by E. J. Wood
‘Krokodil?’
‘Yes. At my last meeting with the drug enforcement officials, it is reported that two regional governors claim that Krokodil accounts for about half of all addictions and drug related deaths and has nearly replaced all opiates as the drug of choice.’
‘And you think this is connected to my mother’s death?’
‘I’m positive.’
I sigh and tilt my head back biting my lower lip.
‘This is what you have been up to? Guy for fuck’s sake, addicts are just as much the consumer that is swayed by branding like any other who buys iphones or whatever but Heroin is the ultimate product because you really do need to keep coming back again and again. This is old news. I don’t know why you have had to dig up the past.’
‘Amelia, I have been investigation this since I saw you step out of that car when you were thirteen years old.’
‘And what the fuck has this to do with what’s happened? People have died whilst you have been playing detective.’
‘If you are referring to Olivia.’
‘I am.’
‘Christopher Lucas was Olivia’s first husband.’
I swallow hard.
‘And now we will never find out where he is.’
‘This is my fault? YOU tied me up remember, you stuffed me inside a god forbidden cellar and made me believe you were a psycho.’
‘I was undercover and couldn’t risk….’
‘What? Me blowing the investigation?’
‘We were being watched, it had to be real, you had to believe that I was a psychopath. If you had under any assumption known the truth it would have put both our lives in danger.’
With the comprehension of the news, my face drains of colour and my hands tremble rising to stifle the cry that cannot find the breath to give it sound. He strides silently towards me sitting close to my side hugging me near and smiles; as if contagiously I return the smile and wipe away the welling tears looking soulfully into his eyes. I lean in towards his face and he simultaneously leans towards mine. With lips inches away I can feel and smell his minty fragrance. Our lips meet and all my worries, frustrations and passions finally come to light. They are now contained within this kiss consuming me like fire leaving me breathless. My wish is granted and sparks fly, like a movie moment waiting for someone to yell “cut.” My tongue swipes his lower lip and grants me access once again as our tongues fight for dominance. He pulls away and my eyes open slightly. What, what’s wrong?
‘Remember to smile to everyone, but give your flower to only me.’
‘To only one.’ I correct.
‘To me, you are mine and always will be,’ he states assertively.
‘You don’t play fair,’ I smile.
‘No, I don’t, Guy doesn’t share. Now say it.’
‘Say what?’ I question and his hand grabs my chin pointing directly at his own.
‘That you are always mine.’
‘What if I can’t make that kind of promise?’
‘Do you want spanking again Miss Sharpe?’
‘Is that a promise?’ I smirk recalling my very sore buttocks last time I misbehaved.
‘You do test my patience, but as my greatest pleasure and reward you get away with murder.’
‘Literally?’ I smirk.
‘Literally. Now I do the commanding, you do the obeying. Do you understand?’
‘Always?’
‘Always, am I clear?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes what?’ he demands.
‘Yes Sir.’
‘We do this my way from now on. Understood?’
‘Yes Sir.’
As the gentle lingering touch of our lips continues, a hesitation played on both our parts. I take the time to mesmerise the feeling, light nibbling on my lips with hands wondering and our bodies pressing closer together as passion reaches an overwhelming level.
‘I have a confession,’ I admit.
‘Go on,’ he sighs.
‘I have romanticised you to the point that where the knives you pressed into my skin began to look like cupids arrows.’
‘You are mentally fucked up you know Amelia?’ he smiles.
‘I know.’
‘So, you are like that Pond fellow?’ I laugh.
‘Who?’ his brows creasing confused.
‘You know that spy that always wears a black suit and tie and carries a gun,’ my eyes darting from side to side.
‘James Bond?’ he gasps.
‘That’s the one!’ I point.
‘That’s not just any gun, that’s a Walther PPK.’
‘You have lost me now,’ my brows furrow, a what? The only Walter I know was Walter Matthau.
‘Walter ...’
‘Walther’ he corrects.
‘One of those,’ I nod.
His smile extends closer and closer to either ear and he leaps forward and tickles me with his fingers probing at my rib cage, an annoyingly funny sensation and I am fleetingly losing control over my body and it instinctively wriggles to slither out of the master ticklers grasp.
‘Noooooooooooooooo,’ I giggle as I wriggle away from him.
‘You defy me? The superspy who has thwarted soviet agents and brought international gangsters to justice?’
‘Yes stopppppppp,’ I laugh.
‘And inevitably bedding a beautiful woman?’
‘YES, but not as good looking and you drive a Jag.’
‘WHAT? That’s it you are getting it now.’
‘Argh, I mean No. OK OK I surrender.’
‘Trained in intelligence and special forces?’
‘Yes, I surrender! Please stop.’
‘And with that sharp tongue, like a knife it can kill without drawing blood Amelia.’
‘Touché.’ I gasp!
***
‘I want you to hear this,’ he whispers as he walks over to his iPod and as the iPod loads a female voice orders.
“Good evening this is the voice of enigma, in the next hour we will take you with us into another world into the world of music spirit and meditation. Turn off the light, take a deep breath and relax. Start to move slowly, very slowly, let the rhythm be your guiding light.” Her voice is soft as the music leaves me speechless transforming me into a different state of being. A powerful and sensual music very different from anything I have ever heard and I am positively sure am ever going to hear. A much sultrier, industrialist medieval sound with ultra modern Gregorian chants blend with techno mysterious medieval sounds is absolutely unbelievable, music for the mind.
‘This isn’t for everybody,’ he murmurs.
‘No it’s not.’
‘Certainly not rock ‘n’ roll and commonplace silly music.’
‘No, but if you are sophisticated, know languages, appreciate the unknown and have a little bit of passion then perhaps it is,’ I smile at Guy, this is him, it really is him. The music for someone who likes to feed his soul. The operatic singing arrives behind faded flutes and a female voice whispers intriguing and thoughtful expressions, the beat remains commanding. My lips part and the new age, club and rock ceases to amaze me. A dark, gothic feel is exactly that, a principle of lust that is burned inside my mind.
‘Guy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you actually truly love me? Or have I just been part of your cover?’ I ask.
‘Who says you were part of my cover?’
‘Wasn’t I?’
‘Is that how you feel?’ his brows crease not fully comprehending what I am asking.
‘This is no fairy tale.’
‘I am sorry to disappoint if you were looking for Prince Charming.’
Gosh, no, what are you doing Amelia? My subconscious scowls.
‘It’s not the happy ending I was expecting.’
‘Happy endings are just stories that haven’t ended yet.’
‘Such the pessimist,’ I sigh.
‘Besides how can you say that?’ he asks acidly.
�
��It doesn’t seem I am worthy of your honesty,’ I shrug.
‘If that is what you truly believe after what I have just told you...’
I shrug; I don’t know what to say, what can I say?
‘Then leave,’ he scowls. No, that’s not what I meant, oh god, what have I done, you weren’t supposed to say that.
He closes his eyes in frustration and turns away from me so I cannot see his face. I step towards him and he steps back.
‘I don’t want to go,’ I whisper apologetically.
‘What do we have if we don’t have trust?’ he scowls.
‘Please,’ I beg. Why should I be begging for forgiveness, he is the one that deceived me? Argh how frustrating ‘then there is nothing more to say.’
‘I guess not,’ his voice is low and hushed.
Argh I scream inside, stop being a stubborn child, don’t let me go, how can you? I thought you loved me and once again I failed and shake my head from side to side trying to keep my emotions at bay. Shit, I’m leaving him and I walk towards the bedroom to collect the small affects that remain on the side table and hold my paper orchid in my hands. Strangely without a few personal items the room is bleak and empty and grabbing my bag I take one more look at Guy, hands in pockets looking outside at the dull grey weather. My heart wrenches at an indescribable stabbing sensation, a physical and mental pain that throbs at my temples and I pause with seconds to decide. Is this the life I want? Is this the life I can have? He is a control freak, a secret agent, a great lover but can I trust him? The song disappears into silence and is soon followed by another, I pause “smell your skin, feel your breath, you on my side, I couldn’t resist, I hope I’ll understand some day, what’s the meaning of this crazy game, it is real and pure, T.N.T for the brain” my heart sinks with no escape, the lyrics growing louder and louder as if being drummed into me by God himself and I clasp my temples at either side as my legs drop beneath me. If there is no pain, the rules are still the same, I’m with you, just lead me, and I’m ready to play. Don’t be scared, and have no fear, I will show you what it means.
‘ARGH,’ I scream inside the bedroom. This is not real, this is not pure. I stand breathing hard and forcefully plucking up the courage and walk into the living room to see Guy with hands in pocket staring at the door way of the bedroom. This is not how I want to end the day.
‘Answer me this!’ I demand before taking that final step.
‘How does a temporary FBI agent earn six figure sums? No detective I have ever known lives the lavish lifestyle you appear to have or is that a lie too?’
‘It’s not a lie.’
‘Then how?’ I demand.
‘That... is another story.’ Even after everything that has happened, he denies me this one question.
Guy walks away and leaves me speechless. I refuse to acknowledge the pain and feel numb. The tragedy of what’s happened is unfolding and collapsing right in front of my eyes. My heart splinters and shatters into a million pieces as my breaths become laboured. I stare at my reflection in the mirror; my eyes are swollen from the tears. As I leave the bedroom Guy is stupefied with horror.
‘Where are you going?’ he asks in a monotone voice. ‘How much more hurt are you wanting to inflict on me?’ He sounds panicked.
‘I don’t think I am what you want. I don’t want to fight, just please let me go.’ I stifle.
For the first time I am no longer intimidated by Guy. I can see the fury and frustration he contains in his eyes.
‘I don’t want you to go,’ he scolds.
‘Goodbye Guy.’
***
My humble abode is unfamiliar and cold. So much has happened recently and I drop to my knees clutching my paper orchid. The pain is indescribable. I have brought all of this onto myself and I howl knowing he is just next door. I curl into a tight ball. My grieving heart is raw, painful and scary. It’s too much to bear.
***
BEYOND THE PALE
This is not a love story, but it is a story about love.
Beyond the Pale is romantic and addictive, where possession will take you to the sharpest edge of obsession. How far would you go for love?
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Firstly I’d like to thank my partner in crime, Cliff for standing by me on this journey who brings me tea when I am writing and makes sure I do mandatory things like shower and sleep and on occasion, work. I thank you for being a fantastic support.
I’d like to also thank John Zaradin for familiarising me with the technicalities of writing novels and how to express myself clearly.
Maureen for continually believing in me and making me feel like I was someone to be proud of. The best mother-in-law I could ask for.
My good friend George Gray; for the stories I have stolen about the tricks you used to play on your ex wife.
Gary McCallum for having me in stitches with your unusual comical references you have so kindly allowed me to use.
I am indebted to you all for putting up with me. And lastly, I want to thank all my clients for their continual support. I hope you enjoy my novel.
All the best, Emma.