The Glimpsing

by James L. Black

  The party had ended just after midnight. She’d left amongst a small group of women, each taking their turns waving goodbye and planting parting kisses on Jack’s cheek. The others had gone home but she had driven to a secluded place, parked, and waited for Jack’s call. Fifteen minutes later, it came. She then returned, pulling her car into one of the seven garage bays on the western side of his house.

  They resumed their night, just the two of them, sharing a glass of wine in front of the fireplace and watching a movie. In the middle of it, he abruptly stood, picked her up in his arms and carried her up to his bedroom. There they made love for the very first time—not that they hadn’t done so before, but this was the first time it actually felt like lovemaking. He’d held her firmly, looking deeply into her eyes, as if into the windows of her soul. Something was happening to him; it was obvious. Day by day, little by little, he was changing, opening up, showing her things she’d only dreamed of. After two of the most difficult months of her life, she was starting to feel like it might all have been worth it.

  But that feeling would be short-lived.

  Later that night, she had awakened to find him kneeling over her in bed. He was staring down at her with a vacant expression. She had smiled up at him warmly, still afloat on the evening’s events. But he seemed bitter in his face, so bitter in fact that she thought he might be joking with her. Seeking to change his demeanor, she had raised a hand dearly to his cheek, but he rudely shoved it away. That had startled her, making her quickly sit up and stare at him, confused.

  “Get out,” he had said with an icy calm.

  She became even more confused. “Jack, what’s wrong?”

  “I said get the hell out!”

  She had only sat there in stony disbelief.

  Finally, seemingly frustrated, he grabbed her arm, and tossed her forward. She went sprawling onto the bed, almost bouncing to the floor. Stunned, she looked at him over her shoulder. And Jack looked back, his face full of cold cruelty.

  “Get out,” he repeated. “It’s over. And I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  She could recall how small she felt, gathering up her clothing and dragging herself down the hall and into the bathroom. Her eyes had misted with tears but she wouldn’t allow herself to cry. Why should she? She knew who Jack Parke was when this whole thing had started. She knew about his past, his dealings with women. So who was she to think she’d be treated any better? She’d had her moment with him, which was longer than most, and now it was over, cruelly and abruptly, like an arm being ripped from its socket. He’d done the same to Portia, hadn’t he? Now it was her turn. Her time to bleed.

  The tears did come, however. After she had dressed and paused to look at the swarthy fool staring back at her in the bathroom mirror. They came recklessly and without number. She simply could not hold them back. The sink seemed to overflow.

  Afterward, she’d composed herself, dressed, and left the bathroom. Before heading downstairs, she had stopped and glanced down the hallway, into a bedroom she would never see again. To her surprise, she saw Jack sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down the hall… at her? His body language suggested he didn’t see her at all. He then turned away and peered down into the bed, almost as if staring at someone lying there.

  That was odd, she had thought, but not half as odd as what she saw next. It was a long, murky sleeve of red just behind him. She could not be certain of what it was, perhaps a blanket or something, but for a brief instant, something about its shape made her think it was actually a dress. Someone appeared to be lying in his bed.

  She had thought about venturing back into the bedroom to see what it was, or perhaps who it was, but she wasn’t going to risk that. Reentering the bedroom was almost certain to spark yet another round of abuse, and she’d had enough of that for one night. So she proceeded down the staircase, out to the garage, and out of Jack’s life. For good.

  She’d sped through the darkness, heading back towards Winchester, the ceaseless blows of heartbreak hammering at her soul. What a fool she’d been. What an unadulterated fool! To have fallen for a playboy like Jack Parke; to have so deeply bought into the fantasy of a life with him; to think he was actually falling in love with her!

  She’d never done anything like this before. She had always prided herself on doing the right thing, the smart thing in every situation. From the drama school she had attended in Brazil, to the roles she’s chosen in film, to the men she had dated, and even her choice of friends, prudence had ruled her life. Never had she been given to impulse, never to weak-minded flights of fancy, and never once, not even as a somewhat self-centered teen, had she ever betrayed a friend. She had always been the good girl, the one out of a hundred that would take the high road in every situation; that still believed in loyalty, trust, and the eternal bonds of friendship—until that unfortunate morning two months ago, when Jack Parke arrived at her door.

  But it was over now. She and Jack Parke were finished. And as much as that hurt, with it also came a certain sense of relief, of pure liberation. The last two months had been the most difficult of her twenty-eight years on earth. Never had she felt such crushing guilt. Never had her conscience been so overwhelmed. But in one breathtaking stroke, Jack Parke had changed all of that. Now she could take the time to situate herself, lick her wounds, clear her sullied mind. She could even say that some part of her was happy, because now she was free.

  But if all of that was true, then why was she now sitting out on the sunlit patio of Magnolia’s restaurant, waiting for Jack to arrive, just as he had asked her to? Why was she considering taking her place back in that shallow grave of guilt? There was only one real answer to that question: because she had to know.

  Jack had called her this morning apologizing for what had happened the night before. She’d hung up on him, having absolutely no intention of coming to Magnolia’s. It had been hard doing so, but she was intent on getting back to herself, back to the good girl. But then she remembered something else that had happened last night. Long before Jack had kicked her out, she could recall waking up to the warm caresses of his hand against her face. She’d slipped an eye open and was stunned to see him seized with something that looked unbelievably like rapture. He really was changing. She’d caught him in a rare moment of bare and undistilled emotion, absent of all restraint. And what she saw there, what she could have sworn she saw in his eyes, was the very same feeling pounding so heavily in her own heart. Love.

  But which one was it? Which Jack Parke was to be believed? Was it the one who seemed to be smitten with her, the one who might very well be falling in love with her, or was it the one who had so cruelly ended their relationship? That was why she had come to Magnolia’s. That was what brought her here. She simply had to know.

  Gabrielle peered out into the patio area and came to the sudden and startling realization that she was now all alone. The young couple was gone; two empty plates marked the table where the elderly couple had sat. She looked up and caught the man with the Wall Street Journal just as he was disappearing into the restaurant. A sturdy gust of wind brushed past her. Shortly thereafter, a shadow seemed to pass over the patio. She peered up into the high blue sky above, expecting to see a passing plane or drifting cloud. Nothing. She blinked off to the magnolia tree… and felt a twinge of alarm in her stomach. For the first time she had taken notice of its vivid array of flowers. Something about the way they looked, something in their color, frightened her.

  Again a sense of dread seemed to permeate the air. She could feel it in front of her, behind her, whispering in her ear. Something was coming. Something awful and ugly, unless...

  She had to leave. That was the only way to stop it. She had to leave right now, before it was too late. She should never have come here.

  Gabrielle went to stand up, but she was already doing so. It was as if her body, without reference to her heart, had made its own decision. And that was good, because her heart wanted to stay, wanted to know which versio
n of Jack was true.

  She slowly moved from beneath the tree. She couldn’t feel her feet, however. It was as if she was walking on a cloud. Her heart pleaded with her to remain there, but the dread was growing heavier, taking her breath away, making her want to run.

  The wind had kicked up again, whipping her hair sideways until it obscured portions of her face. Her dress flapped like a cape.

  She gazed up into the tree once more. Its branches leaned and swayed with the breeze, and its flowers wobbled wickedly. The very sight of them evoked a violent chill. Her feet moved faster.

  She was nearing the patio door now, though it still seemed to be miles away. She couldn’t help but look back over her shoulder, at the tree and its odd chimera of flowers. And just as she had managed to turn away, having arrived at the patio door, she came face to face with the tall and ominous figure there. She erupted in a short, startled scream. Too late, she thought. Too late.

  CHAPTER 8 – AN OMEN OF FLOWERS

  Jack Parke entered the crisply cooled air of Magnolia’s Cafe, passed by the hostess without so much as a glance, and probed the restaurant’s opulent interior. It was atmospherically dark, so dark in fact that one would be hard-pressed to know whether it was day or night outside without first rounding the bar, looking into the far rear quadrant of the spacious dining area and peering out through the enormous smoked glass windows to the patio.

  Jack scanned the dimly lit, nostalgia-styled bar area, examining the shadowy faces that sat there. He glanced off to several passing customers, then to a row of small tables, whose dark marble surfaces—the restaurant’s signature feature—gleamed warmly. No sign of Gabrielle. He cursed silently.

  He walked past the bar, turned the corner and peered out into the dining room. A particularly large number of guests were enjoying meals there, every table but two or three fully occupied. He thought that strange. During brunch, and especially on bright sunny days such as this, the dining room was only moderately populated, the majority of patrons choosing to eat on the patio instead. Today however, inexplicably, everyone was crammed inside.

  Jack searched each table one by one, but still saw no sign of Gabrielle. As a final effort, he gazed past the bustling silhouettes of waiters and waitresses to the windows at the room’s rear, hoping he might catch sight of her on the patio. She wasn’t there either. In fact, as best he could tell, only one person occupied the area, an older gentleman in a tailored black suit who was reading a newspaper. He watched as the man folded the newspaper, tucked it neatly under his elbow, and then went for his wallet. The man left a few bills behind and had began to walk away just as Jack became aware of the magnolia tree sitting in the distance… and was immediately bewitched by the sight of it.

  The tree seemed much larger than on any prior occasion, towering above the patio like some great and ominous giant. Its leaves were rich with alluring shades of lighter and darker greens, but what struck him most was its spellbinding display of oriental blue flowers. Even at a distance, he could see how large and numerous they were, the way those striking blooms seemed to explode all over the tree like resplendent fireworks. A gentle gust of wind was making them wiggle in comical little patterns. Some of their petals had even broken free and were now drifting groundward like wondrous blue snowflakes.

  He began to move forward, dumbstruck at the marvel, a blithe grin coming to his face. He bumped several customers as he went, causing some angry glares and a crude comment. He barely noticed.

  Reaching the patio doors, he was finally distracted away as the man with the newspaper passed in front of him. Jack turned and watched the man move off into the dining room as if he had appeared out of thin air. When he had turned back to the tree, he was surprised to see Gabrielle standing beneath it. She was gazing upward, apparently just as taken by its flowers as he was.

  Seeing her, Jack now felt like he was gazing at yet a second marvel. She was attired in a short yellow sun dress, which was a perfect compliment to her warm Brazilian skin. Her long brown hair was being tossed by the wind, and the tree’s flower petals were drifting down all around her. The whole scene looked like something from a dream.

  A feeling roared to life within him, something powerful and pleasurable… and that he knew he desperately needed to suppress. He looked away from Gabrielle, trying to force the feeling down, but in a matter of seconds, against his own will, his eyes roamed back.

  It was then that he noticed her departing the tree. There was something in the way she moved—what looked like fear commingled with uncertainty—that transformed his pleasure to a bout of concern.

  Another gust of wind followed, this one much stiffer than the last. And with it Gabrielle slowed, looking back at the tree once more. Then, Jack noticed something. Gabrielle had shuddered, visibly, as if she was terrified by something.

  Jack’s concern grew. He pushed through the door and stood in front of it, waiting for her to arrive. She was walking briskly, but oddly kept throwing glances over her shoulder back at the tree. Just before she reached him, her head came around and, clearly not expecting him to be there, she erupted in a short sharp scream. She looked at him stunned, with an expression that suggested she didn’t know who or even what he was.

  “Hey!” Jack exclaimed, taking her arms in his hands. She was trembling badly. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Gabrielle strained another look over her shoulder.

  “Is someone chasing you?” Jack asked urgently, shaking her just enough to bring her attention back to him.

  Gabrielle took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. She put a hand to her temple. “No… No,” she managed.

  “Then what is it? Are you okay?”

  “Yes… I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?” Jack asked, looking up and scanning the patio.

  “I’m sure. I’m okay.”

  “Then what in the world are you trying to get away from?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. I just—”

  A waiter, who was tall, thin and just beginning to gray at the temple, pushed through the patio door, interrupting them. “Is something wrong? I thought I heard a scream.”

  “I think we’re fine,” Jack said, straightening a bit. “She got a little spooked, that’s all.”

  “The patio seems to have everyone a little spooked today,” the waiter said.

  Jack looked at him. “Why would that be?”

  The waiter peered out toward the tree. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Jack looked at the tree as well, then peered out over the patio. He saw nothing beyond scores of empty tables, and a few passing cars in the street beyond the gate. “No,” he replied. “It’s not obvious it all.”

  The waiter asked, “May I seat you inside?”

  “And waste such a perfect morning?” Jack said incredulously. “I think we’ll be just fine out here.”

  The waiter exchanged a glance with Gabrielle. Jack noticed it. “Is there something going on out here I need to know about?”

  “No sir,” the waiter replied.

  “Then find us a seat.”

  Even then the waiter turned to Gabrielle, as if waiting for her approval. She hesitated briefly, then nodded her head. The waiter returned a nod. “Right this way.”

  The waiter strode past Jack, who was browbeating him so hard that Gabrielle thought the man’s hair might catch fire. They then followed behind him.

  “Sit us down in the shade beneath the tree,” Jack said.

  The waiter slowed, turned his head just enough to form a profile. “Are you certain?”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Jack barked. “Just do what I said.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  The waiter found a table beneath the tree and sat them down. He then turned to Gabrielle. “My name is John. I will be serving you today. What may I start you with?”

  “Just water, for now,” Gabrielle said.

  “Lemon?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  �
�And you, sir?”

  “Mimosa. No ice.”

  The waiter laid two menus before them, suggested an item of the day, and then disappeared into the restaurant. Jack watched him go. “What the hell is wrong with everyone today?”

  “We were wondering the same about you,” Gabrielle quipped.

  Jack shook his head, dismissing the matter. He then settled back in his chair and stared at Gabrielle for a moment. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  “I wasn’t sure I would either.” A touch more of her Brazilian accent was bleeding through, which usually meant she was angry.

  Jack nodded conciliatorily. “Well, I’m glad you did.”

  Gabrielle made no reply.

  “So,” Jack said, “what happened last night?”

  “You asked me to come here, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I expect you to have all the answers.”

  Jack cleared his throat, quelling his sudden irritation. “Why don’t we begin by you telling me exactly what I did.”

  “You threw me out. There isn’t much to tell beyond that. What I’d like to know is why.”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t remember doing it.”

  “You don’t remember yelling at me?”

  “No.”

  “Grabbing my arm and shoving me?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  She folded her arms and leaned forward. “I find that very hard to believe, Jack.”

  “I find what you’re telling me hard to believe.”

  “Are you suggesting it didn’t happen?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything—except that I don’t remember doing it.”

  She gave him a long flat stare, then began pushing away from the table. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here. You have no way to explain your actions—beyond the convenience of amnesia—and I have little time for games. I have a plane to catch.” She stood up.