True Intentions

by Lisa Kuehne

  * * * * *

  On our four hour flight, we mostly talk about his family. I'm dying to know more. I'm completely fascinated by his entire existence.

  "Is Kate your sister?" I ask.

  "Yes and no." He fumbles for the right words to explain.

  "See, Kate found me when I first became an immortal. She lived with my adoptive parents for several hundreds of years before finding me. She took me home, and I've lived there ever since. It's actually a great arrangement. It would get pretty lonely living as a nomad for eternity. It's nice to have some of my kind to relate to."

  "What about your adoptive parents? Tell me about them," I plead, searching for more information. The more I learn about him, the harder it is to control my curiosity.

  Just thinking about all the immortal followers of Satan sparks one million questions. There's so much I yearn to know.

  Luckily, Sam is willing to share his deepest secrets.

  "Well, Stephen and Susan are both over nine hundred years old. They've witnessed amazing things throughout the last few hundred years. Can you imagine living through something like the discovery of the land that would become the Unites States of America all the way up to now? Talk about always having to adapt. They should have written that book— Who Moved My Cheese."

  I giggle. He's right. I can't begin to imagine being on earth for nine hundred years.

  "So dark angels can be married, and be intimate with each other, like humans?" I whisper. I feel warmth flow to my face, causing my cheeks to blush. What an embarrassing question!

  His demeanor changes. He tenses in his seat then does a quick look around us.

  With hesitation, he continues.

  "Not, exactly. Keep in mind our purpose is to tempt, to cause people to sin. If we were married, our focus wouldn't be creating chaos. In Stephan and Susan's case, they're married in human eyes, but they're not together in Lucifer's eyes or especially in their own eyes. They have intimate affairs with humans all the time. To be honest, Stephen and Susan get married humans to be intimate with them pretty frequently. It's more sinful to have adultery than sex outside of marriage, according to your Ten Commandments."

  Am I hearing him correctly?

  "So humans and dark angels can have sex?"

  "Well, yes. Our two kinds can have a sexual connection, just not procreate."

  He looks outside the window for a moment, leaving me to question if this topic is too embarrassing to him.

  "Okay. I have another question."

  He gives a nod, my signal to continue, "Do dark angels and humans ever get married?"

  "No."

  By his facial expression, this is obviously a question he hoped I wouldn't ask.

  I say nothing. I want to cry, yet don't want to give away my disappointment. It isn't fair.

  Another depressing thought enters my mind.

  I wonder how many girls Sam has had sex with in order to make them sin. A bitter taste floods my mouth. It could be ten, twenty, or even one hundred girls! After all, he's been tempting mankind for two hundred years. Intense, jealous emotions monopolize my thoughts.

  I close my eyes, trying to picture something—anything—other than images of hundreds of girls throwing themselves at Sam Perry.

  I'm not about to ask him how many; I've been through enough trauma in the last twenty-four hours.

  * * * * *

  We arrive in Chicago exactly on time. Mallory, her younger sister, Julia, and their dad greet us at the airport. As soon as we can see the whites of each other's eyes, Mallory runs up and hugs me like it has been ten years since our last reunion. I reciprocate the gesture. It's great to see her, but I pray I'm not putting her in danger by coming to Chicago.

  She looks over at Sam, and her eyes instantly double in size. She grabs one of her blonde locks of hair and gently tucks it behind her ear. Her "deer in headlights" facial expression changes over to a flirtatious grin. She is in awe of his beauty, just like I am. I hadn't given much thought of her being attracted to Sam when I came up with this plan. How stupid of me! Of course she'd drool over him. What girl isn't attracted to him in that way?

  I push back jealous the thoughts slithering into my mind. After all, Mallory and Julia are adorable. They look like preppy cheerleaders with petite frames and long, light-blonde hair.

  They're much prettier than I am.

  We load our luggage into their Honda minivan and then jump in. Mr. King and Julia sit in the front, and Mallory, Sam, and I sit in the second row. I position myself perfectly between Sam and Mal. Sam looks out the window at the city while Mallory gives me the latest gossip about York. When she thinks Sam isn't paying attention, she whispers in my ear, "Ava, your cousin is gorgeous!"

  "Sorry, Mallory," I whisper back, just loud enough for Sam to hear me, "he's gay."

  I see Sam smirking out of the corner of my eye. I'm impressed at my quick response. Maybe that will keep her at bay for a bit.

  "Darn." She's obviously disappointed. "I'm willing to try and convert him."

  So much for my remark keeping her at bay.

  "Well, I guess you can try." I say, laughing halfheartedly.

  I feel awkward, so I glance out the windshield. The city hasn't changed a bit, but it's strange to be home. I've been stuck in the mountains for the last two months.

  Chicago's representation of wilderness is Lincoln Park.

  I scrunch my nose, wishing I could hold my breath. The air smells dirty. A mixture of exhaust and smog burns my nostrils. Definitely not like the mountains.

  "You're never going to believe what's going Tuesday," Julia says, bringing my mind back from my air pollution complaints—"operation Greenpeace."

  "Shut up Jules, I told you it was a surprise," Mallory says, snapping at her sister.

  She exhales through pursed lips, making a grunting sound. She frowns. From my years of experience with these two, I know this conversation is going to turn ugly— fast.

  "What?"

  Mallory gives Julia a mean, hateful glare.

  "The Cubs opening day is this Tuesday, I got us tickets!" Mallory screams.

  I shriek, mirroring her excitement.

  "Are you serious?"

  Opening day tickets. Wow!

  I give her a bear hug.

  "There's one problem. I only got two tickets. I didn't know you were planning to bring your cousin when they went on sale, sorry." She sticks her bottom lip out.

  "That's fine," Sam jumps in, easing Mallory's guilt. "I'll find something else to do while you guys are at the game. I am sure there's plenty to keep me busy in Chicago."

  Sam shoots me a wink. I assume he'll be close by the entire time.

  The rest of the car ride, Mr. King asks me questions about how I like California.

  "It's great," I say, not thinking about all the I'm miserable emails to Mallory.

  Both Mallory and Julia give me a "yeah right" glare.

  I can't help but smile. Discovering the truth about Samuel Perry has definitely rejuvenated my tolerance for Lake Arrowhead.

  After the long car ride, we arrive at the King's suburban home. Mallory's mother is inside cooking dinner. I'm starving. After all, it's after 8:00 p.m.

  Darn layover.

  While we eat dinner, we reminisce over fun, embarrassing times in our childhood. Stories like when Mallory's pet hamster Zoe died, and we had a hamster funeral. When we told my dad about the funeral, he asked if we'd made sure Zoe wasn't breathing. Apparently, hamsters hibernate sometimes. Mallory freaked out, and we ended up back at her house, digging up Zoe's body to check if he was still alive.

  Sam laughs.

  The stories keep coming until the unthinkable happens—Mallory brings up Mr.

  Mysterious.

  We're discussing Mallory having had a huge crush in sixth grade over the new boy in the neighborhood, Tommy Smith. She obsessed over Tommy, but Tommy didn't reciprocate her feelings of love. Once he realized Mallory liked him, he became really mean. He taunted Mallory at ever
y opportunity, calling her "foul Mal." He tee-peed her house and even filled a squirt super soaker with urine and sprayed her.

  Her parents comforted her by saying, "When a boy is mean to you, he really likes you and doesn't know how to approach you."

  No matter how hard Mallory tried, Tommy never changed his tune. Poor Mallory

  . . . . So here we are, reminiscing about Tommy Smith, when suddenly Mallory says,

  "Are you going to tell Ava that her Mr. Mysterious is secretly in love with her too, Mom?"

  Sam's eyes perk up.

  "Who is Mr. Mysterious?" he asks. His eyes scan everyone at the table.

  Before I have a chance to throw Mallory the shut-up look, she starts explaining.

  "There's some guy at Ava's new school that she's been gawking over. At least my crush over Tommy was back in sixth grade, not as a junior in high school."

  Sam raises his eyebrows in interest, making Mallory continue the saga.

  Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!

  "It gets better," she continues, her eyes not moving from Sam's face. She is enjoying every second of her extended story. "One day Ava confronts him about being mean, and he totally rejects her." She pauses to laugh but doesn't look in my direction.

  "So, now Ava completely avoids him."

  "Really? Interesting" Sam says, grinning at me.

  Then he says, "Ava, you never told me about this guy. Is it anyone I know?" He's playing the dumb cousin part too well.

  I glance at the ceiling, trying to remain composed.

  How embarrassing.

  I want to crawl under the table and hide for eternity, or at least until morning.

  "No," I hiss, showing my disapproval of this topic. I shoot Mallory an evil glare.

  "Oh," Mallory frowns, finally getting the message I'm not pleased.

  "It's getting late, gang. Let's go show Ava and Sam their rooms," Mrs. King says, changing the subject. At least she notices I'm ready to pass out from embarrassment.

  "Thank you, Mrs. King," Sam says as he shoots me a wink.

  At least for now, I'm off the hook.

  We head upstairs, and Mrs. King shows us our rooms. I've slept at their house at least a thousand times, but I've never slept anywhere besides Mallory's room. This week, Mrs. King has me sleeping in the guest bedroom. The spare bedroom décor makes me feel like I've gone back in time. The antique furniture, blue-flowered duvet, and matching drapery remind me of my grandma's bedroom. Poor Gramps.

  Sam will sleep on their pull-out couch in the bonus room down the hall. They mainly use the area as a second family room and computer station for the girls.

  Despite the adrenaline rush from being home in Chicago, around Sam, and still in significant danger, I'm exhausted. I can barely keep my eyes open even though it's only 7:00pm California time.

  We say goodnight, and I go into the spare bathroom first for a quick shower. As I dry off, the bruises all over my neck and arms are a reminder the danger is far from over.

  I crawl into bed, too tired to think any more tonight. Tomorrow will be a new day. Another day to analyze the fact I'm in love with a dark angel put on this earth to make us sin.

  I gulp at the thought.

  Why does just being in his presence bring sinful thoughts to my mind?

  I fall into a deep slumber before I have the opportunity to answer my own question.

  * * * * *

  I awaken to shallow, rapid breathing along my neckline. Instinctively, I quickly jump out of bed believing I'm under attack. A hand covers my mouth before I have the chance to let out a scream.

  My eyes widen. It's Sam.

  I breathe a sigh of relief, but my heart is beating so hard, it may come out my chest.

  He removes his hand once he's confident I won't scream.

  "Don't ever scare me like that again. You're lucky. I almost screamed loud enough to wake the dead," I say in a whispering yet firm voice. I glare at him with narrow eyes. It's a clear warning.

  He smiles sheepishly then looks at the closed bedroom door.

  "Don't worry, everyone's asleep. No one is coming to save you," he reminds me as he lays his head on the extra pillow.

  "What are you doing in here?" I ask, uncertain of what time it is.

  "I couldn't sleep," he says. Then he sticks out his lower lip and makes a pouting face. His mouth changes into a smirk, giving away his deception.

  "You really are a demon."

  "I told you about my past," he chuckles. "Did you think I was lying?"

  He's staring at me. The nightlight in the corner gives me enough light to see his expression. I can't help but wonder what he might be thinking. Before I can ask, he leans closer and kisses me with his lips open slightly.

  "I couldn't take it anymore," he confesses, breathing in my hair. "I needed to kiss you again. This acting thing is killing me. It's harder to act like your cousin for twenty-four hours than to fake I'm a human for two hundred years."

  He pauses briefly, deeply inhaling my hair's aroma. After he removes his face from my locks, he sarcastically adds, "Plus, I want to ask you about your Mr.

  Mysterious."

  I freeze, feeling the blood rush to my face.

  I refuse to respond.

  He knows Mallory had been describing him. I can't deny that.

  "Is that how you feel about me?" he asks, breaking the long silence I deliberately created.

  I look in the opposite direction, refusing to answer his question. I can tell by the increased rate in his breathing, my silence is driving him crazy. I consider prolonging the quiet, just to torture him. After all, he almost gave me a heart attack a few moments ago.

  "I'm scared to tell you how I feel," I divulge, refusing to make eye contact.

  Instead, I stare at the flowered bedding and nervously run pieces of the bedspread through my fingers.

  "Why would you be like that? Didn't you tell me to be honest when I didn't want to tell you about my past?"

  I nod.

  He has a point . . . . Darn it.

  "You don't like it when I put you on the spot."

  It isn't a question.

  Another valid point.

  I'm not sure how to express my feelings without sounding like a moron, or worse—a stalker.

  "I really . . . like you. Not just 'cause you're perfect in every possible way, and I can never be like that, but because you're . . . you. And believe me, I know it's wrong for me to feel this way. But, I can't help myself. You're addicting. Maybe you're like a Venus flytrap, beautiful enough to draw your prey in, but dangerous and potentially deadly. It's just . . . I am in complete awe of you, yet I don't even know that much about you. I want to know everything, yet I'm kinda scared."

  As the words come awkwardly out of my mouth, my mind is spinning with confusion about how to possibly explain what I feel—at least so he might be able to understand and not think I'm crazy.

  I think about stopping right there, protecting my emotions and waiting for his response. But the desire to get all this off my chest trumps common sense and self-preservation. I need to own up to my fears.

  "I'm scared this . . . thing you do to me you also do to all the girls you meet, and I'm just a notch on your belt buckle. I'm scared that these feelings are one-sided, and I'm way over my head, but I can't stop."

  At that comment, he looks away and I assume he is upset by my remarks.

  Great . . . now he thinks I am a jealous stalker.

  "You're wrong. What do you want to know?" he asks, looking up at the ceiling.

  His is voice cold.

  His response startles me. I try to think carefully about what to ask, but then blurt out what I really want to know.

  "Everything."

  That's a stupid response.

  A little direction might be nice.

  "Okay, like how did you become this way? Why did you give up your soul?"

  He looks over at me with severe pain in his eyes. I'm not sure if he's upset I feel the way I do, or becau
se of something in his past. I wait patiently while he takes a deep breath, and then he starts to slowly explain, choosing his words very carefully.

  "It was 1798 and I was seventeen. We lived in a small town called Goshen, New York, located right outside of New York City. My little sister, Virginia, and I were outside playing in the snow. I was supposed to be watching her while my parents were inside with my grandmother and some doctor. You see, doctor's used to come to your home for house calls back then. I mean . . . what I am trying to say is they would treat you at your home versus you going into a hospital or office then. My grandmother was dying from pneumonia, and there wasn't much else that could be done. My parents didn't want my little sister—who was nine at the time—to know what was going on, so they had me play with her outside. I was daydreaming—not paying attention to her—

  and she chased after a ball she had been throwing in the air."

  He takes another deep breath, and I can see this topic is hard for him to talk about.

  "We lived on property leading to the river. It was pretty common back then to live by water since no one had indoor plumbing. Anyways, Virginia ran after the ball, unaware that she was on ice from the frozen river rather than on snow. She fell in. I heard her scream and ran after her and tried everything in my power to pull her out— to save her. But I ended up falling in too. The water was so icy cold, I could barely move much less think clearly. I was drowning. While dying, this strange thing began happening. I could see my body from above and that Virginia was still alive, barely hanging on to the ice. I had pulled her partially out before falling in. I was going to die—there was nothing I could do about that. The worst part was knowing Virginia would die too. I instantly thought about my parents; the pain it would cause them. You see, I was the oldest of five. I had three younger brothers between me and Virginia.

  Back then, there wasn't a lot of protection from illness and infections. All three of my younger brothers died when they were young. Seth died at birth. He was a stillborn.

  Jason died at age three from pneumonia and Albert died at age five from a cut that got infected. So Virginia and I were all my parents had left out of their five children. I was pretty much dead, but Virginia still had a chance. She was still clinging for life. So, I begged for God to save her. Instead of God, I heard a voice offering me a deal. At first, I didn't know who the voice was. But I soon realized it was the voice of Satan. If I would give up my soul, Virginia would live. He would make sure she survived. I accepted the offer without thinking twice. And he fulfilled his end of the bargain, Virginia didn't die that day and she ended up living a long life. She eventually died when she was sixty-two years old, but that age was very old back then. She got married, had kids and grandkids, and took care of my parents when they grew old. My parents didn't lose everything after all, and theoretically I got to watch her grow up and live a full life—