“Show me,” she whispered, and her words were harsh and dry.
She waited for his response and received only his touch, his familiarity penetrating her, his fingers in her hair, his mouth on her neck, and his arms linked across her back. She could feel his chest expand as if he was about to speak, until an alarm sounded, violent, jolting her from her stupor.
chapter 51
AS SOPHIE’S TRANCE DEEPENED, she was aware of her surroundings, yet was unaffected by it. With her eyes closed, the rest of her senses came alive — the crisp scent of white sheets, the woman’s sweat, a candle scent, the slight movement of air as her hostess moved around the room.
She felt a flat weight on her chest, like a lead blanket from a dentist’s office and was shown the hours the woman had spent re-creating the design in fabric, the weight of the materials over her knees as she worked, the ancient pattern coming to life, circles within circles, the pattern now complete.
Sophie breathed and felt, sensing a metallic release, the woman’s pause, a light click of metal on wood, alcohol, a small pinch and finally, the weight of the woman’s hand on her heart.
Sophie breathed, the relaxation coming easy to her, even easier now. She heard the woman’s voice, a low hum, familiar, ancient words, seeking acceptance.
“Yes,” Sophie answered, and the woman continued, the primeval pattern and the words melding together, crafted and agreed upon thirty-five years before, the culmination of Sophie’s desire. Yes.
Sophie imagined that the white walls had melted into the earthy-red glow of the setting sun, and as the light faded, the woman’s voice became more resonant, transforming.
Yes.
The woman’s voice slowed and Sophie answered by resting her left hand in the woman’s right, and the desire in her heart combined with their touch in mystical manifestation.
Yes.
One last time and Sophie rose upward, out of her body, through the circles of time, circles upon circles, past the skylight into the face of the blushing sun, the last to hear her request. As she rose higher, the house in which she lay became a spec floating in a massive sea of green, and the sun was replaced with silence.
Sophie thought about Althea and her greatest love, and how she had done it, how it would all be worth it, and as the light became broader and more diffuse, she saw the grey silhouettes standing tall, ready to greet her, just as she had imagined.
Yes.
• • •
IN THE SMALL ROOM, now fading into smudge grey, the woman knelt over Sophie’s lifeless body, one hand on Sophie’s stilled heart, and the other over her own face, to stifle her sobs.
chapter 52
ALTHEA STOOD SWAYING in front of the phone in her bedroom, staring at the number that was calling. It rang twice, three times then a short ring to say that the caller was leaving a message. She picked up the phone and listened to Ivana’s voice asking her if she was okay, asking her for lunch when things settled down. Half way through the message, she unplugged the phone and staggered to her bed. Ivana didn’t matter any more.
Staring at the ceiling with blank, glassy eyes, she realized what she had known for days: Sophie wasn’t coming home. She was alone. With Him. With Sophie’s lies. With her own madness. She wouldn’t fight it any more.
She sank into her mattress, waiting for him, wanting him there, though he had never come to her in the daytime before. She blinked and cool viscous air filled her lungs and like a feather my love passed over her cheek, and she turned toward him knows me closing her eyes and opening her arms, and there he was, taking shape, solid, his scent warm, moist and rich. Sweet, almost floral, but not like any flower she had ever known. Her love.
She wanted him now. She wanted to escape, be absorbed into his reality. This time, her hands searched his face, his body, an urgency rising inside her. This was what she wished for, when she wished upon the moon. This was her new home. Now that she knew, she wanted him to be with her in every way, wanted him inside her, this man who had been haunting her for years, first at a distance and then when she slept. Her hands moved over him, pulling him to life.
“Look at me,” he whispered, his breath hot in her ear, but she was no longer interested in words, didn’t care about explanations. She had asked to meet a soul mate, she had asked to be happy, for things to be easier in her life, and instead, Sophie disappeared into a fusion of lies, she lost Vince and her job, she felt inside others, she found Him and if this was to be her life, then so be it.
As he materialized, he became heavier, and she pulled him to the floor and opened her legs for him, pulling him on top of her, willing his body to take shape so he could slip fully inside her wetness, penetrating her deeply, sliding over her as he thrust and her hips ground against him, rocking them until she orgasmed in pulsating waves.
The harder she tried to make love with him, the more he slipped away. He was inconsistent and ever changing, just out of her reach. She was impatient and her movements became rougher, more insistent, until he pinned her to the mattress and she collapsed, exhausted, crying in his arms, and time slipped away.
• • •
SHE GOT UP FROM bed once in those hours, and it was like leaving a lover to death’s slumber, the pain so severe, she couldn’t wait to return. As the day went on, the more she believed in him, and the more real he became.
When he lay next to her, she could feel him in her pores, the crevices of her body, her sex, joining them together. Look at me, he’d say again, but she remembered the pain, and so the times she was with him, when they touched each other, her eyes remained closed. Part of her was afraid of what she’d see. Part of her was afraid of what she’d feel. The truth was simpler. She was afraid that when she opened her eyes, he’d be gone.
Show me, she said, because if she couldn’t have him inside her, then she wanted to know why Show yourself he whispered as his lips trailed over her hair. He hummed softly until she drifted to a place where the grey of night dissolved into shimmering gold, and she felt herself falling, her face tilted up until the pressure on the soles of her feet found herself standing slipping
into her dream-world
a rip in reality, the row of silhouettes walking toward her on golden, pulsating stairs. The tallest figure took her hand and she looked up at it. The demon had no eyes and as she stepped away, it clutched her hand firmly and pulled her forward. The walls glistened and shimmered and while there was no music, there was a rhythm to it all, and when they approach the center of the room, the demon turned to her, its right arm as quick as a lash, clinging to the center of her back, and his left holding her hand up delicately. A scent rose from its body, hot and metallic, though the touch of its hand was like ice. She was repulsed.
She stared over its shoulder and saw that, emerging from the pulsing wall, the other shadow figures gathered, forming a perfect circle.
The demon’s right leg moved against her left and she stepped back. It pulled her around in a tight curve and she stumbled, until she realized that what it was doing was leading her. Not able to break free, she surrendered to the sea of simple movements, around and around in endless circles, spinning faster, a sequence of glowing spirals trailing in their wake.
As her dancer held her, she was infused with sadness as if her limbs were filling with liquid. The demon then let her spin out, releasing her hand suddenly so that she felt completely off balance. With its release, her sadness lessened and a new figure stepped in, this one shorter and softer, but with the smell of towels that had been damp for too long. In its presence she felt wracked with a feeling which exploded in a cascade so acute she wished she could disappear. This was Guilt.
This dancer was older, she felt, possibly ancient, yet nimble, its power toxic. Guilt held her still, until another perched on her shoulder, one limb moving down her arm playfully, a request, a flirtation, and when she felt this one, its depth, its menace and power, a scream rose in her throat and she struggled, for this was Shame, asking for her hand.
• • •
HER WAKING HOURS BELONGED to Him. Her dreams were of the dance. Time ceased to matter and Althea released her previous world, the facts, the people, the experiences within it, the pain of betrayal, the blackness of death, releasing even Sophie whose body lay lifeless many miles away, a sacrifice to fuel her own desire.
chapter 53
ALTHEA HADN’T SLEPT A full night since the night she wished on a full moon. She stood at her living room window gazing out. Searching, really. He stood behind her, quiet, steady, unwavering. She closed her eyes and then opened them, a slow motion blink. There was a slight chill in the air. The window pane blurred with the touch of her breath.
She felt the familiar sexual arousal that he stirred in her so quickly, there for a moment, then gone.
Not now. Need focus.
She tipped her head back until she touched his shoulder and his hand wrapped securely around her waist. Her eyes darted out, past the moon, over the horizon, catching on a shadow and her heart leapt. This was new. Pulling away, she pushed her nose to the window, the flat of her hand making marks on the glass, the smooth surface cool against her palms.
Her eyes narrowed. She thought she saw a smudge-black figure crouched under the window of the veranda. A glimpse of (too) white skin as the figure shifted and glanced up toward her. She was emotionally drawn to the figure, her senses were awake. This one felt different than the others.
To see more clearly, she stood on her toes, looking down the brick wall at the space between it and the veranda’s wide, flat roof. She was aware of his arms gripping her, holding her back.
She reached for the window latch, she wanted to see, and his hands, usually so gentle, threw her to the floor. She looked at the rug under her hands, lavender and blue and cream. So pretty, she thought. She remembered when she restored it, a lifetime ago, now so unreal.
His voice was patient.
“Not this way.”
“How?”
“You know.” The tears came and they were hot, painful, and healing, a culmination of frustration and exhaustion. He gathered underneath her, lifting her and as her face pressed into him, she knotted her hands into fists.
“My love.” he kissed her salty cheeks, her temples, her eyes. She had wanted to look outside for answers. She had wanted him inside her, to help her forget.
All he’d ever wanted was for Althea to look at him. May I have this dance?
She collapsed into him and a small whimper escaped her lips. “I’m so tired,” she said, “Too tired.” He enveloped her body with softness, and she marveled at how he felt. He was weightless and soft, yet utterly real. His soft scent lingered in her nostrils. Curled in his arms, she traced his face with her fingertips. Real. He kissed her softly, their kiss intensifying, tongues intertwined, pressure between her legs that grew, hardened. Real. She wanted him more than she ever had. More than the mundane reality of her previous life. More than life itself.
As the tears coursed out of her, she opened to him completely, and he suckled her lips like a baby, moved down her neck, and sprinkled her breasts with nibbles. Childlike, he clung to her, and suddenly tiring of her breasts, displaying a child’s impatience and an adult’s resolution and skill, he formed between her legs, gently sucking her, his tongue deep, bringing her to orgasm. As the exquisite waves shook her body, she surrendered to him completely, her threadbare defenses dissolving into fleeting shadows under the moon’s glow.
She cried and he cradled her, her mother now, rocking her to sleep, humming to her, stroking her hair. Her love, her protector, her strength. Hers and his, all his and hers. Real.
Time passed.
Later, Althea opened her eyes, her face bathed in the glow of the moon. He lay behind her, silent. Within her heart sprung still, fervent resolve and a new openness which was vulnerable, without apology and without excuse.
In the past few days, Althea had fought harder, and had cried more than she ever had in her life. But now, the tears were different. They were coming from a different place. She knew. Now she knew. What she needed to do. Show yourself.
It took some time for Althea to go to sleep that night. She knew that the dance was about to become real.
chapter 54
THE DANCE, SHE HAD learned, was a dream, but not a dream. She would wake up feeling hung over after the dance, with the tender pink feeling of just having sex.
Tomorrow, she may not wake up at all.
Althea was dancing, the hand of her partner like cold iron in the center of her back. She knew He was watching her. She could feel his gaze. It was warm and it was sad. He wanted to protect her. Some-times, he leaned forward, attentively and sometimes, he crouched in the shadows. Sometimes, he withdrew as if he could not bear to watch. She understood that he was responding to her, and even though she danced apart from him, she knew that they were engaged in a dance all their own.
Around and around they spun, quick, impossible steps, steps she knew intimately. Her feet moved with her dancer, practised and swift. She knew this one intimately, could feel its power. Rage. Insidious, deadly and fruitless all at once, yet working to find a permanent place in her heart.
As they spun, others gathered, silent forms, many shades of grey. Some were lithe and lean and light on their feet, while others possessed a quiet toxicity, lying in wait. Anger, Shame, Denial wished to dance, while Sadness, a light grey veil, stayed with her, perched on the small of her back like a newborn child. Never far away, Fear was her constant companion, for Fear was their ringleader — the beginning and end of it all.
Tonight, her eyes were closed, meditative, trancelike, feeling everything the demons brought with them, yet alone with her own resolve. She knew they sensed it. Their dance was more complex, frenetic. She knew they wanted her to fight, to resist and that their power increased when she did. She could sense that her calm was unnerving to them.
“You know,” he had said. Now she did. Watch me.
In the corner of the room, she sensed he was standing, his green eyes wide and fixed on her.
She threw her head back.
Like a child again on a swing and for a moment she felt the freedom, the head rush, her face glowing pink, her long red-gold hair hanging loose. Her heart opened, and as she surrendered to them, she felt a warm lightness, more powerful than the demons that held her, healing, and as she filled herself up, she was spinning, the air around her thick and watery, pulling her into black.
chapter 55
ALTHEA’S NOSE WAS COLD. She walked and breathed into the cup of her hand, distributing warmth. The vanilla sun was suspended in perfect crystal aquamarine. She looked down at her feet, which were bare.
She slowly became aware of her body. Though she was moving, she felt as if she was just waking up. Refreshed, but like she needed to stretch. She didn’t know where she was, but she wasn’t afraid. She knew she’d receive everything she needed here.
The earth under her feet was soft. She was walking on a narrow path lined with rocks, and mounds of black earth. When she came to a fork in the path, she made an instinctive turn to the right, and followed a steep incline, the ground seeming to alter under her feet, green and lush. She stepped into a circular clearing surrounded by more rocks, the deciduous trees she grew up with and a tawny-red bench in the middle of the clearing. A figure stood as she approached.
“You’re on your way, li’l miss.” The brilliant white smile, the familiar nickname, the wide vowels and singsong lilt. She looked into Albert’s eyes.
“On our way where?”
“A place far, faaar away.” he chuckled. Althea hugged him, pressing her face into his rough wool coat, inhaling his warm pipe smell. Obviously, she was still dreaming. But she liked this dream better.
“No, wee one, this isn’t a dream. This is as real as it gets.”
“I’ve missed you.” Her eyes were teary, but she felt at peace. She knew he was here to guide her.
“That’s right, I’ve been your guide for some time no
w. Ever since you were a wee one. There’s a few of us rooting for you.” His eyes twinkled. “But today, I’ve been granted the opportunity to answer some of your questions. You’re one lucky girl.”
“Where are we?” Albert laughed, a rolling chuckle building in his chest, his head thrown back in such a familiar way, that Althea’s heart ached.
“Well that’s just like you to forge ahead, isn’t it? I’m not sure if I can answer that the way you want, but I can tell you a bit about why we’re here. Is that okay with you?” Wondering if she had any real choice in the matter, Althea nodded.
“Oh yes, you have choice, wee one. Lots of that here. But first, let’s talk about your mother.” They sat down on the bench together, and she held Albert’s hand, which was strong and rough.
“She chose me.” Althea said.
“Go back further.” Albert said.
“G.”
“Now we’re cookin’.”
“Sophie loved him.”
“Yes.”
“He was a musician.”
“Yes. Gregory was a talented piano player. He had just started playing with us back then, and he was soooo wet behind the ears. Sophie sang with the band. She had such a voice. Played piano, too. It broke my heart when she stopped.”
“And he was married —”
“Yes he was. I don’t believe he would have left his family for Sophie. She was, by the definition of the day, not always the proper girl next door.”
“What happened?”
“Gregory was an American, who spent the summer with the band. He was kind of a naïve ladies man, thought it’d all work out, didn’t think much at all really,” Albert chuckled. “When Sophie got pregnant, she wanted to be with him. When he wouldn’t leave his family, she was devastated.”
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