The Key (Sanguinem Emere)

by Taxer, Carmen

  I pity his ignorance.

  He seems to draw in a deep, deliberately silent breath and the only reason I notice it is due to his shoulders moving, “Okay. Three other women. I’m not going to pretend to support this. I’m really not going to. But I do trust you. Marginally more than Cecily; but I trust you. And when,” he closes his eyes before continuing, “if this falls apart, I will be here for you. Just as I was earlier this year.”

  He folds his arms and staples a smile over his lips as a shaky, uncertain Delilah reappears with three cocktails. A sure sign that he is done lecturing.

  “I got us three Long Islands; hope nobody minds?” Delilah enquires unsteadily, glancing specifically at my brother and averting her gaze from my own.

  “Actually, I think I’m gonna head off, Ladies,” The glance Alexander throws in my direction is somewhat less than friendly and as much as I would love to beg his forgiveness, telling him I understand his disapproval, the sting of his earlier words and the knowledge that Dimitri would never treat me like that makes me remain silent.

  Delilah stays quiet, a simple nod of solidarity with my pain (or perhaps she’s just too afraid to speak) and after tense moments of silence, he seems to catch the hint and walks away from the table, his head shaking. The look he throws the two of us as he turns, though, has my head spinning with nausea.

  An awkward moment of stillness settles over my friend and I as we sit uncomfortably in each other’s company. I want to tell her I think she’s a nosy bitch and should mind her own business. Stop interfering in mine. But I know she was only trying to help.

  I should have told Alex two days ago. I knew when I received that phone call. Even if I refused to admit it then and still wish I could deny it.

  I look up from my nails to find Delilah watching me, a Long Island in her hand with the straw half way to her lips but moving no further. She puts the drink down slowly and wipes her hands on her skirt, looking busy, trying to straighten the crinkled fabric. It is second nature for me to spot the slight tremble in her fingers as she repeats the motion painfully, achingly slowly.

  Anything not to look at me.

  “He would have been angry even if he didn’t know that part,” My voice is flat, monotonous. Like I’m relating a fact I have no faith in, and as she flinches imperceptibly, it becomes clear to me that my emotions are laid almost as bare to her as hers are to me. I will have to make a much greater effort if I am to disguise my anger at her.

  I pick up one of the other two lonely drinks set on the table, trying to ignore the ache in my gut as I think about the opportunity I may have had to converse face-to-face with my brother after six months of not seeing each other. With determination not to further alienate myself from those trying to protect me I raise the glass to Delilah, cocking my head slightly, wearily, to garner her attention.

  She looks up at me with uncertainty on her face.

  “To new beginnings?” There, that’s better. Emotion and even a bit of a smile behind my tone. I can be forgiving when the situation calls for it. Even if it isn’t really in my nature.

  She clinks her glass with mine, a winsome smile on her lips. A moment ticks by. And her face falls again.

  “What are we going to do about your job?”

  An ice cube slips down my throat like a glacier making its steady path to my intestines which knot and bend uncomfortably.

  “Fuck knows.”

  “Eva!”

  “I’m sorry,” I shut my eyes painfully tight and pinch the bridge of my nose, a gesture uncomfortably reminiscent of Alexander, “There is nothing else available. I’ve tried before. Every publication I can think of-”

  A magazine cover, shiny, new and in need of better reporting floats to the forefront of my mind.

  Her hand squeezes my knee, “What is it?”

  “Bordeaux! Why didn’t it occur to me earlier?”

  Delilah’s green eyes turn blindingly cynical from the near excitement she had been emanating at my interrupted thought process a moment ago. “Not to be sceptical, Duckling, but don’t they suck?”

  I have to laugh at the drop in her eloquent speech as I consider her words. “Yes, yes they do. But with me on their staff, they won’t.”

  Delilah smiles brightly at me from beneath her blonde bangs, “Now there’s the twinkle I’ve missed.”

  I shoo her flapping cheek-pinch away from my face as I feign annoyance.

  “My self-confidence has been here the entire time. Just buried under the stress of working for Grant “the douchebag” Helmsley.”

  She giggles at me and gulps down a large quantity of her Ice Tea. The shakiness in her hands has subsided and it occurs to me – she was not entirely concerned that I may be angry with her. I imagine now that part of her concern had to do with my future at the loss of my job once Dimitri finds out. Can the consequences really be that severe?

  “D?”

  “Mmm?”

  “I woke up with roses by my bed again this morning.”

  Delilah’s silence is uncomfortable, but I press on, “That’s every morning now. Who keeps putting them there?”

  “Who else? Dimitri, of course.”

  I’m not sure how to respond to that. Thankfully, my friend – barely disguising her blazing jealousy – does it for me, “Melinda says he picks them every night.”

  “Oh,” My mind races. “But how does she know that?”

  Delilah watches me carefully over her glass, “He used to pick them for her, Darling.”

  TUESDAY 18 November 2008… 15:30

  The weight of my decisions looms over me like some sort of monstrous, devastating tsunami. I know the consequences will be dire and somehow I feel that they should be after all that has come to pass. Dimitri has granted me the privilege of being of use to him and remaining in his company and how do I repay him? I quit my job. If he were to toss me away from him, I would deserve it. The greater punishment is knowing that I failed at the task he set for me and that I have disappointed him.

  Delilah’s hesitancy to have the subject broached at all concerns me more. When I enquired as to why she seems so distressed at the topic of conversation (after all, I did send off the notice to Bordeaux that I, Eva Wright, once a much sought-after trinket, am in the market for work) she simply smiled distractedly and offered to buy me another round.

  I assumed the best course of action at the time was to let her be. She would most likely calm down once the reality of the predicament settled in. It’s just a job. And my editor was being unreasonable. Dimitri will understand.

  He will.

  Now, though, the truth weighs on me. The facts are simple. I set out to do something for him. And instead, not only did I not achieve it, but I put myself in a position wherein I will be unable to achieve it for an indefinite amount of time.

  The same fear that I noticed rippling across Delilah’s face settles itself alongside my veins.

  The kitchen around me feels suffocating as Delilah and I sit in silence. At one point I deliberate on where Cecily has run off to, but my companion seems unconcerned by that issue and so I remain silent, except to stand and make us coffee.

  Already dressed and awaiting Dimitri’s return home, there seems little for us to do. If I had succeeded today then I would be sitting here with a great deal of work to complete, but now it seems fruitless to even check my P.D.A. for what would amount to the twelfth time since I sent the email to Bordeaux’s offices, hoping that I may have received a response.

  At some point during our silent vigil, Delilah stood to turn on the radio. It seems as though hours upon hours of eighties hits have been playing, trying in vain to cheer us up. Madonna’s voice twittering the lyrics to Like a Prayer begs through the speakers, slightly distorted by the acoustics in here.

  I can’t help it. I sigh. The irony of the words is not lost on me.

  Somewhere in the house a door slams shut with a deafening vibration. A filthy curse which I will most likely never repeat rebounds against the wall
s as Delilah’s coffee cup spills over, dumping lukewarm caffeine all over her skirt.

  “Jeez,” She mutters, trying to soak up the stain before it becomes a mark on her beautiful charcoal dress, “I’m going to get changed. If he gets here before I’m back, cover for me.”

  With that she sashays grumpily from the room.

  Her tone stings somewhat. Like her near silence for the last six hours is my fault. Which it is. I don’t want her to blame me for what is clearly not my fault, but I do. So it only adds up that everyone around me must as well.

  I watch her leave with heightened fear. She’s just trying to get away from me, like I’ve contracted something hideous and contagious.

  For the first time since her party, I consider how responsible she is for me being here, for my place under Dimitri’s umbrella. If she has been intrinsic to my injection into this story, then it stands to reason that she will be held responsible as much as what I am for my faults.

  I sigh again and try to sponge up the coffee slowly spilling over the counter top in a steady drip, but all it does is make me feel sick. Like fate is ticking away the seconds for me. At every new minute I find myself checking the watch, wondering when Dimitri will return, when my future will be decided. Last night all I wanted was to see him. Now all I want is a reprieve, some sort of sign that the stars are on my side in this.

  My anxiety eats away at the stability I have been spending the entire day on, and as the sound of another door slamming reaches my ears I swing my head up in reaction and another resounding thud echoes through the room as a warm, throbbing pain settles in at the crown of my head and radiates outward.

  Trust me to go and clunk myself in the head. Now. This is the last goddamned thing I need. Can’t even clean a broken mug off the floor without injuring myself.

  Agonised I sink down to the coolness of the floor onto my forearms and lay my forehead against the tiles.

  Dear God, that burns!

  It’s bleeding. Something warm slithers between the roots of my hair and settles over the area of impact in a slowly chilling, heavy, sticky blanket.

  Gingerly I open my eyes and the kitchen blurs for a moment before nausea and an odd vertigo creep over my head and I shut them again tightly. This is just what I need, for Dimitri to have another reason to be unhappy with me.

  I am unable to stand or even open my eyes and I probably have a beautiful red patch on top of my head.

  Trying not to move too much in fear that sudden action will have me letting loose the stream of unhappiness my stomach is currently churning about, I pull myself up using the counter above me and slowly draw my eyes open so that all I can see through is a vague slit. I dab my fingers tenderly to the wound which stings at the attention and am unsurprised, but also irritated to find that yes, my hands are tipped in blood. Still very wet in areas, which indicates that most likely I hit my head a lot harder than I thought.

  “Eva! What the hell?” A voice behind me utters in exclamation. I can virtually feel my nerves shatter their last tether as I spin around and my eyes fixate on Cecily for a split second before the vertigo kicks in again and I slide over sideways, catching myself on the counter to prevent yet another disaster.

  I’m not going to fight it. I slide down to the kitchen floor again and lean my head against one of the counter legs.

  Ow, goddammit. Ow!

  Hands fall across my shoulders and slide down beneath my arms to help me up. “What happened?” Cecily’s voice sounds like a thousand primitive drums in my ear and I shush her desperately.

  “Just, give me a minute,” I cringe at the movement of my jaw as it makes the ache in my head so much words, “Uh, God, it hurts.”

  “Maybe you should lie down.”

  “No. I need to be here when Dimitri gets back.”

  “He won’t be here for at least another hour. Come on.”

  I don’t question her sensibility, rather I let her lead me, practically blind as I shut my eyes tightly to block out all sight, wishing I could block out all sound as well.

  She sets me down on something soft and leathery, a sofa I think, and promises to return in a moment with something to clean me up. I don’t want to know why, but I do remember somebody telling me once that head wounds bleed really badly even though their effects may not be as dire. Will my injury earn me a slight reprieve from Dimitri’s anger?

  Hands shake me and someone plays a cruel drumbeat on the top of my head as I flutter my eyes open again.

  “Eva!”

  I look up into Cecily’s concerned face as Delilah’s hand unclenches from my shoulder.

  Groaning, I glare at the both of them, “Could you two please keep your yelling to a minimum?”

  “You fell asleep,” Delilah states in a reedy, overwrought tone, “We were worried you may have concussion or something.”

  “Yeah, well, since I woke up when you screamed at me, I probably don’t. So relax.”

  “How do you know? What do you know about concussion?”

  “Absolutely nothing.” Memories of the day creep over me like someone has just opened a window onto an ice cold evening, “Is Dimitri here yet?”

  “No, stop worrying, you’re going to give yourself face crinkles.” Cecily’s voice sounds suspiciously like what mine used to when I would pull the age card over her during our numerous arguments. Almost as though our roles have switched just for this moment in time.

  “D told you?” The question earns me an accusatory glance from Delilah as she clearly mistakes my grimace of pain for a look of annoyance.

  “She did.”

  “Are you mad at me too?”

  Cecily ceases her fidgeting at my head. I can feel something warm trickling through my hair; hopefully it’s water this time. She glances into my eyes with surprise and what looks a bit like hurt, “No one is angry with you.”

  “But he will be.”

  “Maybe,” She continues her work on my head, speaking off-hand as though her failure to note my need for a denial of my statement is not driving knives through my lungs, “He can be unpredictable sometimes. But he wants us to succeed. And he will give us many opportunities before he loses his patience.”

  She smiles at me and I can feel the warmth of her sunshine contentment thawing my chilled blood.

  “But I have failed him.”

  “Yes, but there is always tomorrow. He is kinder than we give him credit for at times.”

  At that moment the door is slammed open and a starburst sparks like a firework in front of my eyes as another needle of agony shoots into my skull at the blast of noise.

  Levi lopes into the room, his hair lank around his face, but still immaculately curling.

  Cecily rolls her eyes at me before she turns to him, a perfect, petite little smile plastered over her pretty face.

  “We were not done talking,” He mutters as he virtually ignores Delilah and I. “Miss Von Hagt has verified your location as of this afternoon and I do feel the Master will be somewhat displeased with this information.”

  Now that he has mentioned her, I notice Melinda lurking behind him, just beyond the reach of the door. Her face bears a striking resemblance to an alley cat having spotted a fat, alley rat.

  For the briefest of moments, so quick that I believe I may be the only one in the room to have noted it, Cecily’s eyes cinch closer together and her lower lip trembles. I want to reach out for her as the unknown fear becomes apparent, but even in my nonsensical state I can see that drawing attention to her discomfort may not be the most effective way of dealing with the issue.

  “Can we discuss this somewhere else?” Cecily queries softly as she turns to look at the offending man.

  “Very well. I will meet you and Miss Von Hagt in the study.”

  His tone is final and Cecily evidently registers this as she leaves the room, meekly; not glancing in mine or Delilah’s direction as she goes. When she is out the door, Levi turns to us and states, “The Master has business to attend to and will only b
e available a bit later.”

  He looks me up and down, lying on the sofa with pink water dripping down my face from a towel on my head, “He will attend to you at his leisure. Perhaps you should get some rest, Miss Wright. Unless you would like me to arrange for some medical assistance?” He kneels down beside me, near shunting Cess out of the way, wringing out the towel and replacing it gently

  I shake my head rapidly, causing the brooding ache to flare to life once more. “No. I’ll be fine, thank you.”

  He nods and leaves, pulling the door shut heavily enough for it to slam. I clutch my head as Delilah sighs.

  “Right, let’s get you into bed. I will explain the situation to Dimitri when he makes his rounds.”

  “I’ll be fine, D.”

  “You know, you keep saying that to me, but really, I’m not seeing any improvement,” Her voice is hard and cynical and it hurts my sensibilities to hear it. She’s not referring just to the aching globe that is my head.

  I turn my face away from her. I’d rather prefer to nod in agreement than argue with a decision-laden Delilah.

  She assists me to stand, her hands somewhat less than gentle as we limp together on the long journey toward my room. Delilah remains moderately silent the entire way, and while I would normally be distraught at her anger with me, her hand around my shoulder frequently strokes the bare skin there in a nurturing gesture, indicating her affection and concern. She can’t be that angry with me.

  I relax a little.

  Finally we reach the door to my quarters and, I have to admit, if we had taken even one step further, I would have been whining for a pain killer or a tranquiliser. Every jarring footstep rocks through my skull like a mushroom bomb. My head feels like it’ll drop off of my shoulders at any moment without warning and bounce down the stairs. A macabre basketball.

  Delilah tucks me into bed and turns the bedside lamp down to a dim glow, just enough so that I don’t wake in utter darkness again. Once she has administered to me as far as she can she leaves the room. I don’t stop her to talk.

  I just want to forget the hours behind me. And as ashamed as I am of the fact, I will gladly allow her to tell Dimitri about what transpired this day. Rather that, than having to tell him myself, toes nervously scraping over the floor, eyes avoided, hands clasped in shame.