Andras: Beyond Good and Evil

by S L Zammit

  The downward view is dizzying, the center of the spiral a precipitous bottomless hollow. The stone steps are worn down the middle and slippery from use and seem to increase in numbers the farther down I travel, balancing myself with my palm against the wall.

  The atmosphere gets even colder as I descend, the silence broken by the sound of dripping water like a leaking faucet echoing up the spiral. The stone wall, green with lichen, is wet under my palm. The air is damp and musty.

  At the bottom of the stairwell, I find myself in a short winding tunnel that I make out to be the mouth of a deep cave.

  The space is dimly lit, and farther in I notice black iron candleholders anchored into the walls. The flame tongues of the lit odd ones cast dancing shadows of the many stalactites, hanging like icicles from the roof, onto the coralloid walls.

  Making out a shadow towards the back of the cave, I call out, “Kitty cat, kitty cat,” as the sound of dripping echoes in the silent cave.

  Moving towards the silhouette, I stumble over a stalagmite, landing against the wall from where I make out a strange shape at the very back: a large winged body without a head. The thing looks like a headless angel.

  On closer inspection, the statue looks like an ancient sarcophagus, but on getting closer I hear a pounding sound, the banging reverberating through the silence. The noise is coming from the house, floors above, through the hallways, the basement and down the spiral staircase. Someone must be at the door, knocking incessantly.

  The thought of whoever it is waking Andras up while I’m trespassing in this forbidden and mysterious part of the palazzo, sends me rushing through the tunnel, around the long spiral stairwell, across the basement, and up the two flights of steps.

  As soon as I emerge into the hallway, Cat traverses my path and locks eyes with me; my heart skips a beat.

  “How the hell did you get up here so quickly?” I whisper incredulously.

  Another burst of banging sends the cat scurrying away. I crack open the door onto the dark alley.

  “Yes?” I call out into the night. “Who goes there?”

  Her face comes into focus beneath the street lanterns, familiar yet unrecognizable. Tousled hair, her skin blotchy, the makeup smudged and running down her hollow cheeks, her clothes disheveled almost as if she’d just been in a tussle.

  “Dame Esmie,” I say in disbelief. “Is that you?”

  The wretched woman in the alley only remotely resembles the impeccable persona I’m used to. Instant recognition flashes across her skeletal features as she lunges forward towards me, arms outstretched, grabbing me by the wrists.

  “Dear girl,” she says, her voice raspy, “where is he? I need to see him.”

  Recalling Andras’ instructions, his words echoing in my head, “I’m indisposed. I don’t wish to receive anybody,” I step outside the house, leaving the front door ajar, Dame Esmie still clinging to me.

  “Andras is not feeling well,” I whisper uncertain. “He cannot see anybody.”

  Dame Esmie releases me, straightens up and pats back her hair. I notice her demeanor change and the desperate look on her face dissolves into anger.

  “Now listen to me girl,” she wheezes, eyes frenzied, “do you know who I am? You need to go in there and tell Andras that Dame Esmeralda Montfort is downstairs and wishes to see him immediately.”

  “I know exactly who you are,” I say quietly, “and I have specific instructions from the marquis not to let anyone in.”

  Dame Esmie grabs my wrists in her hands again and squeezes so hard I hear myself yelp. Managing to free myself from her grip, I slip into the house. The woman pushes against the door, yelling hysterically, pressing with her whole body as I attempt to shut it. She manages to slide her face into the crack of the entrance.

  “Open up,” she yells.

  Astonished yet energized by the assault, I manage to push out the crazed woman and shut the door in her face, fastening the lock behind me.

  2

  “Where were you?” he asks softly as I enter the room.

  In the distance, Dame Esmie is still banging at the door.

  “Downstairs,” I reply. “Dame Montfort is at the door. She wants to see you. I let her know you aren’t available.”

  “Good,” he says without affect, “but she was knocking a while before you got to the door.”

  “I was chasing the cat around the house,” I say hesitantly.

  Thinking about the contract I’d signed stating that I wouldn’t go in rooms I wasn’t invited into, and that he had asked me to stay away from the unmaintained rooms in the house, I don’t mention the cave. “Do you know what Esmie wants? She doesn’t look too good, maybe we should let her in.”

  “She wants wealth and power and eternal youth,” he says sarcastically. “She’s a heavy drinker, probably coming off a binge. She’ll soon give up and leave. She’s out there acting as if her existence is worth more than any other. I’ll deal with her later.”

  The dame is acting like a woman scorned and his cold-hearted dismissal makes me uneasy.

  Wanting to change the subject, “I spoke with the monsignor earlier today and he agreed not to ring the bells for a week,” I say.

  “Good girl,” he says, sounding amused. “Now come here. I’ve been sleeping all day and have a ton of pent-up energy.”

  Moving with caution towards the sound of his voice in the unlit room, I’m surprised when I suddenly come up to him towering over me since I expected him to still be in bed.

  My body pressed against his, he feels broad, muscular and strong, every inch of him hard and taut, his unique smell intoxicating. I’m stunned by how rapidly he seems to have recuperated from his physical ailments. I, on the other hand, feel drained by the past days’ events. Seems to me like every time I get close to him, he gets stronger and I get weaker. And although I convinced myself and assured Aurora I wouldn’t, I feel like I’ve fallen for him really hard.

  His hand caresses the side of my face, down my neck and chest and to the front of my sundress, sweeping all thoughts from my mind. With one tug, he rips the dress off.

  Walking towards the doorway, he turns on the light in the bedroom. Shocked by the sudden bright light and the image of his perfect naked body, not an ounce of fat, tall like a statue, long, strong legs and muscular arms, broad shoulders and chest tapering into a perfect V, my eyes travel from his bulging abs to the muscular lines running down from above his hip bone towards his groin and manhood.

  Good grief.

  I must look like wobbling jelly to him. Regretting all the gym sessions with Aurora I passed up along the years, I attempt to shield my body with my hands. He smiles, that adorable dimple forming on his left cheek. Thankfully, he dims the light.

  “Put your hands down,” he says, suddenly serious. “I’ve seen it all before.”

  My legs weaken beneath me as he moves towards me.

  “Don’t be shy,” he whispers as his hand travels down my stomach. “You have a beautiful body. I want to look at you.”

  I feel heady as I gaze into his eyes. “Go stand over there,” I hear him say. “Now stop,” he demands as I walk towards the far end of the room. “Turn around. Slowly.” His voice is husky. “Stop there where you are.”

  Halfway turned towards him, glancing at his beautiful face and body and his obvious arousal, I feel all inhibitions melt away and a yearning blossom in my belly.

  “Don’t look at me,” he murmurs. “Pretend I’m not here. I want to take you all in. Imprint you in my mind, the flow of your hair over your skin and the curve of your breasts and buttocks.”

  Standing there in silence as he ordered, I feel warmth tingling over my skin like a velvet flutter up my spine, brushing behind my ears, down my neck, to my breasts and navel. My hand moves between my thighs and I feel my legs tremble.

  Feeling his warmth against my skin and his breathing in my ear, I search for his eyes and as he gazes into mine, I can see how much he wants me as he moves closer towards me, hi
s hands all over me, inside me.

  “You’re so wet,” he whispers in my ear. I hear ecstasy in his voice as he pulls his hand away. He lifts me off the ground in one swift gesture, cradles me in his arms then tosses me onto the bed knocking the wind out of me.

  Climbing on top of me, he savagely parts my legs with his body. His firm weight pressing me down, his hands firmly clamping my outstretched arms against the mattress, his legs pinning mine wide open. My tensed, splayed body aches under him. Feeling his mouth on me, biting me everywhere: my neck, between my breasts, my belly, my inner thighs, I feel myself stiffen in ecstatic pain.

  “Relax,” he whispers. “Let go.”

  Releasing the tension in my body, I relax and soften under him.

  “Good girl,” he says as he lunges deep inside me.

  I hear myself moan and then scream as he thrusts even further within me.

  “I want everything,” he whispers in my ear. “You’re holding back.”

  The intruding image of a banished Half-naked-fawn-eyes and a distraught Dame Esmie banging at the front door flashes in front of my eyes, but I suppress both from my mind.

  Andras flips me over on the bed and grabbing my hair pulls my head up towards him curving my spine backwards, slipping his arm across my shoulders pressing me against him. I feel his other hand travel up my leg, fingers digging deep. I feel him through my flesh all the way to the muscle, nails clawing my skin, all the way up my back, to my shoulder and up my neck.

  He feels like a tidal wave engulfing me in his rippling motion, overwhelming me. I’m immersed in his rhythm, and when he explodes inside me, I feel the release and surge of pleasure erupt through his being. Sighing, he rolls off me onto the mattress beside me.

  Chapter 11

  The Stranger in the Mirror

  The room is freezing cold.

  Waking up parched in the middle of the night, the inside of my mouth feels like wool, my throat dry and prickly, my thoughts confused, I am suddenly overwhelmed by a stark awareness of the spin of the earth. Wanting very badly to throw up and my body temperature falling rapidly, I feel around me for the bed cover. An unnatural static air looms over me and Andras is not in bed beside me.

  Realizing that I’m alone in the room and possessed by a sudden inexplicable rush of panic, I climb out of bed and find that my entire body is stiff and sore and every movement I make translates into a flash of pain. I stumble into the bathroom through the wood paneled corridor in search of Andras.

  The light in his walk-in-closet is on. I call his name as I enter but the room is empty. Catching a glimpse of myself in the wall mirror I gasp, shocked by my reflection.

  I hardly recognize myself. The marvelous image that had previously been revealed to me in this same mirror is now replaced by something horrifying.

  My reflection is ghostly: eyes bloodshot, cheeks sallow, there are black bruises all over my body and my skin looks as if it had been clawed. Deep crimson scratch marks zigzag the length of my thigh and crisscross over my stomach and back, as if I had been mauled by a wild animal while under sedation.

  My skin stings when I touch my ashen face and I instinctively retract my fingertips. I feel a stinging pain with every touch. I feel singed, as if I had come too close to an open fire. All the while my entire body shivers and my skin is now covered in prickly goose bumps because of the unbearable coldness in the room.

  Despite the searing agony I’m in, and the overwhelming urge to scream and sob, I stifle myself and make my way out of the room in search of him.

  Dragging myself along the corridor upstairs, I make my way down the sweeping staircase calling out his name softly as I go, every step a painful experience.

  Hearing voices in the distance, I make my way in silence, tiptoeing stealthily towards the sounds that seem to be coming from the kitchen area at the back of the house.

  A loud, threatening hiss, like a harbinger of danger, develops in my ears, making me queasy inside. The air around me is freezing cold; a dark heaviness pervades my entire being and I suddenly feel terribly sad. But I still hobble towards the sound of the voices and the incandescence in the distance.

  And when I’m within earshot of the voices, I stop. Almost stumbling along the corridor, I lean against one of the columns in the hall, hidden in the shadows of the archway. I hear a familiar soft thread and feel around for Cat in the dark until I touch its short fur and lift it in my arms, snuggling it close to my body for warmth. I remain motionless in the dark, resting against the column.

  “Why are you here?” I hear Andras say in a raised voice. “Who invited you in?” His tone is angry but restrained.

  The voice that responds terrifies me. It is cold and wicked but soft, like the rustling of a snake. But what is even more frightening is the fact that I feel like I’ve heard it before. The cat stiffens in my arms.

  “You have been forgotten Andras,” it says. “Mighty Andras! Look at yourself now. Why stay in pain when you can come with me? What are you waiting for? Judgment? Redemption?”

  Right then it occurs to me that the chilling voice is the same voice I had heard whispering Andras’ name in the bedroom that first night.

  “Answer my question,” demands Andras.

  “There are places where I don’t need invitations,” says the voice. “And to think of all the trouble you went through to get away from this place only to land right back here again. Makes one wonder.”

  The gruesome snicker that follows sends an electrical shiver down my spine.

  “You’ve brought her back to you.” The voice rings with cruel derision. “I saw her in the crypt, plain as day. You are reviving your affliction and trapping yourself in this endless cycle of earthly existence. Why torture yourself Andras? What makes you think you can save her this time? You’ve failed her twice before. You think you can save her, but at the same time you’re draining and depleting her spirit to prolong your stay among the living.”

  Andras is silent.

  “You broke away from your original path and are still convinced that’s not who you want to be. Do you still envision the virtuous and valiant Andras of old when you peek at your own reflection in that hidden mirror in your closet? I haven’t quite figured you out,” the voice is slow and silken, “which is quite rare. I have to admit, I’m fascinated.”

  “You need to leave,” Andras says in a commanding tone.

  “Come with me Andras,” says the voice, now a seductive whisper. “I will restore your army in all its glory. On top of which I will give you the universe. You and I, Andras, together we’ll dominate everything and everyone. Let the humans persist in their delusions!”

  “Get out of here Lucifer,” says Andras sounding exasperated. “I won’t ask again.”

  “You can’t resist me forever,” taunts the voice. “I’m your only hope. Everyone else has abandoned and forgotten you.”

  Suddenly blinded but a vivid luminescence, I reactively squeeze my eyes shut. An icy breeze fills the corridor around me, increasing in force until I feel like I’m caught in the eye of a blizzard. Cat hisses and spits and leaps out of my arms, the whole house shakes and rattles, making me scream.

  Then all is still, deathly silent.

  When I finally open my eyes, Andras is towering over me. He looks larger than life in a long black cloak with a white cross on its front, his blue-green eyes fierce. The skin on his face is luminous, almost translucent.

  He seems transfigured into someone from another world in which I recognize him as a different, yet familiar figure, as if we both were someone else at the time. And I think to myself: He is so beautiful, like an angel. I simply love him.

  “Who was that?” I ask terrified. “Who were you talking to?”

  “A pervasive evil that comes with being in this world,” he says after a moment’s pause. “He has me in mind for a job that I’m not remotely interested in. He’s very persistent, but don’t worry about him, I have you covered.”

  “I must have a high tempera
ture,” I say, teeth chattering uncontrollably. “My head is hot yet it’s so cold and I’m hearing things.”

  I feel my body go limp as he lifts me in his arms.

  “What am I going to do with you?” I hear him say.

  Chapter 12

  Cocooned

  Andras is sitting at the edge of the bed looking at me when I wake up. Sadness clouds his face.

  “You and I share a common history,” he says sounding melancholic. “We keep crossing paths. You always return to me.”

  His words bring back the images of myself as reflected in his closet mirror: the first time, a while back, where I had been reminded of the portrait of Isabella Guasconi, and the second more recent shocking reflection I hadn’t recognized at all. There is something eerie beyond our present encounter, perhaps other experiences prior to the interview in the library.

  My body is wood stiff between the soft mattress under me and the sheet covering my bare skin, which is dry and taut, like a blister ready to pop off. Pain sears throughout my body.

  What is bothering me most is the smell, the overpowering stench of burning flesh in the room. A nauseating odor of decay, like an open, infected wound wafts around me, filling my nostrils, activating my gag reflex.

  “I was worried about you,” he says softly, stroking my forehead with his fingertips. “I thought you had left, but fortunately you pulled through.”

  A sudden feeling of shame and repulsion infuses my being as I realize that I am the source of the fetid stench. Struggling to move, I find that I am captive, confined within the cages of my skeleton and flesh. In a surge of panic, I thrust around in my head, limbs and arms flailing, but I can’t physically budge an inch. At a complete loss for words, I scream, but my lips don’t move, I can’t even twitch, the only exception is eye movement.

  Andras gently caresses my temples making circular motions with his fingertips. “Relax your mind,” he whispers. “Go beyond what you’re experiencing with your immediate senses. Look at me and take your consciousness beyond this instance, past this plane.”