Fiendish Play

by Angela Richardson

  “Wow — you’re...really different aren’t you? No, that...errr...works fine as well...believe me...”

  “Then why...?”

  He threw his arms up into the air in what appeared to be despair. “Because it’s wrong, alright? It’s wrong. This whole set-up...what we’re supposed to do...what you’re supposed to do. It’s just so fucking wrong.” He moved back away from me again and went and sat on the bed, his face now back in his palms. “This isn’t me. It’s not who I am. It never will be. And I can’t run and leave this life even if I want to. I can’t abandon my family who are part of this too.”

  He lifted his head up, now looking scared. “Please don’t say anything. Just go back to the bathroom okay. I won’t touch you. I won’t make you do anything. Just please, leave me alone.”

  I let the silence linger in the air for a while before I made my next decision. I guess I could relate to his position having both my brothers forced into this world too. I saw firsthand what it could do to someone whose soul is never meant to be blackened. My older brother sought out a life of exile to prevent himself from doing things he didn’t want to do. He pulled away from me and my little brother. He barely spoke to us...and when he did, he didn’t trust us. He didn’t trust anyone linked to the Lappell...even his own flesh and blood. It had changed him to a cold-hearted hermit.

  And then there was my younger brother. He dealt with them as best he could. He attended meetings. He worked for their companies. He kept a low profile. But I knew even he had become the shell of the boy I knew growing up. This life has a way of taking the very best parts out of your mind and body and cast them into the shadows. Lost, and can’t be found.

  So what I did next just felt like the right thing to do. All my natural instincts forced the next words out of my mouth. Call it rebellion...call it lunacy...call it a gut feeling. It just felt right.

  “My name’s Delia Weston,” I said. This time my real voice emerged and not the fake sweet one. His head lifted very slowly from his palms, knowing I had revealed information I wasn’t supposed to. I was still uncertain what made me so quickly want to divert from rules that could easily hurt me if broken. But who was I kidding? I may come across as cold and obedient, but I was always looking for a way to go against their so-called rules. No one should be able to tell me what to do and how to do it. Nobody.

  “I’m...I’m Liam...Aston,” he whispered, keeping his voice low, knowing the guards were somewhere outside the room.

  Then I realized something. His name sounded familiar. Part of my elite role in administration was gathering files of our members who had elite potential. I knew who was being groomed for more important roles and being considered for power positions in various countries with the most influence and leverage for the Lappell. Aston...Aston...Aston. Cloverley University. Above average IQ. Brother Gerard. Loves to row. Doctorate in Arts.

  “You’re the sculptor,” I said, like his file was in my hands. I knew it. I remembered his profile. It was one of the few files that didn’t fit the mold of what we usually searched for in powerful leadership, but some of our head departments were very interested in what Liam could do.

  He didn’t seem surprised that I knew that piece of information; rather it made him inwardly groan.

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to lead. I just want to be left alone. But they don’t seem to understand. I don’t care that I’m a legacy and I should just accept and obey. I hate who they are...and what they do...and I don’t want any part of their plans.”

  “Then why are you here? Only future leaders or already established chapter presidents get these types of...uhhh...privileges.”

  “Because if I don’t accept, then my brother will be groomed for the position instead. He’ll be our state’s chapter president. He will be the one to change. And not for the better.” Liam closed his eyes and let his head roll backwards, like the weight of the world was tying him down. He straightened himself and opened his eyes again; looking at me once more with those alluring and hopeful brown eyes that now looked sadder than before.

  “I just don’t think I can allow that to happen. It can’t be him. It has to be me.”

  “Why’s that? Why not let him take the responsibility when you clearly want no part of it?”

  He began rubbing one of his eyebrows. You could see the tension lines crinkled on his forehead. “Because his wife is pregnant. Pregnant. What if she has a son...or God forbid, a daughter? You know what happens to the women born into the families of this world.”

  I looked down at my lingerie-clad body knowing exactly what happens. “Yes...” my voice cracked, “I do.”

  “You see. I just don’t think I can let that happen. I keep thinking that if I don’t accept then maybe, just maybe...I can do something to...God...I don’t know...help my family and help people in the same position as me. And I can’t do that if I’m one of them on the inside. Presidents always go down that dark path. It always leads to that place inside the walls of conformity and hatred that I never want to become a part of. It breaks you down. The power, the greed, the secrets. It’s just walls and walls of pain you’ll eventually be trapped in. And the only door out is one you’ll have to sell your soul for. God...almighty...fuck! It’s everything I never want to be. I’m not sure I can sacrifice myself for the sake of a chance that I will be different. I trust who I am, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do what I need to do against their type of influence.”

  The way he spoke made me think I was speaking to myself. But I still needed to know why he was revealing himself so openly. I needed to feel like I could maybe...I don’t know...trust him. Because the strange thing was, I believed him, and I secretly wanted to hear more.

  “Why are you telling me all of this? You know I’m elite right? I’m supposed to tell them your secrets. I’m supposed to give them information they don’t already know. And I know you would already know this. You would be aware of consequences. So why share all this detail with a stranger like me, knowing I could walk out to the guards right now and expose you?”

  “Maybe it’s because I want to be found out. I want this all to end. I want to finally be free, and death is my only answer. So I don’t care. Tell them all of my doubts, hesitation and beliefs. Tell them that I wish I knew a way to bring them down. Tell them if I had a chance to expose them, I would. If I can’t be a true artist and express my real dreams and desires, then I’m nothing anyway. I will never allow myself to be my own version of a prison. And as much as I want to step up and keep my brother out of the spotlight, I just don’t know if I’m brave enough to tackle all this. It’s like playing with a nuclear bomb. I’m no hero...I’m just a guy who knows the difference between right and wrong...and these people...this group...are the worst kind of wrong.”

  I could only watch on. I had had the same exact thoughts. The same beliefs and feeling of entrapment and despair. There was poetry in his darkness and in the way he openly vented himself. He was a true artist. An artist to the end, because that was what he was doing. Telling me all this so I could give his life away. He would know that any other elite woman would throw him to the wolves. But when I looked at him, holy fuck, I wanted so badly for him to fight. Fight alongside with me.

  I didn’t know what I should do next. Should I really report him like I’m supposed to? Or should I listen to the one real true voice in my head that screams to me every single day to find a way out. Perhaps I didn’t believe that what he was saying was real, but I stared at him for a long time, not able to say anything at all. Finally, when the voices calmed in my head, and my focus returned and everything made sense, I spoke.

  “I’m sure you’re not the only person in this world who feels this way.”

  I had whispered it, but I know he heard me. His body language showing the shift in his body towards mine as he tried to listen. He looked like he was going to say something back. His mouth parting, but then quickly closing. He shrugged his shoulders, looking defeated. He really didn’
t care anymore about what was going to happen to him. He was ready to get out the only way he knew how. But then I realized. I wasn’t alone anymore either. My thoughts weren’t single. They now had friends. My hate and fear and loathing towards this world were justified because now I could see with my own two eyes that there were others who felt my kind of pain and hatred too.

  I knelt down in front of him where he sat on the bed. “Liam, look at me please.” I moved his hands away from his face which he allowed me to do, but not without staring at me with confusion. Then I leaned forward on my knees, and without hesitation, kissed him. Immediately he pulled back from my mouth, but I leant forward, moving one of my hands behind his head drawing him back to me. He resisted again, but after a few seconds, he allowed his lips to meet mine, and melted into the kiss. And the kiss was...well...it was actually kind of amazing. I still don’t know why I did it. What would possess me to kiss a stranger when I didn’t have to? I guess I wanted to feel a real connection. To know what it’s like to kiss someone like me, and have it being my choice. My decision. My move.

  Liam's eyes were still wide with surprise as I stood up and backed away from where he still sat on the bed. “What was that for?” he asked, his hands shaking as he watched me. My body was trembling like his hands, but it wasn’t from fear and it wasn’t from disgust. It was like my feet had lifted up off the ground and I was floating, high on the loud and excited thumping of my heart. I could see my red lipstick smeared all over Liam’s lips as I steadied myself on my feet.

  “Because for the first time in what feels like forever, I actually wanted to kiss someone,” I told him, trying not to sound too sentimental.

  Liam started grinning like a boy who’d seen a naked woman for the very first time. I shifted on my feet, rolling my ankles, feeling uncomfortable at the weird emotions twisting up inside me. It was something vulnerable, almost soft that moved and unraveled. In that moment, I felt like he had penetrated a cold hard part of me that I adamantly believed could never melt away.

  I rolled my eyes at his grin that now seemed permanently plastered to his face.

  “Hey, don’t read too much into it cowboy. It was just a kiss.”

  But his grin didn’t falter. Perhaps he felt what I felt when our lips met. A spark. It was a real taste of an emotion we probably disregarded a long time ago when we both were forced into this life. Maybe this connection was more than attraction, but the coming together of two minds who believed and wanted the same thing. Who can initiate change in the background in secret?

  I put my hands on my own face. The oddest sensation on my skin. And then, as my hands moved down from my cheeks, I felt it. It was unbelievable, but it had happened, and it was there on my face in full view of Liam.

  I was smiling too.

  {7}

  JAMES

  I had no way of contacting Anais about the invitational dinner. I didn’t have her cell number and hadn’t seen her all week on campus. Lucky for me though, Professor Aston had contacted me through email a couple of times that week and had relayed that Anais would be meeting me at the event. I wondered if she had purposely used her uncle as a way to avoid contacting me directly, but the fact of the matter was, I had a date with the mysterious and beautiful Anais Aston.

  It was easy enough for me to find the estate listed on the invite. The dinner was being held in a mansion not far from where Anais’ house was located. When I arrived, I was informed by the host that it was the professor’s own estate. “Not bad for a world famous sculptor slash professor,” I thought as I wandered around, taking in the mansion’s more meticulously crafted details in its layout. I could tell that Liam had heavily influenced the house design as there were many elements that had his artistic trademark.

  I took my time following the groups of suited men and women in flowing gowns that all headed into a larger room. I saw a few faces I remembered from the arts department that I had met during class meet and greets that week. I walked down a corridor and past a waiter before I came to a large room with dinner tables set, and music playing. I saw Professor Aston in a dark blue suit across the room talking to some colleagues, and then on the other side of where he stood, I saw Anais. She was standing holding a glass of champagne, quietly mulling near a water fountain. As I neared the fountain, I realized it wasn’t a fountain but rather one of the professor’s most acclaimed prized sculptures. It used the same principles as a fountain to channel the water into different sections of the piece. But this particular sculpture was a representation of cause and effect. The piece caused the flow of water to be pushed into one hollowed section, and the effect was that it flowed down a different tunnel every time. No distinct pattern for the flow of water even though it was pushed into the same air pocket. It’s funny how true to life it was to people when the same principles were applied. How people can have the same experience but all have very different reactions.

  The piece was something I had only seen on paper, and now I had the pleasure of seeing in real life for the first time. It almost overshadowed Anais’ beauty in that moment. But it didn’t. Honestly, there was nothing that could come close to being on the same level. I couldn’t believe how easily this girl, whom I had seen for the briefest of time, could take my breath away. She turned in my direction when she heard my footsteps get near. For someone who looked like she would rather be anywhere else, she had put a lot of effort into her appearance tonight. She wore a long pale-purple dress. I think the correct term for the color was lilac. It was strapless, but tastefully cut just above her cleavage. My eyes roaming along her chest. I couldn’t miss the details of what I could see, and what I couldn’t. It clung to her body, but not too tightly. It was just enough to emphasize her slim curves. And it was made out of that soft material that reminded me of the dresses Greek goddesses wore. It was even draped across her body in a similar way.

  “James,” Anais said breaking my less than innocent thoughts about what was underneath that dress. Her head nodding in acknowledgment as I gained pace towards her. Her eyes moved up and down over the tailored suit I was wearing. She tried to hide the smile that crept up on her lips by turning her head away quickly and then back again. She was making sure I couldn’t see that she was happy to see me. I however, couldn’t be as shy as she was.

  “Anais, you look gorgeous tonight. I’m so happy to see that you dressed up for our date.”

  Her smile fell away and her head darted side to side. “This isn’t a date James,” she quickly corrected. “I’m just your partner for the evening.”

  I grinned, trying to make it look like I didn’t believe her. She shifted uncomfortably on the spot in her pale lilac shoes, which I noticed she had matched with her dress.

  “And stop looking at me like that please.”

  A confused laugh escaped my lips. “And how am I looking at you exactly?”

  “Like you want to eat me. I’m just doing a favor for my uncle. That’s all.”

  “Okay sure…that’s all,” I repeated, holding my playful grin. A waiter walked past holding a tray of food. I picked one of the fried pieces of what looked like cheese and looked at Anais. “Apparently I’m hungry,” I said matter-of-factly and tossed the morsel into my mouth. She huffed before allowing herself to smile back. Yes Anais, I could play too.

  Behind where we stood there was a mix of old and new. Students, teachers, parents and friends. University alumni who were connected to some very prestigious galleries and foundations interested in Cloverley’s next potential Picasso or Michelangelo.

  Anais lead me along a corridor where there were some paintings on display. She made light conversation about how this was the professor’s estate and gave me some background information about his work and some of the other pieces displayed in his home. After a few minutes of mingling and small talk, we stopped in a hallway, staring at a large canvas that caught our eyes. It appeared she had a thing for art too. A common love that made me internally sigh.

  “I really like this painting,”
I said, standing elbow to elbow with Anais looking up. “It’s...I don’t know. Very powerful.” I paused trying to get a sense of the picture in my head. “And it’s like I’ve seen it before. It looks so familiar. Who’s the artist?”

  Anais sucked in a breath. “I wish I knew.” Her voice sounding both annoyed and frustrated. There was obviously more to this story. Anais was studying the artwork as intently as me.

  “What do you mean? You don’t know the artist? You never asked your uncle where he got it?”

  “It’s my uncle’s little secret. He has been letting us all guess for years who the artist might be. Personally I think he got it off a gypsy in the markets somewhere in Europe, but when I look at it, it feels more...well-known. Professional...emotional. I don’t know...nobody can figure it out. But he doesn’t normally display randoms. I’m certain it’s...someone special.”

  I gave it my mental assessment. The strokes were unconventional. Not made by a brush. Very staggered; light but dark. Definitely features of both emotions. An excellent play with color and movement. And Anais was right. There was a professional and established feeling that was hiding behind the color, like it was windows into the soul of the person who made it. Anger, darkness...and love. Lots of passion and deep all-world-consuming-love. I was certain.

  Why did it feel like I’ve seen this painting before?

  “I agree. I think this is a well-known artist. I’ve seen the style somewhere in my travels. A gallery somewhere,” I stated. Normally I don’t draw mental blanks given my photographic memory forgets hardly anything, but in this instant, I felt like the answer was staring me in the face and I couldn’t see it no matter how clear it felt. One of my hands started shaking and a loud thumping was booming in my ears. It must have been my body’s reaction around Anais. It had to be my nerves not allowing the smoke to clear and clarity to form in my head.