“For what is to come, you will need my protection.”
I thought about what I must do eventually, how I had to stop johnny, one way or another, from killing people. My heart shriveled like a water-doused spider.
“Ordinary people can’t stop me. I’m over nine hundred years old and not by luck. So there. One less thing for you to deal with. You needn’t betray me . . . that much.”
“I never wanted to, I just—”
“Hush, little girl.” He shook his head and stared at me with hooded eyes. “You will never see me again, but I will be there in your hour of need. Even as you have betrayed me, Shen . . . I have not betrayed you. And one more thing. There is no Satan. While I could be described as such, that myth is beneath me.”
He stepped to the side, disappearing around the corner. I ran down the hall to catch a glimpse of him, oh, perhaps to say a silent goodbye, a goodbye that would be forever. But he was gone. My heart felt, what’s that they say, ‘struck by cupid’s arrow.’ But it was not cupid’s arrow. It was a Tazmark’s. And my heart wasn’t struck. It was bludgeoned, bludgeoned by the Mark of Chaos.
I stared at the empty hall for several moments bidding johnny goodbye in my own way, with silent tears. Letting go—I was bad at that. So, so bad at that.
I walked back to the crucifix, picked it up, and slid it into my pocket. I grabbed my suitcase, and headed for the airport.
Part Two
It’s curled inside me always,
this worm of things gone wrong
this parasite of things I feel
never to belong.
It twists around my stomach
caught by painful thoughts,
this parasite of times gone by
keeps me full of knots.
It wraps around my heart,
and brings me to my knee
this parasite of mine
my only company.
Chapter Twelve
Six Months Later…
I was jogging on a trail through the snow-dappled woods by my home in Spruce, Arizona. The crisp blue sky lent warmth on what would otherwise be a frigid January afternoon. I felt pleasantly steamy in my white sweat suit. I’d been running six miles a day since I’d returned from New York. Endorphins right? It works. Running made me feel better. But overall, my recovery from johnny was due to the growing lapse of time away from him. I had buried him deep within me in a grave I visited only in the haunting echo of memory, only in his phantom presence that seemed to still watch over me.
I touched my hand to the dragon medallion that lay beneath my sweatshirt, near my heart. johnny was my secret. My mask was the good little religious girl. I pretended the mask was my face, but I knew it was not. I had been using the religious mask to anchor me in the ocean of mystery where johnny once took me swimming. This ocean still beckoned me to learn its secrets. I would not learn, but neither could I dismiss its currents. I could only pretend they were not there.
I stared at my white running shoes making prints in the wet dirt. I was moving forward in my life. I no longer had the urge to paint horror, my Dark Room remained triple locked—even to me, and I took to dating a cowboy named Ricky.
Since New York City, men started asking me for dates. I always thought I would like that, but truthfully, it made me nervous. That’s why I settled with Ricky, to ward off the others. Ricky was down to earth and religious, but not into the occult. Geez, that was refreshing. He was big and strong, a meat and potatoes man, animal meat that is.
He was a man’s man, a little sexist, but I didn’t care. He was kind to me and that’s what counted. Yet he was tough enough to protect me from anyone . . . but johnny. But it seemed that from johnny, I needed no protection. Except from thinking about him too much. Except from wanting him too much. In that regard, Ricky distracted me—very well. I was a little disturbed though about my recurring nightmares of Ricky choking me. But I feared men in general, so why wouldn’t I dream such things?
A female jogger was running the opposite way. Her sheik navy running suit and short black hair reminded me of Randa. As she passed me, a clump of snow fell from a tree limb and splat on my head. We both laughed, and Randa would have laughed too if she’d been there.
Randa called periodically. She’d seen johnny once or twice for an astrological update. I wanted to warn her to stay away from him, but I feared that I might put her in more danger. If he knew, she knew the truth about him, would he let her live? At the very least, he’d make her forget what he didn’t want her to know, so what was the point in me saying anything at all?
Besides, she was set somehow on the idea that johnny and I should be a couple, that we were, what’s that they say, ‘made for each other.’ I told her I was dating Ricky, but she voted for johnny.
She also had announced that my last four paintings had sold. I received a check, after Randa’s cut, for one hundred forty four thousand dollars for all sixteen paintings. Not that I much needed it. When my parents were killed, I inherited $400,000. Life Insurance paid another $700,000.
My Danish Grandmother (on my mom’s side) raised me. She too was an artist, and it was she who launched me into the world of painting. I was probably closer to her than anyone. She died when I was eighteen. I inherited ten acres of forestland that included the two-story house where I currently lived since the age of three. I inherited another $40,000. I’ve been living off the principal of my inheritance for years. Unfortunately, the people I loved had to die for that to happen.
I felt a whoosh over my head. This familiar sensation indicated, maybe . . . that johnny, wherever he was, was watching out for me. I stopped running. I looked up and all around. I could never see him, but I thought I could feel him now and again when danger lurked, and I think he may have helped me several times, the way he did on Avenue D.
Once in a dark parking lot at a grocery store, a teenage kid approached me. I saw a part of a knife that he was holding behind his hip. If his intention was to rob me, I think it was thwarted because I said, “Oh johnny,” merely wishing for his power to protect me, and the kid started moaning, holding his hands to his stomach. He dropped the knife and fled.
Another time I went dancing with a man at a conservative hotel bar. He decided to trick me into a hotel room with some crazy story about feeling sick. Gullible me, I went. Once we were in the room, his hands raked my body. “Oh johnny,” I cried, and the guy started throwing up, his lie made true. I raced out the door, down to the lobby. That’s where I met Ricky. He noticed me all shook up, and when I briefly told him of my plight, he offered to escort me home.
I never told him about johnny though. Geez, how could you tell anyone about johnny. And when Ricky asked why I wore a serpent around my neck, I told him that a very dear friend gave it to me. But he never liked it and ever coaxed me to remove it.
Whoosh. I felt it again. I had a strong sense that I should turn back. Was johnny warning me? I sighed. I had to face it. I had a guardian devil. Was that so bad? Yes, morally, it was.
I turned back and ran toward home, legs pumping faster than normal. I’d been gone for almost thirty minutes. Ricky would arrive shortly. He was going to take me dining and dancing and I was excited to see him. We’d been dating for three months. He was approaching this ‘it’s time we made love’ stage, and I was about to agree, hoping it might be tied into a marriage proposal. Marriage would bury me in Ricky’s world, and conceal me from johnny’s.
Urgency tugged at my stomach, so I ran harder, stressing my lungs, making them burn. The clumps of snow on my path blurred from my speed. My heart thumped in my ears. Almost twenty minutes later and panting hard, I reached my manicured yard, lined with apple trees and barren rose bushes.
In my half-circle dirt driveway, Ricky’s red super-size truck sparkled in the late afternoon sun. His truck was always spit and polish clean, unlike my mud splattered white Grand Am, parked by the side of the house. In front of Ricky’s truck was a white Cadillac. Ricky brought a friend I guess, a frie
nd who owns a white Cadillac—oh, such friends I’d not known Ricky to have. He’d come early. Darn, I looked a mess.
I reached the door. I took a moment to catch my breath, wiping the perspiration from my brow. I combed my fingers through my loose damp hair trying to look presentable. Since I’d let my hair grow out past my shoulders, it tended to look stringy sometimes. I turned the brass knob on my white front door, ready to be polite.
I entered. Lightning flashed, or . . . maybe it was just my vision. johnny was leaning casually against the white wrought iron railing that edged the stairway to the second floor. My face went cold. Was this a mirage? I shook my head and looked again. He was here—in my house. He wore black boots, jeans, and the silk shirt that I’d once worn. His long hair edged his impressive ominous face.
I felt faint. My breathing turned shallow.
I stared at his chest, fearing to look at his eyes. But his chest bade me rub my hands across its expanse, so I braved his eyes despite my reservation. He peered into me, and I into him, and our gaze locked us together crashing through the barrier of time that we’d been apart, as if I’d never left him, as if his blood ran in my veins. He had a hold on me—oh, what a hold.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to turn my head, sensing the pounding presence of others. Next to johnny, on my white sofa embossed with blue swirls, sat Randa—legs crossed, her starched royal blue pantsuit stunning against her black hair and dark eyes. She smiled and waved, seemingly amused by the awkwardness of my dilemma.
Next to the sofa in a white armchair sat Ricky in a khaki cowboy shirt, tan pants, and brown boots, ankle over knee—rustic, burly, peeved. His light brown wavy hair was pushed back behind his ears. Red ire blazed through the tan of his bearded face. He was hot-headed, and johnny, well he was cool enough to make anyone lose it.
I just stood there, frozen in my personal hell. johnny was here in my house. I was being forced to deal with him, and Randa, and Ricky, all at once. I was a different Jenséa with each of them. I didn’t know which Jenséa to be.
My voice was shallow. “Have you all been here—long?”
“For damn ever,” lashed Ricky.
I was in trouble. Ricky never cursed around me. I’d never seen him this mad—ever. Had johnny told him what he had no business to tell?
Randa uncrossed her legs. “We arrived just a minute ago,” she said rising. “We tried to introduce ourselves, but he,” she flicked her head toward Ricky, “didn’t seem in the mood.”
She sauntered over and enveloped me in her arms. “Surprised to see me?”
“Very,” I said, still semi-stunned, responding limply to her hug. I gazed past her to johnny. What was he up to?
He grinned. “Your house is very white, Jen . . . except for one room.”
My eyes scolded him before glancing at Ricky, who was tapping his foot so hard I could hear thumping on my smoky blue carpet. Ricky didn’t know about my occult side and he never would.
I parted from Randa. “What brings you here?”
johnny answered, “Pluto squaring Mars and Neptune in your fourth house.” His hands arced outward, gesturing an explosion.
I glowered at johnny. It seemed to be the only face I could show him. Hadn’t he promised to stay out of my sight?
“Hmm,” I said nervously, needing to change the subject before Ricky decided to glom onto it.
I glanced at Ricky. His face was puzzled.
I spoke like a tour guide. “Ricky, this is my best friend and art dealer, Randa.” I pointed to johnny. “And her friend, johnny. They are here from New York.” I walked closer to Ricky. “Randa, johnny, this is Ricky, my . . . boyfriend.”
I gulped, hoping that word didn’t rile johnny’s feelings. Not that he had many—but well, for me, he supposedly had some.
“Ohhh,” Randa said, impervious to Ricky’s rude behavior, “I thought he was the one you told me about.”
She waltzed over to Ricky, who stood reluctantly, his broad shoulders dwarfing her. She shook his large rigid hand, glancing at me with a ‘not bad’ look.
johnny approached me with cool eyes and pulled the chain around my neck up from underneath my sweatshirt, revealing the metal dragon. He smiled wryly as if he’d just stated he owned me. He dropped the medallion, landing it over my sweatshirt in plain sight.
My face tightened. I feared Ricky’s reaction. I needed stability with him or he’d never ask me to be his wife. johnny was messing up my plans, breaking his promise to butt out of my life, save to protect me.
I jumped, startled by Ricky’s sudden appearance at my side, forming a triangle with johnny and me. I felt like a pencil eclipsed by a staple gun and lethal letter opener.
“Oh,” he said, glaring at johnny, “so this is your very good friend.” Addressing me, his eyelids flared, “Just how good a friend is he—Jenséa?”
I stood there with gaping mouth, upset that he’d said my name as if I were a ball of spit that had splattered on his face. But he shouldn’t blame me. johnny was the spitter!
“Well?” barked Ricky.
I placed my palms on Ricky’s chest, pushing him back gently. “He’s a friend, a friend, just a friend.” I guided him in a backward walk across the room, away from johnny, past the amused Randa. He glared at johnny as I pushed his chest a little harder, wanting him to sit in the white armchair.
He fell back into the chair and took me with him. He forced my knees between his legs and pulled my chest against his cheek. He maneuvered me around on his lap like a father holding a baby, hanging my calves over the chair’s arm.
He circled his arms around my back and chest. “Well, we’re more than friends,” he said to johnny, while looking at me.
“More than friends.” johnny stepped toward us with a sadistic smile and twinkling eyes. He stopped about six feet in front of us. “How much more?”
He was up to something awful, because he didn’t need to ask that question to know the answer. Regarding me, johnny seemed to know everything. In fact, interesting how johnny had appeared just when matrimony was on my mind.
Ricky didn’t flinch a muscle at johnny’s question. Instead, his hand made its way up my sweatshirt over my bra-covered breast. We’d not even done that privately! I was so humiliated, the room darkened for a moment.
“R i c k y,” I mewled, pulling his arm down until his hand was in my lap. I held it there tautly.
johnny said, “She feels good, doesn’t she?”
I was mortified. Mor-ti-fied.
Ricky’s hand balled. I feared that he’d lunge at johnny with fists. I squeezed my hand on his and whispered affectionately in his ear, “I love you, Ricky.”
Ricky answered johnny, “She feels real good.” Then he lowered his lips to the side of my neck and sucked hard causing shrill pain. He glided his hand between my legs. The room blackened again, and for a moment, I couldn’t hear.
“Don’t.” I bowed my head shamefully. I lifted his hand over to the chair’s arm and attempted to rise. He clamped my back against his chest. My legs hung over his. I twisted my head back and whispered, “Please, let me go.”
“Huh ah.” He kissed the side my neck.
johnny said casually, “She tastes good too.”
Ricky’s chest tightened.
So did mine.
Ricky’s lips came to my ear. He said lowly, “If he says one more fucking word, I’m going to knock off his fucking head.”
His language unnerved me as much as his tone. I turned my head back slightly and whispered, “Just let me go, and I’ll handle him.”
He slid his hands under my sweatshirt, gripping me. He murmured, “You’re not going to fucking handle anything with him.”
He resumed kissing my neck.
I looked at Randa for help, surprised that she was smiling, probably because she thought I’d done it with them both. Well, I did do it with johnny, but I always pretended that I didn’t because the very thought always broke my heart.
Randa’s eyes caught
my plea, but she didn’t feel the depth of my desperation. She was always watering down my hysteria and poking fun at my serious manner.
She approached me with her usual wily grin. “Despite Pluto and Mars, we’re here to look at your other paintings, you know the dark ones. johnny thinks they should be out on the market.”
My jaw dropped. My eyes flared with the message, ‘shut up.’
“Can you . . . show them . . . to us?” she asked, realizing all too late that I was displeased with her choice of rescue.
“Ah, no. They aren’t for sale,” I said with crushed breath, trying to peel away Ricky’s arms.
If I wanted freedom from Ricky’s lap, it was up to me. I wanted Randa’s help, but not if it meant unlocking my room of horrors. My current discomfort was a glimmer compared to the humiliation I’d feel in exposing the grotesque atrocities that lurked behind that door.
Ricky lifted his head. “What dark paintings are you talking about?”
“Paintings I did in dark tones, you know, blacks and reds, the ones I told you that weren’t finished. They aren’t good.” I snapped my head up to Randa, my voice high and nervous, “They aren’t worth looking at.”
Ricky asked, “What’s this about Pluto? Are you talking about astrology?”
“Well, yes.” I answered.
“You don’t believe in that garbage, do you?”
“Ah, no.”
“Yes, she does.” johnny stepped closer.
I glared at him, peeved by his sinister tack, but what else could I expect from him. He was after all, what’s that they say, ‘a master of destruction.’
“No, I don’t,” I said.
Randa shook her head. Motherly disapproval. I hated that.
Ricky whispered, “Astrology is of the Devil, Jenséa.”
“I know,” I said.
He whispered more softly and closer to my ear, sending a chill down my arm. “Stay away from that guy. He’s creepy.”
The Mark of Chaos Page 18