by Ainsley Shay
The wind picked up. There was a storm brewing in the west. It was forming fast. I didn’t care. The whispers and cackles of thousands of leaves mingled with the waves rolling onto the beach. The pain in my heart and the throbbing in my head echoed my breaths. I couldn’t bear any of this anymore.
Usually, the lapping of the water against the shore soothed me. I wanted so desperately to feel the instant ease wash over me, and the answers to all of my millions of questions to be whispered by the breeze. Through the sobs, I barked out a hideous laugh. God, if only— Don’t go there. Anger and frustration assaulted me in waves. I grasped a handful of sand and threw it at nothing. I wanted to see the end of all this pain I carried with me. I wanted to be able to count down the days until it all went away and I was happy again. Happy. I think I forgot what happy felt like. Don’t wish your life away, Mr. Yves had told me since I was a child. But everyday I found myself doing just that.
I took off my shoes and walked to the dock. The wood was dry and splintered in places. I sat on the end and let my legs dangle off the edge. Gusts of wind raced along the lake, rippling its normally smooth surface. The storm was getting closer; the bright sky was slowly being taken over by darkness. The musty scent of soon-to-be-falling rain wafted through the air. The temperature dropped, and the coolness sent chills down my arms. I watched the clouds thicken and bellow.
Catherine. Who was she and why was I dreaming about her. Did my story-like dreams in riveting colors have something to do with my father’s death? Absurd. I began to miss my boring, borderline silly, non-directive, and colorless dreams, the ones that made absolutely no sense. The dreams of the past few days had made no sense, at least that I had figured out yet. Were they supposed to?
It was very possible that I might be losing my mind.
I walked back to the sand, sat and wrapped my arms around my legs. I cried some more. Five days ago, I asked myself if the tears would ever stop. Today I had an answer to that question. No, they would never stop. I took in a deep, jagged breath and tried to push away everything that I’d come here to escape. Closing my eyes, I trapped some of the tears. I sat perfectly still. My thoughts drifted to Blacwin and the odd and mysterious way I felt drawn to him. When I had finally found my voice, I told him I’d call him tomorrow. Then, there was Chandler, who was he? I jerked upright—were they the ones my dad was talking about in his letter? Their sudden appearance and timing were perfect. But, they didn’t seem like bad people, mysterious and cryptic—yes, but not bad. Were they?
The lake’s ripples suddenly turned choppy. The shuddering leaves escalated into a whipping roar. Hugging myself, I watched the clouds change into a series of ugly faces. Waves lashed against the jutting rocks that lined part of the shore. Their jagged edges broke the water into a thousand droplets. Each floated away to amass themselves again, only to come back to take another blow. The ragged surface of the lake reflected the deepening dark sky, turning the water into the color of night.
I was motionless as I watched the fury of nature thrash around me. Lightning pulsed and thrust its electric tentacles toward me. But, I wasn’t afraid. I felt an odd sense of nothingness in that exact moment. The menacing surge of power that no one could control ripped every feeling from my soul.
I watched the clouds shape and reshape as if they were centerfolds searching for the perfect pose, and never finding it. It was only three in the afternoon, but it looked like it was the dead of night. The sky opened and released torrents of rain from its clutches. In seconds, I was soaked. The freezing rain numbed my skin. Thunder cracked, threatening to fracture the sky. I hugged myself tighter, but refused to leave. I couldn’t. I was utterly and completely numb and paralyzed.
The storm was glorious. I watched in awe, as if for the first time, as millions of droplets plopped into the lake. The fingers of lightning reached out for something, anything to touch. Thunder crashed again and wave after wave hammered the shore. I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to.
Someone yanked me to my feet, wrenching me from my entranced state. I was twisted around to stand face to face with Chandler. He shook my shoulders and shouted over the roar of the storm, “What the hell is wrong with you?” He bent, picked up my shoes, and dragged me toward the path. I planted my feet in the sand.
“No!” I pulled my arm from his hand. I can’t go yet. I’m not ready. “You can’t make me leave!”
“What—you want to get struck by lightning?”
“You don’t understand.” I started to cry and fell to my knees. “I can’t go. Please. Please.” Chandler hoisted me to my feet and half-carried, half-dragged me back along the path, back to my own Hell.
Wet sand was caked to me. I pushed aside my wet hair from my eyes. Chandler opened the passenger door of his car and lowered me into the seat. He ran to the driver’s side and got in. Starting the car, he cranked the heater. I refused to look at him and stared out the window. The storm didn’t calm. I knew I was safer in his car, but I never felt more exposed. I couldn’t stop crying. “What do you want? What are you doing here?”
“No ‘thank you’?”
“I didn’t ask to be rescued.”
“Are you trying to kill yourself?” he asked in a solemn voice. He met me what—four days ago; so I couldn’t understand his concern.
“And if I was, why should you care? You hardly know me.” I didn’t wait for an answer; I didn’t care what it was. “How did you know I was here? Are you, like, some creepy stalker who goes around saving damsels in distress?”
He looked down, fingering the hem of his shirt. “I followed you from the bookstore.”
“So you are stalking me. That’s great, something else, just what I need.”
“Hardly—”
“Hardly what? You know what—never mind! I don’t care!” I reached for the handle.
“Iris, wait.”
For some reason, even unknown to me, I paused with my fingertips on the handle.
“I was waiting for you to come back up the path.”
“Sounds like stalking to me.”
He ignored me. “The storm started to get bad, and you didn’t come back to your car, so I went to look for you.”
“My hero,” I mumbled. The tears had stopped. This guy had a way with me, like nothing I had ever known. I wasn’t all experienced in the guy department, but there was something about this one, he was irritating as Hell, but still, I wanted to hear what he had to say; I wanted to trust him. I was suddenly drained, and I felt hollowed out inside. I let my head fall against the headrest and it rolled to the side to face him. “What do you want, Chandler? It must be pretty important to go through all this.” I swung my arm lazily, indicating the bad weather. “I mean, following me, waiting for me, saving me and all.”
“Are you getting warm?”
I nodded.
He turned all the way in his seat to look at me. “Iris?”
“What?” I was so tired, and I felt my eyes start to close. I probably shouldn’t have, but for whatever reason, I trusted Chandler.
“I realize you don’t know me, but I need you to hear me out. All right?” His tone dropped, and he was in serious mode.
“Fine,” I whispered in exhaustion.
I heard him take a deep breath and let it out, “When I first saw you at the bookstore when you ran into me.”
I had to smile. “You love to remind me of that.”
He laughed. “Only a little.”
I felt the atmosphere in the small space change. We got closer as if drawn to each other. His voice was low, “I knew we had met before the other day.”
“Where? Didn’t you just move here?” I backed slightly away from him and settled back into the warm leather seat.
“You’re not going to remember, but for me, it’s like, I relive it every day.”
The hairs on my arms stood up a little. “I don’t understand.”
“I know, it’s complicated, and well...” He seemed almost at a loss for wor
ds, but continued, “And, it might sound a little crazy.”
“I think you might be freaking me out, but... I’m not sure.” I sounded off. Curious, anxious, worried as to what he would say next.
“I know, and I’m sorry for that. But, just hear me out okay?”
His next words sliced through the warm air, penetrating my soul, and I have never felt so cold in all of my life.
“You’re having nightmares, aren’t you?” He asked in such a nurturing way, as if preparing for me to scream, run away, or both, which was exactly what I wanted to do. But, I forced myself to stay in the car.
I didn’t say anything, but from my stunned reaction, I’m sure he knew he was on to something. Being the gentleman that he was, he didn’t acknowledge it or negate it. He let the words rest, like they were just buried in a fresh grave.
I was never a very good liar. But I forced myself to look at him. “No.” I’m sure he knew by my body language that my answer was a lie. They weren’t exactly nightmares. Nothing horrible had happened: only a girl in a scary castle. No—definitely not nightmares—so, therefore, not a lie.
He shook his head like he knew that was exactly the way I would answer. I could see what little hope he had, was now gone. What would be the purpose to acknowledge or admit that I had nightmares—scratch that—dreams? For me to simply say, “yes,” I couldn’t do it. Nothing good could come from it, and why did he care? Yet, the most important question, the one I was dying to know the answer to... but couldn’t ask, because if I did ask I would be admitting my lie, how the hell did he know? I wondered who he was and where he came from. And why? I didn’t want to know the answers to any of these questions, but I had a feeling, soon... I wouldn’t have a choice. I’d be forced to know them. And, like in the middle of the storm, I’d be sitting in the center of it, frozen.
“Iris, you can tell me. Tell me the truth, and I promise it will make everything a lot easier.”
I reached for the door handle again. I was done with this conversation, if you could call it that. I had no idea what he was trying to do, or what he knew, but as far as my involvement, it ended here.
“Please, Iris, just listen to me.”
I didn’t speak, only stared at the ring on my thumb.
“You know you are eventually going to want to talk to me.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because I know your curiosity will start eating you from the inside, unless the nightmares have already started doing that. Which, by the way you’re acting, I would guess that they are. And when, not if, they begin to be unbearable, you’ll want to talk to someone.”
I tried with all my might to ignore him, but it was hard not to hang on his every word. His words were like a sledgehammer that was so close to breaking down my walls.
“I bet you wonder why, don’t you?”
I wasn’t sure if I would ever be ready to face those crumbled bricks and let down my guard to him. But, for now I’d keep them locked away on the pages in my journal. I turned toward him. His eyes pleaded with me. He had no idea that inside I was wasting away to nothing. He knew something about the dreams and I wanted, needed, to know what it was, but not today. I looked into his light eyes, and said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I need to get home.” I opened the door and the rain poured onto me, freezing my warm skin, complementing the temperature inside me. I made a run for my car, pulled open the door and climbed in. I started the engine and pulled my door shut.
Chandler caught the door and held it firmly open. He was soaked and I was reminded of the first day we met, the first day that I remember anyway... at the bookstore. He looked vulnerable. I pulled the door hard toward me. I needed to get out of here, before I lost any more of my sanity. I could feel myself about to break down again and I wanted to be alone. I pulled harder and he fought against me; my strength nothing against his. He reached for me. “Iris—please. Just listen!”
I was running out of energy and weakness started to take over my already tired body. I slumped in the seat, put my hands on the wheel and laid my head against them. “What do you want from me?” My tears started streaming again, and they mixed with the cold rainwater running down my face.
“I don’t want anything,” he said. I heard the sorrow in his voice but it was strangled with the lie he was telling. Too exhausted to fight anymore, I pulled on the door, and this time he didn’t try to stop me.
I drove away. I looked in the rear view mirror and saw him still standing in the rain staring at me.
And then, I breathed.
10
It was four-thirty, and between helping customers, organizing the store, and checking myself in the mirror a thousand times, just in case Blacwin came in, I was busy enough not to think of anything or anyone unpleasant. Every time the bell on the door jingled, I darted around a pile of books to see if it was Blacwin. But it never was. I took out the note with his phone number. My hands shook a little as I took a deep breath and gathered as much courage as I could.
Before I changed my mind, I pressed the call button. It started to ring. I was on the verge of pushing the end button when I heard, “Hello?” His intoxicating voice was the true sense of reality and closeness.
I was paralyzed by his simple hello. What do I say? Crap! “How ’bout that date?” Yeah, right. It would be nice not to have been so impulsive—to have some sort of plan of action, or even a simple greeting to avoid that moment of feeling like a total ass.
“Hello?” he said again.
“Hi!” I finally blurted out. What if he was just kidding or, worse, just trying to be nice? Nausea began its sick little dance in my stomach, and I knew I should have hung up when I had the chance.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” My voice was neither excited nor nervous. Bland... bland would definitely be the verb.
“You said that.” His voice was tinged with humor, a reaction to my talent for being so inept. The line quiet for a few beats between us. I found myself caught in a net of indecision. One side of my brain, the analytical side, wanted to hang up and forget I was ever this stupid. But the delusional side of my mushy gray matter, wanted the girly-wistful-lustful side of my brain to say, “This is Iris, from the bookstore... yesterday.”
He chuckled. “I know. I hoped it was you.”
“It is.” God, where was my nerve? How the hell had he melted me like Snow always did whenever any “hot” guy was in her proximity?
“I’m fine.” Crap! Had he asked how I was?
Not missing a beat, he asked, “That’s what I was going to ask next.” The chuckle under his breath answered so much. With only that small noise, my nerves calmed and brought me back to the moment.
I said, too quickly, as I tucked hair that didn’t need to be tucked behind my ear. “I, um... was thinking maybe later today I could give you that tour.”
“Good.” With that single word, the nausea in my stomach dissipated and was replaced with a thousand tiny switchblade knives flicking open. No guy had ever induced so many emotions in me in such a short amount of time. “Are you working?”
Switchblades: open, close, open, close, open, close. “Yes.”
“Great. How about I pick you up when you get off at the bookstore—or would you prefer your house?” he asked.
“It’s one and the same.”
“Is there, like, a cot set up in the back or something?”
“No. I live in the apartment above the bookshop.” Completely breaking my promise to Snow, I told him exactly where I lived.
“I see. Okay then, what time should I be there?”
“Five-thirty?”
“Okay. See you then.”
The two sides of my brain suddenly merged, coherent thoughts once again flowed, and I said, “Six. Six would be better. The scent of old books is only sexy in the bookstore.” Crap! I did not just say that aloud.
On the other end, I heard light laughter. Yep—the words left my mouth and fluttered through the air like a
butterfly with iron wings. “Then, I’ll see you at six,” Blacwin said.
“Okay.” I finally took a deep breath.
It wasn’t until I hit the end button that I realized just what had transpired in the ninety-second conversation. Aside from my mouth being perfectly dry and desperately in need of a drink, I wanted to bang my head against the wall. Instead, I headed back toward the front of the store. On my way, I tripped over a pile of books. Like dominos, they knocked over another stack and another.
“Iris,” called Mr. Yves, “are you all right?”
“Yes,” I said. “Fine.”
I spent the next half hour straightening my mess, just in time for closing.
With only a few items of clothing to choose from, I sifted through the closet for something appropriate for tour giving. I settled for a light-colored sleeveless dress. The top of it fit like a corset while the bottom flared out at the waist. It was the perfect dainty dress for heels, but I settled on my Doc Martens boots. A little grunge never hurt anyone. Besides, when touring, even a small speck on the map like our town, a girl should be comfortable. The tiny switchblades returned. I concentrated on the laces of my boots and tried to ignore the open and closing of them.
I draped over my neck a long, dark, beaded necklace with a thick cross hanging from it, and then I grabbed my purse and raced downstairs. Blacwin would be here in a few minutes. A Jeep came around the corner, its tires grumbled on the cobblestone street. When it stopped in front of me, the passenger side window slid down to reveal Blacwin, the definition of gorgeous.
“Hi,” he said, smiling at me. “Come on, get in. Show me around this fine town of ours.”
Ours. Each smooth word was etched with huskiness around the edges. The combination was intoxicating. If he’d said, “Iris, please take off your clothes,” instead of telling me to get into his Jeep, I think I just might have stripped right down to my boots. Jostling the thought from my head, I grabbed my bag and climbed into the Jeep.