“I need you on my team, perp is in his mid-thirty’s. He’s local, but we have too many aliases to pin him down.”
“What’s the charge?”
“Sexual predator, several victims have come forward. All the details are in the report.” He hands over the file, his cunning eyes waver as he speaks.
“You’ll be working solely with me.” Something slithers through me, nauseating, his desperation, his raw power over me. His eyes darken in a challenge of sorts. But I’ve been here before, dealt with creeps like this. He may hold my job over my head, but never my body, never myself. He’ll learn, I won’t trade promotions for sexual favors.
I walk out, close the door, and hear the click shut as I leave. I’ll admit, I’m unsettled but I won’t allow him to take anything I’m not willing to give. I breathe courage into my lungs and walk away knowing this case is mine, I had no intention to report to him. What a hypocrite, going after one of his own, a skirt chaser with power. I was far from prey.
I stand by the window, the dark sky and the silvery moon dancing as clouds fade away only for moments, exposing the sharp edges of darkness. More memories flood in then drift away. Now sitting in the window seat, notebook in hand as I diligently write what has been revealed to me.
The gentle knock and the slow twist of the handle cause me to turn. Elijah.
“There you are.”
“Here I am.”
I’m reluctant to mention the private words written in the notebook pressing tightly against my chest, uncomfortable with its intimate nature, this time will be different, every moment of it will cause him pain. As more hazy images flood in, my mind exploding with every thought, each word vivid and real, too real as I recall how it all started.
“Tell me Grace.” He asks calmly. “I feel there’s more.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“Because it’s painful?”
“No, because it’s you.” He takes the chair close to me, slides it across the floor and lowers himself, then waits for me to begin. I lower my eyes distancing myself from his gaze and begin.
I knew once I stepped across the threshold of the manor my life would be profoundly changed. And Dr. Hawthorne Vane would be the man responsible. He alone, would be my undoing.
The fact he was painfully handsome, dashing, seductive, sent me spinning, but what did I know of these things. Dinner was always interesting, yet uncomfortable as we converse quietly. Although I have no finesse for small talk. He doesn’t seem to mind my quietness. His smoldering gazes feel as if he’s reaching across the table that is dividing us and touches me.
“Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.”
“Shakespeare, Escalus in Measure for Measure” My voice steady.
“You’re a bright girl, Miss Novak.” He tilts his head as his gaze dips slowly. “The elegant line of your neck, is quite enchanting, Grace.”
“Don’t.” I whisper.
“Oh, but I will, your beauty is to be celebrated, admired, I shall do so often and without complaint.” His charming smile, that follows his demanding words, allow me to sample a part of him most never see.
He’s captivating no matter how broken I am, he’s tempting me to believe I’m perfection in his eyes, without ever knowing. I forget who I am, who I was, in his presence. I lived alone, lost in silent pain. But now, I want to stop being the girl who is always on the outside looking in.
“I don’t know exactly what to say to that.”
“Start with Thank you, sir.”
I couldn’t remember a time where honesty lived upon the surface, thoughts were spoken aloud in a way I can’t describe. Unleashing the truth, daring me to confess secrets left untold.
“Thank you, sir.”
Godfrey appears, silently clearing the table, as I watch. It feels odd being served but somehow, I know my place, it has been rewritten for me.
“I’ll accompany you to your room.” I wince, unaware of his actual meaning. It frightens me, what if he, would I be able to fend off his advances? The chair scrapes against the wood floor as he stands, I attempt to do the same, but he clears his throat, halting my action.
“Allow me.” He crosses around the table with ease, a fluid motion as he gently pulls my chair. “You look stunning in your dress.”
“Thank you, sir.” Stealing a glance over my shoulder. His eyes close, his chest expands in a deep breath. His Cobalt eyes and sharp cheekbones changing before me, into a beauty much softer this close. His hand empty, held out as an offering awaiting my touch, I placed my hand in his as it warmly closes around mine. Surprising heat that sparks the deepest parts of me. We ascend the stairs together, he leads me slowly as I willingly follow.
He quotes with each step:
“The woods are lovely, dark and deep but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.”
“Robert Frost.” I say, as he glances over his shoulder at me. “His earlier work.” We stand together at my door.
“Don’t be fooled by its simplicity, although the words have an easiness about them, the rhymes, it’s flow, this is very difficult to achieve.”
“Perhaps it came to him with ease.”
“Perhaps.” Our entwined hands lift, his lips graze the palm of my hand. “Jasmine.” His gaze search mine. “Potent.” Then allows my hand to drop on it’s on accord.
“Good night.”
I hear his footfalls down the steps, relief flooding me as I turn and enter my room. I can breathe now; his compelling intensity is all consuming. Now, safely tucked behind a locked door I change and crawl into bed, my notebook balanced on my thighs as I begin to write. Feelings of enormous proportions came pouring out of me.
Those fierce eyes looking into my soul pulling me under his spell. Nerves roll through me at every turn. As if everything is about to unfold, I write every thought, every fear, until my eyes blur from exhaustion. Perhaps I am weak, or conceivably he is my weakness. Then drift unsettled to sleep.
I woke, to the rain pelting the glass as it streaks down the uneven paths, confused by my new surroundings. The door creaks open as soft footsteps approach, my heart picks up speed as Dr. Vane looms over me holding a tray. Setting it down on the side table, I feel the weight of the bed dip as he sits staring at me. My groggy glance peers up to find him freshly showered, his wet hair slicked back, and inhaling something clean, soap.
“Good morning Miss Novak.” When he says my name in that sweet velvety voice, I’m torn, conflicted. This is inappropriate, not to mention wavering on the side of creepy. Yet, surprisingly charming and sweet. Maybe I’ve been wrong about him.
“Dr. Vane.” Sitting up to lean against the quilted headboard, my camisole’s light fabric betraying me with an obvious reaction, it doesn’t go unnoticed. “Do you make a habit of entering a girl’s room unannounced.”
“Yes, Grace. I do.”
“I’ve learned how to care for myself a long time ago.”
“I see.”
“Why me?” He studies me as if this is a foolish question.
“Why you, Grace?” A perplexing look crosses his features. “I need an articulate equal, not just anyone, someone special such as yourself.”
“But what does that entail?” A small smirk slips over his perfect face.
“Eat, your breakfast before it grows cold.” He crosses over to the side table lifting the tray, then places it in my lap. It feels as if I’m in an old movie, from years gone by, where the heroine was treated as gold, old fashioned chivalry. Eggs benedict, coffee, juice, and a single red rose.
“I have a treat planned for the day.” He brushes a wild strand of hair from my face. “We’re to use the horse and buggy from one of the resident’s properties.”
“It’s raining.”
“No matter, it’s covered. Consider it your pre-birthday gift.”
“Birthday?”
“Did you think I’d forget?”
This was the very instant I gazed deeply into the depths of his soul k
nowing he was morally impaired, the fact I would be eighteen tomorrow meant something disturbing. My thoughts were everywhere, spinning out of control racing at high speeds, as panic licked at my heels. I was too young, too innocent to know.
“What is it my angel?” Cobalt blue eyes held mine hostage as thoughts flood in, fear and distress over the realization I would be consumed by his darkness.
“I celebrated my birthday with my parents prior to coming, it’s not something you need to do, really.”
“Oh, but I want to.” His gleaming smile and a dimple, just one appear. “I’ll meet you down stairs in an hour, don’t be late.”
I nod, knowing obedience and tardiness seem to be high on the list of acceptable behaviors. I take a few bites then place the tray where it sat earlier.
Since my wardrobe wasn’t chosen for me today, I slip on my skinny jeans and several layers consisting of an under-armor shirt and a white sweater. My hair long flowing down my back, I sweep my bangs to the left, just now realizing its growth. Fetching my down filled jacket, I force my arms into the garment and twist the scarf around my neck. Then fold my glasses and shove them in the pocket as I descend the stairs.
His voice turns lower, in deep conversation with Godfrey who nods in understanding, followed by several yes sirs. No doubt on my behalf. It only brings new suspicions about tomorrow, and how it will all unfold.
“On time, Miss Novak.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your carriage awaits.”
I had to admit the beautiful beast pulling the turn of the century buggy was something out of an old novel, it made sense he’d arranged this because of our obsession of old literature, and the games we play.
Although trapped in close quarters is proving to be more of a challenge than I anticipated. He covers our legs with a cashmere blanket. I feel cherished, yet he holds a certain power over me. It is only when you look closer, you see the cracks, the imperfections. What I realize in this moment fascinates me, the underling fear dissipates, dissolves only briefly when he shows me he is a man addicted to self-control. And right now, he was in control. He pulls out an old worn leather clad book, by William Blake. “Songs of Innocence and of Experience.”
“It’s time we begin our studies together, ummm one of my favorites Grace. The Devine Image;
To Mercy Pity Peace and Love,
All pray in their distress:
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.
He finishes the poem with great passion as if each word had been studied, analyzed and understood.
“The four virtues of delight. The poem is composed of five ballad stanzas’, do you hear them Grace?”
“Of course, it’s common in songs of today.”
“Correct, he’s praising both God and man, although slightly unorthodox, it may be indeed what I find most compelling about the author. Who was less appreciated in his own time.” He smiles, and closes the book now placed on his lap.
“Regardless, to be known at all is an accomplishment, before or after death.” I say.
“You will be a worthy component in our studies Grace, I’m looking forward to our discoveries.”
“Look.” I point over the clearing. “A doe with two spotted fawns.” Nature in its own spender.
“As beautiful as the line of your delicate jaw.” His fingers graze over my jaw causing me to focus nervously on the man beside me. His heat radiates from his body causing alarm within the pit of my stomach. The outside world no longer exists, not in this moment. But I couldn’t bring myself to fall, only run. Evading the moment with distraction.
“Who in this day and age owns a horse and buggy?” Redirecting his actions as I pull away. Admiring the turn of the century carriage with its falling canopy top, distinct red spokes, and wooden wheels drawn by a single horse, at the very least it was a unique experience.
“A dear friend of mine, lives on the grounds surrounding the campus.” He gazes down at me with eyes the color of the ocean, the deep cold parts where no one goes. “There are many uses such as hayrides, special events, he has many unique items, and he’s called upon regularly, like today.”
“I see.”
The light catches between the tree tops, as the leaves slowly drop and sway in the wind as I watch them tumble to the ground. A reminder, winter was approaching, the cold was never my favorite time of year. Often my mind would shift to its darker place, a thick sadness cocooning me until the first signs of spring. I wondered, sitting here too close to Dr. Hawthorne Vane, what impact that would have on my psyche.
“Let’s turn back, shall we?’
“That’s fine.”
Watching him, watching me.
“It didn’t go unnoticed you’re not wearing your glasses Grace.”
“Is that a question?”
“It’s an observation.” His tone clipped. “Your beauty can’t hide from me, I look much deeper than most.”
I wasn’t ready for such a compliment, his words were ominous as the hidden meaning lingers between us, the energy thick and overflowing with promises to come. I knew nothing of courtship, of dating or men. But I did know I wanted to distance myself from him and to be free of the confines of this carriage.
Finally, back at the manor, locked in my room, I spend the better part of my afternoon reading the Dr.’s book by William Blake, he was correct in his assessment the work has many layers to it, I jot down discussion notes if he challenges my proficiency on the subject. When dinner came, I arrive first, outfitted in last night’s dress, to please him, the action causes me to question why. And there he stands, like a gentleman from a different error, his suit, his tie, sparkling cufflinks, not a hair out of place. My stomach clenches, as he approaches.
“Miss Novak.” He nods, and takes his seat, secrets brew in his eyes and our gaze lock in a silent battle of wills. Of course, he holds power over me, but I’m accustomed to my independence, an instinct born from parents who live their life to the fullest, and yet I always felt abandoned growing up alone. Even with their good intentions. When you’re barely living life, or what you think your life should look like. Your drive to survive pushes harder, therefore independence is instinctive. Just look where I’m at, alone with him. You can blame my parents for this. I do.
“Sir.”
“How was your reading?” he asks, as Godfrey enters with a bottle of red wine, and begins pouring it into his glass. Dr. Vane’s eyes lift in gratitude, as Godfrey leaves the room. I was curious regarding their relationship, and one day soon I’d find the courage to inquire, but intuitively I knew now was not the time.
“I’m enjoying it, thank you for lending it to me.”
He frowned, then sat back in his chair, sipping his wine causing me to go still.
“Will you miss your parents?” Contemplating his words, I thought it coincidental, I had just thought about this exact thing.
“Not in the way you might imagine, it’s complicated.”
“Clarify, if you would.”
“My parents are scholars, archeologist, highly regarded in their fields, you don’t obtain that type of success being a stay at home Mom, they worked, and worked hard. I was conditioned to be self-reliant. I prefer it, actually.”
“You prefer it?” He mulls over the words with a keen eye ready to call my bluff. But to my surprise he doesn’t.
“Pity.” He twirls the last sip of wine in his glass. “You’re a delight to know and even more exiting to converse with, they missed your formative years, the years you grew into a woman, you matured earlier than most, that’s true, no?”
Every empty place inside me is now filled with Hawthorne Vanes’s words, like warmth running through my veins. Like the first dip into a warm bath, like a warm blanket wrapped over my shoulders, comforting. Although the edges blur with this man, I am being seduced, that much I was sure of. What I didn’t know was how he would reveal himself.
“So, what happens next?
“I wis
h you wouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?’
“Dismiss my complement.” In walks Godfrey with a tray, our dinner, salads and wine all carried with a smile.
“Sir, a complement apart from an academic achievement, has always been far and few between.” I feel the heat rise, I fight to push it down, but my cheeks burn red. I hate this and avoid it at all cost. I allow my hair to swing forward; the veil is firmly in place.
“We’ll work on that.” His words twist and turn in my head. I feel weak to admit my shortcomings. My insecurities, is this the real reason I‘m here, to change me? To turn me into the cookie-cutter teenager they, my parents didn’t understand? It’s a hypothesis, a reasonable assessment, that angers me.
After our dinner, he once again escorts me to my room in the same manner as the night before. I was relieved to escape reality into the confines of my room, a room I’m growing to appreciate. His relentless intensity is exhausting, living under a microscope every movement, each word analyzed.
Back to William Blake’s book, and my note book into bed and under the blankets, his words in my head until I drift off to sleep.
The sun descending in the west
The evening star does shine
The birds are silent in their nest
And I must seek mine
I woke to the sun, bathing in its shimmering light, a warm breath felt on my cheek. “Good morning Angel.” His voice a whisper above my ear. “Happy Birthday, sweet eighteen.”
His words startle me, as my eyes flutter open his nearness causing my pulse to quicken, the beat of my heart pounds, and I have yet to reply.
“Thank you.” But his cobalt blues eyes were fueled with a fire brewing, and I was the torch ready to light the way.
Elijah sat quietly, as my gaze slid to his, his body revealing the anger in his tilted brown, the clenching of his fist. And finally, his temper getting the better of him. “If what your saying is true…”
“If?”
“So help me God, I will hunt him down, go to the ends of the earth to tear him limb by limb.”
Hard as Steel: Book four ( Surviving Series ) Page 11