left eye. Blinking several times to clear my vision, I repeated on my right eye and stepped back from the mirror to admire my handiwork. I was horrified to notice that while my top lashes looked dark and full, my bottom lashes appeared nonexistent. Stepping back toward the mirror I moved the brush back and forth through both sets of lower lashes. When I was satisfied I had successfully coated each one sufficiently and wiped away the stray marks I'd painted on my face accidentally, I exchanged the mascara for the clear lip gloss to complete my look.
Stepping back from the mirror, I ran my fingers through my long, loosely curled hair and glanced up to look at my reflection. I was astounded by the person I saw standing before me. My lips were full, my cheeks rosy, and my eyes popping a vibrant green. Perhaps my petition for divine intervention had been heard after all. To complete my look, I pulled my new jacket out of the closet. Just as I was about to deliberate over the appropriateness of a scarf with my outfit, I heard a knock at my door.
My breath caught in my throat in when I opened the door to see the god-like Julian leaning lightly against the doorframe before me. His blue and white button-down shirt hung nicely over a pair of designer jeans, although, as always, his clothes were the least noticeable part of his appearance. He wore the boyish grin I adored, and his sparkling azure eyes appraised me from head to toe, a satisfied expression resting on his flawless face.
“I’d say wow, but that implies surprise,” he said, his playful smirk causing my already chaotic heart to bound inside my chest.
My face warmed at the charm behind his words and the weight of his stare. I soon found myself biting my lower lip as I looked down and practically whispered, “Um, thank you.”
Chuckling a little, he extended his arm to me.
“Ready?” I snatched my key off the nightstand and took hold of his hand a bit too eagerly.
“Ready.”
A flashy black car was parked by the curb when we exited my building.
Julian opened the door for me, and I climbed into the passenger seat. Although I knew Julian had money, I was still surprised to see him driving such an ostentatious vehicle.
“Where are we going?” I asked as he slid into the driver’s seat beside me.
“School,” he replied with that sideways smile of his, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “Someone is a little behind on her lessons in fun.”
“I blame my tutor,” I countered, returning his smile.
He arched an amused eyebrow and laughed a throaty laugh that had my stomach turning circles.
“Well, then,” he crooned, leaning in closer to me, “your tutor assumes full respon
sibility for correcting his egregious error.”
After a short ride, the car pulled to a stop at the harbor. Julian quickly got out of the car and came around to open my door for me, extending a hand. He led me down to the furthest slip on the dock and opened his arms in a pseudo-grandiose gesture. A large, beautiful boat stood before me, looking eager to be taken out to sea.
“The Queen of Denial? That’s quite an unusual name for a boat,” I observed as we boarded the small, stately white ship.
“Dad got her for me when I turned sixteen,” Julian responded, helping me down the stairs. “I was livid.”
“Why?”
“I wanted a car,” he explained. “Every sixteen year old guy wants a car. But the son of Maine’s largest shipping tycoon had to have a boat. I christened her the Queen of Denial—Mom said we made quite the royal couple.”
I giggled a little at the thought of the King and Queen of Denial—a boy and his boat.
“Thank you for sharing this with me,” I said sincerely.
“Well, this is hardly part of your education,” he scoffed.
“I never doubted for a second you’d get back to that,” I countered, tucking my hair behind my ears. “What’s next on the agenda?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Julian said, the force of his smile nearly enough to launch me overboard.
“I would, actually.” I played along with my best attempt at flirtation, even batting my eyelashes a little for fun.
“Is that so?” His voice was low and smooth as silk as he leaned in close to me.
“Um, uh huh,” I stammered, his breath on my face causing me to forget our conversation. He reached behind me to shut the door and gave a light laugh before taking my hand to usher me all the way onto the Queen of Denial. Once I walked onto the deck of the boat, I was in total awe―she was magnificent. Julian had set up a table with black linens and white candles. A romantic dinner for two.
Tempted by Evil Page 6