Madison’s head spun. She pushed the sheets away. Panties and a T-shirt didn’t seem appropriate for sharing the bed with someone, so she’d worn a pair of sweats, which were too warm.
“I told you we were in danger.” The light of the lamp cast shadows over Alejandro, bringing out the strength of his features.
“What do you mean?”
“I cannot explain. I just know that we are.” He sat, his back against the headboard, sheets around his waist, his eyes far away. Beneath the blankets, she knew he wore orange boxer shorts sporting Winkie the Golden Hedgehog. Orange, because he liked bright things. “That woman who came today. Her name was Lena Harding, and-”
“Lena Harding?” Madison hadn’t pegged the woman as a churchgoer. “Why didn’t you tell me her name earlier?”
“She wanted to have relations with me.”
Madison felt a stab of possessiveness. “You mean she tried to seduce you?”
“Yes. I made her leave.” He fidgeted. “But she said that someone sent her. She would not say who.”
“Someone sent her to … seduce you?”
“I think so.”
“Why?”
“I do not know but I sent her away with a message - a warning to those who sent her.”
Madison felt suddenly chilled. “A warning? What did you say?” What the hell is going on?
He shrugged. “I cannot remember. I just know that it was a warning.”
“You can’t remember? Alejandro, what are you talking about?”
“I spoke in a language I have since forgotten.” He paused, glancing at the nightstand. “And I took her necklace. It was just like Dette’s.”
“You robbed her?” So he’s a criminal? And English is his second language?
“I took it because it is a wicked item.”
Madison wondered what on earth that meant. “Where did you put it?”
He hesitated, shifted. “I threw it away.”
He was lying, but she didn’t know why. Because he’s afraid. Afraid of what?
“Dette wanted to have relations with me too, so I made her leave.”
Anger replaced bewilderment. “That’s what I thought.” She paused. “You’ve said that Dette is ‘bad now.’ Is she bad in the same way Lena Harding is bad?”
He nodded. “Yes. And they both wear silver moons.”
Madison wondered how the necklaces tied in. “Do you think Dette and Lena were sent by the same person … to seduce you?”
“I know they were.”
“What could be so important about having sex with you?”
His cheeks pinked. So did hers. “I do not know.” He watched her.
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“I thought it might upset you. Dette is your friend.” He hesitated, shifted, and met her eyes. “And those are things I only wish to do with you.”
Now Madison’s cheeks flamed.
His gaze dipped to her lips and remained there. Her heart beat faster and she found herself willing him to kiss her. Suddenly nothing seemed as important. What is it about this guy, she wondered, that allows him to control my moods so completely?
But he didn’t kiss her. Why won’t he kiss me?
Alejandro tipped his head - it was almost as if he’d read her thoughts.
Can he? she thought. She looked at him harder. Do you hear me? Do you know what I’m thinking?
His face remained unreadable, but something in his eyes sparked. He shifted, fidgeting.
You can kiss me, she thought at him. I want you to.
He stiffened, glanced at her, and moved close, his face just inches from hers.
She closed her eyes, waiting …
“Tell me what you keep in your phone.”
It was like being poked in the ribs with something sharp. “What?” Alejandro’s unexpected subject shifts irritated her. She counted to three, collecting her thoughts and feeling foolish for getting caught up in a moment that was only in her mind. “My phone? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I sometimes see you putting words into it and I feel that it is important to you, but I do not understand.”
It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about. “It’s personal.”
Alejandro blinked, clearly not understanding that she didn’t want to discuss it.
She sighed. “It’s a list of life lessons. Things I’ve learned. I started it many years ago.”
“Do you not remember the things you have learned?”
Madison laughed. “You forget sometimes. And if you forget, you repeat your mistakes.”
Alejandro considered. “I would like to see your lessons.”
“Well, I don’t … it’s kind of personal, you know?” But something in his eyes softened her resolve. “All right. Fine.” She found her phone, opened the file and handed it him.
His eyes moved quickly over the text, his expression unreadable,
She’d never shared her list with anyone. “It keeps me centered and focused,” she explained.
“I would like a list, too. May I reference your list until I have one of my own?”
It was an odd question. “I guess. If you want.”
“Perhaps it will help me.”
“It’s definitely helped me.” She felt pleased. “My father always said you had to learn from your mistakes. I guess the list is my way of …” She nearly said, ‘keeping him alive,’ but until that moment, she hadn’t recognized the fact. It was her way of keeping him alive - of allowing him to live on in some way, to give her the guidance she knew he’d have wanted to give.
“I would like to know more about him.”
“My father?”
“Yes.”
She never spoke of him with anyone - it was painful - but it was as if Alejandro had the ability to loosen things that were stuck deep inside of people. She’d seen others tell him their secrets and more than once, had wanted to tell him her own - but she’d managed to resist. Until now. “He died when I was eleven.”
“What was he like?”
“He was tall, and very handsome. He had light hair, like yours. And blue eyes. I remember the way they crinkled at the corners when he smiled.” She felt her own smile break through. “He was very smart and full of adventure. He always said he’d try anything once - he said you couldn’t wait for life to tell you who you are, that you had to go find out for yourself.”
Alejandro leaned forward now, his eyes dancing. “I like that. I think it is true.”
“Me too.” Madison was surprised by how good it felt to talk about him. It was healing.
“You loved him very much.”
His words were like a sucker punch to her solar plexus. “Of course I did. He was my hero.” Tears threatened. “I know every little girl says something similar about her father, but I admired him more than anyone in the world.” A tear slipped, shaming her.
Alejandro touched her hand and the embarrassment dissolved. “Tell me what happened to him.”
Madison wiped her eye. She moved her hand.
“It will help you to tell me.”
Anger spiked. “I don’t want-” but when she looked into those glittering eyes, her words dried up.
“You can tell me.” His hand covered hers again, insisting.
His touch threw down the barricade; memories - and tears - poured out. “He made a canoe for me, for my birthday. He called it ‘The Maddy,’ and he wrote it in big red letters on both sides. He took me to Mono Lake for my birthday - for The Maddy’s maiden voyage.”
“And that is why you do not like to be called Maddy?” Alejandro asked. “Because that was your father’s name for you?”
“Yes, exactly. I never let anyone but him call me that.” She blew out a breath and looked at Alejandro.
He gave her a nod of encouragement.
“We were at the center of the lake.” She hesitated. “And he started looking like he didn’t feel well. I asked him if he was okay and he said he
was fine. He didn’t want to ruin my birthday.” She smiled. “He was like that.”
Alejandro handed her a tissue.
“Thanks.”
He moved closer, propping his head in his hand. His heat was tangible, comforting. “Go on.”
“He looked pale and uncomfortable. Then he started sweating and having a hard time breathing. He clutched his chest and fell overboard.” Alejandro was a blur through her tear-filled eyes, but his closeness was a comfort. “I tried to save him. I tried. I screamed and handed him an oar. I even jumped in after him … but it was too late.” She paused a moment. “I swear, I tried.”
And then she was in Alejandro’s arms, sobbing without shame. “I tried.”
He stroked the side of her face, saying nothing.
She didn’t know how long she lay there weeping, but after a while, there were no more tears. She was exhausted, yet relieved, cleansed.
“You could not save him,” Alejandro whispered. “It was not your fault.”
Madison nodded. “I know.” But she didn’t know.
Alejandro’s arms were wrapped around her. One hand rested on the side of her face, the other on her shoulder. She felt safe - safer than she’d ever felt before. For long moments, they lay there, saying nothing.
At last, Alejandro broke the silence. “Do you think he would have liked me?”
Madison sat up, wiped a tear from her cheek and smiled. “I know he would have.”
Alejandro looked pleased. “I would have liked him, too.”
She fell back into his arms, losing herself in the warmth of his bare skin, the soft, sweet scent of him.
And then his lips touched the top of her head, resting there a moment.
Her eyes fell closed.
It wasn’t the lover’s kiss she’d imagined earlier - somehow, it was better. This kiss meant more, far more, than anything she’d fantasized about. She tipped her head up, touched her lips to the edge of his jaw, then relaxed in the safety of his embrace. She lay there, breathing him in, never wanting to let him go.
I love him, she thought as she drifted toward sleep. I don’t understand him, but I know I love him.
And just before unconsciousness took her, she heard him whisper, “I love you, too.”
Saturday
Saturday morning Clint Horace woke in Zazel’s bed, his already aching jaw now on fire from the Oral Olympics she’d insisted he perform for more hours than he cared to recall. Normally, Clint didn’t eat pussy - it was degrading - but after failing to pleasure her conventionally, Zazel had given him two choices: either start giving some face or go home. The way she snapped orders at him had turned him on. As a general rule, Clint despised authority, rebelled against it at every turn, but with Zazel it was different. Maybe it was her totally buffed-out bod - the chest muscles with their stiff little nipple-bumps, the biceps that could pop the head off a grown man, the ass cheeks that could crack walnuts - but when Zazel barked out an order, Clint complied without question.
Except this morning.
Zazel wanted more oral pleasure and without so much as a good morning, she pulled him on top of her and clamped his head with her large, powerful hands, and began pushing him down, down, toward what she called her burning rose … but Clint pushed back.
“I can’t thish morning. I haff to get to work.”
“Just a little taste, sweetie.”
“I shaid I can’t! My jaw hurtsh shomething fiersche!”
“Work through the pain.” Zazel’s meaty hand pressed his head down hard. “My frothy love crack needs a tongue bath.”
He nearly hurled. “No.” He pushed back against her.
“Yes!” She pressed his head down, insisting.
“No, no, n-”
“Do it, you fucking pansy, or I’ll ass-fuck you with my foot.”
That did the trick. Old Faithful went instantly hard, and Clint willingly went down there, eager to please this domineering He-Man of a woman with the little girl’s voice.
* * *
It was clear to Festus Crawley that something was wrong with him.
After being caught on top of Mother by a gaggle of Girl Scouts, he could no longer deny it. The girls’ screams and sobs had echoed through the park, drawing their Scout leader. The woman shrieked, demanded he pull up his pants, and said, ‘Get off that mannequin, you pervert!’
This had confused Festus. The love between a mother and son was sacred, not perverse! But when he’d looked again at the woman beneath him, he’d seen the truth. No, this was not his mother - had probably never been his mother - and it was clear that something in his mind was broken. Mymindisbroken! Mymindisbroken!
He’d dismounted the mannequin, yanked up his trousers, and taken off at a run, leaving the weeping children - and their very rude Scout leader - behind. He now darted through parked cars along Main Street, crouching and running, resting, then crouching and running some more.
Mymindisbroken! Mymindisbroken! He darted across the street and into a narrow alleyway. Engulfed in shadows and the reek of a nearby Dumpster, he pressed himself against a brick wall and caught his breath. Mymindisbroken! Mymindisbroken! He looked down at a rat that chewed at one of his laces and wondered if it was even real. Ineedtofixit! Ineedtofixit!
Yes, his mind was broken and he needed to fix it. But how? A plan began to form.
* * *
“I told you it would do you good to get out of the house, Rosemary!” Cloris Riddley clutched her friend’s bony arm and dragged her down Main Street.
Rosemary Hess showed Cloris no gratitude for the spontaneous shopping spree, and in fact, looked like she was about a day away from dropping dead. This was not the perfectly-coiffed, well-dressed, self-appointed Queen Bee people had gotten used to. As Cloris dragged her along the sidewalks she reveled in the townspeople’s shocked expressions.
“Where would you like to stop next, Rosemary?”
“I’d really rather just go home, Cloris.”
“What? Speak up.”
Rosemary sighed and stopped walking. Her skin was as gray as the roots of her usually rust-red hair and the hollows of her cheeks and eyes were dark caves. She’d lost weight, her skin hanging from her bones, and instead of royal-toned silky clothes, she wore a frumpy floral print housedress.
“Why don’t we get some ice cream, dear?” hollered Cloris.
“You don’t need to yell, Cloris. I can hear just fine.”
“What?” shouted Cloris.
Rosemary sighed and shouted back, “I said ice cream sounds fine!” and allowed herself to be dragged along.
In the ice cream parlor, all heads turned. Whispers began. The rumor mill had been saying that Rosemary Hess was having an affair with one of the men from the nightclub - a much younger man. Cloris couldn’t stand the idea of people thinking such a thing. If anyone was going to have an attractive, younger boyfriend, it would be Cloris, not Rosemary! This little trip through town would set the record straight. It was obvious Rosemary was too ill to be having an affair.
Cloris smiled.
* * *
On the nightstand, her cell phone rang. Zazel swiped it up.
From between her legs, Clint Horace looked up, incredulous. “Sheerioushly?”
Zazel palmed his head, shoving his face back into her business.
“Zazel,” said Gremory from the other end. “There’s been a change of plans.”
“How so?”
“We don’t have as much time as I’d hoped we would. It seems our young friend is coming to, and we need to take a more immediate approach.”
Zazel glanced at the balding bobbing head between her well-muscled thighs. “So … there’s no more need to …”
“Entertain ourselves?” His chuckle had a dark, smoky sound. “No. I believe we’ve done enough damage, wouldn’t you agree? Feel free to … dispose of your toys as you see fit. I trust you to deal with the matter neatly.”
“Of course.” Zazel knew the drill: No body, no crime. And t
hat meant never leaving a corpse behind.
“I’ll apprise you and the others of the new strategy this evening at supper. I just wanted to give you time to get your … affairs in order. It won’t be long now.”
“Yes, sir.” She hung up and looked down at Clint.
He really was a very ugly man.
“I don’t recall telling you to stop.” She slapped the back of his head and shoved his face back into position. As he regained what little rhythm he could muster, she began squeezing her thighs together, slowly at first, then harder.
Clint’s muffled cry sounded from between the vise of her thighs. His hands pounded the bed frantically.
Zazel flexed and with one clench of thigh muscle, cracked Clint Horace’s head open like a nut, his skull splitting open to reveal the insides.
Clint’s body went limp.
Zazel giggled.
* * *
Dette had nearly broken her neck convincing Madison to trust her to run the booth at the Founder’s Day fair - she’d been reduced to weeping and begging for a second chance. Fortunately, Madison was a pushover.
Now Dette glanced around the building that housed most of the vendors. It was huge with tall ceilings, plain plaster walls, and barn-sized entry doors. One guy sold knives three spaces down. He had a mic and yammered on and on. His irritating spiel and too-happy, too-desperate voice were giving her a headache.
She dug a couple aspirin out of her pocket and dry-swallowed them, coughing when one stuck in her throat. The sour taste gagged her and she uncapped her water and threw it back.
“How much are the arrowheads?” asked a little boy when she set her bottle down. He was accompanied by a couple other kids and they all belonged to the breeder running a quilt stand across the aisle.
“Five bucks a piece.” She figured the lie would get rid of the noisy little bastards. They were repro arrowheads that Madison sold out of a jar for fifty cents each, but Dette hadn’t gotten around to putting up the price tag.
The three boys looked at each other then started pulling dollar bills and change from their pockets. One finally laid it all out on the counter. “We have twelve dollars and sixty-seven cents. Is there any way we could get three of them for that? Maybe one that’s a little broken or something?”
The Angel Alejandro Page 45