“Am I right to continue my studies here on the eastern shore?”
“Am I choosing the right career?”
“Will I fall in love?”
“Will he be handsome?”
In her mind she giggled at herself over the last question and just as she did, she noticed a darkened doorway right between the Whack a Mole and the Balloon Burst on her right. How could she not have seen this before? She had probably broken a record on how many times someone can play Whack a Mole consecutively and she had not seen this? The only reason she could think of was that she had been so intent on playing the game that this place hadn’t even entered her visual field. After all, how could anyone even be interested in a place like this? No light shone over the doorway, no one stood outside beckoning you to enter, no prizes hung enticingly from the wooden frame around the building… nothing. As she stood there staring at the wooden doorway, she noticed the sign hanging above the door. Madame Bouvier, Psychic, by referral only. It certainly wasn’t very impressive and it was never going to attract a crowd. Marissa hesitated wondering if the card she possessed would be considered the referral needed to enter. Maybe the place was closed; maybe she should come back at a later time. Doubts clouded her mind now that she was actually there and she turned to walk away. Just as she turned, the door creaked open and there stood a tall, statuesque woman with the most penetrating green eyes Marissa had ever seen. She stood there, staring at Marissa.
“So,” she said with a deep voice so heavy with an accent that it made the statement sound almost haughty, then softer, “So, you have come.”
Marissa stood mesmerized by her eyes and reached for the smooth, cool hand the other woman offered to her.
“I can tell I have much to tell you my dear, come with me. You have the card, no?”
“Yes,” answered Marissa breathlessly. Suddenly, as she crossed the threshold, she felt light headed and dizzy and longed for a place to sit down.
The woman led her inside to a small table draped with a black velvet cloth and spread with tarot cards that held some of the most beautiful art work Marissa had ever seen. As she reached out to touch one, Madame Bouvier gently grabbed her hand and said to her, “All in good time my dear, all in good time. Can I have the card please?”
“Card?” Marissa asked, momentarily confused.
“Yes, the card that my brother gave to you, the referral card…” the woman purred.
Her brother? Marissa thought these two were as different as night and day. He with his old shoe leather face and she with glowing ivory skin and penetrating green eyes opposed to his bright blue ones. The only resemblance she could see was the thick ebony hair they both shared. Digging in her fanny pack she retrieved the card he had given her and handed it to the psychic who was now seated across the table from her. The smell of incense wafted across to her nose and the scent of sandalwood calmed her somewhat. As she glanced around the darkened room, she noticed a crystal ball set on an elaborate wooden stand in one corner, in another corner of the room was a dark red velvet settee. In sharp contrast to its blood red color, lay a white cat, cleaning itself intently and ignoring the two of them completely.
Madam Bouvier cleared her throat bringing Marissa’s attention back to her.
“I am very happy you have come. My brother sends only the best referrals my way,” she crooned staring at Marissa intently.
“Is this magic?” Marissa inquired.
The psychic visibly stiffened, not saying a word for several seconds. Two bright red spots appeared on her cheeks and the anger was clear in her flashing green eyes.
“Magic? Blaspheme! I don’t dabble in magic! This is a gift from God Almighty! I was blessed with this ability, not cursed!” she replied, visibly offended.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend you! I have never been to a psychic before and didn’t know!” Marissa insisted.
Madame Bouvier took several deep breaths, seeming to deflate with each one. “No,” she sighed, “I apologize my dear; I am a foolish old woman who lets her emotions get the best of her sometimes. I am just so excited you are here and now I make a fool of myself. Please forgive me and let’s get started, no?”
“Yes!” Marissa replied, feeling the excitement rush back into her.
Now when the woman, who seemed to age overnight, reached for her hands, they were no longer the long, beautiful hands she had offered Marissa outside. Now they were twisted and bent like the branches of an old tree. Her knuckles were gnarled and swollen and her fingers had what looked like a bluish tinge to them. Surely it was the light. Marissa stared at her as her eyes closed and she seemed to slip into a trance.
“He comes!” she whispered euphorically.
“HE COMES!” she shouted, now rocking back and forth.
Marissa jumped and she asked in confusion, “Who comes? Your brother?”
“Hush!” exclaimed the old woman. “You must listen to me! He will come to you, and he will love you, the same as he has always loved you. He will love you deeply and treat you like the treasure you are to him. You will not be able to fight it. You will love him also, the same as you have for all eternity. The two of you will fight side by side yet again! He will sweep you off of your feet, but be warned! The other has not given up. He will try once again to stop it. Pay no mind; he will not be strong enough to come between true love. Here, I must give you something.”
With that the woman jumped up from the table and disappeared into the darkness on the other side of the room. A few moments later, she returned clutching something tightly in one hand while her other hand massaged her bent and twisted back. She grasped Marissa’s hand and thrust the object into it squeezing her fingers tightly around the soft, black velvet bag.
“Guard this with your life and show it to no one. Your life and the life of others will depend on it! When he comes, you will know. You will know it’s the right time and the right person to give this to. Your love will guide him when he needs it most. Now go. GO! But remember what I say. Show this to no one until he comes.” Spryly, defying her sudden age, the woman jumped up from the table and grabbed Marissa’s arm, pulling her towards the door, now seemingly anxious to get rid of her.
In a stupor, Marissa stared at the woman who had shrunk at least a foot, her face now shriveled and gaunt, etched with deep wrinkles that reminded her of the brother she professed to have. Her face was now beyond recognition, and it had happened right before Marissa’s eyes. No longer needing to be pushed, Marissa turned and stumbled towards the door, wanting to escape this nightmare as badly as the old woman wanted her out. She grasped the cold, brass doorknob clumsily in her hands, turning it back and forth while shaking the whole door as the crazy woman behind her reached for the heavens and babbled words in a language Marissa couldn’t understand. As she threw it open she gasped for breath, stumbling out and again feeling that breathlessness she had experienced going in. Marissa turned and stared at the door the woman had slammed shut as soon as she’d crossed the threshold. If she’d had x-ray vision, Marissa would have seen the woman continue to grow older and deflate even more, until finally, with a whimper of what seemed to be relief, she collapsed in upon herself and her clothes lay in a heap on the floor, covering what was once the woman but was now nothing but a pile of dust.
As if coming out of a trance herself, Marissa shook her head and turned making her way over to one of the empty benches. The noises of the boardwalk now seemed to be at odds with how she felt, the laughter seeming to mock her as she shook and stood there staring at nothing. Finding an empty bench, she lowered herself onto it and pondered the strange event that had just taken place. Without a doubt it was the weirdest thing she had ever experienced. Trembling, she looked down at her hand still clutching the black velvet bag the old woman had practically shoved there. In the dim light, it looked even older than the woman herself. Untying the silk ropes that held it closed, she opened the bag and felt around for what was inside. Her hand wrapped around a cold metal object and
she couldn’t help the quick intake of breath as she pulled it out to look at. It was a ring. A very masculine ring despite the heart shaped white diamond that lay in the center of it. The ring itself was not much bigger around than her thumb. As she stared at it under the glow from the streetlight above the bench, she could make out the symbols surrounding the diamond. Even in this dingy light the facets of the stone sparkled and shone like the reflection of the moon on the water. Even as young as she was, she could see it was worth a fortune. There was no way she could keep something that was so obviously expensive, surely the woman had made a mistake. Stuffing the ring back into the bag, she pulled the ropes tight to close it again and jumped up off of the bench, intent on returning the ring to the old woman. As she looked up, her jaw dropped open. The doorway that led to the old woman’s shop was gone! Vanished into thin air! She walked over to where it had been mere minutes before, even going so far as to run her hand over the boards that now joined the Whack a Mole booth and the Balloon Burst booth together. Turning to the girl who was calling to the patrons on the boardwalk, trying to get them to come and play, still in shock she asked
“What happened to the shop that was just here?”
“Shop? What shop?”
“The psychic shop that was just here, that’s what shop! The one with Madame Bouvier in it. It was just here!”
The girl stared at her like she had grown another head and replied, “I don’t know what the hell you’re smoking but there has never been anything here except Balloon Burst and Whack A Mole and I have never heard of anyone named Madame Bouvier.” the girl replied as she turned to go back to the other side of the booth.
“Wait! I have proof!” Marissa cried, grabbing her fanny pack and just as quickly remembering handing the card to the woman. She was tempted to show the girl the ring but the old woman’s ominous words rang in her head. “Never mind,” she mumbled. “I must be mistaken.” And with that she turned and headed back to the hotel. Just the thought of going to the inlet now made her cringe. This whole ordeal had been exhausting and all she wanted to do now was to crawl into bed and sleep for a hundred years. The dull throb behind her eyes added to her exhaustion and rather than walk the twenty blocks, she dug in her fanny pack for the money to ride the trolley back to the hotel. Digging out the three ones she needed, she once again wandered over and sat on a bench while she waited. Every step seemed to intensify the headache as she began to develop the typical tunnel vision that often accompanied her migraines.
“He comes!” The woman had said.
“He comes and he will love you deeply.” As the clang of the bell from the trolley rang like Big Ben in her ears, she couldn’t help but think,
“Well, at least I had one of my questions answered!”
The ride back to the hotel was a blur. Her head ached so badly she couldn’t stand it. Finally seeing the 21st street sign, she stuck her arm up to wave, indicating to the rear conductor that she wanted off. The trolley slowed to a stop and blindly she pushed through the crowd to get into the hotel. As she passed the various shops, all she could see were the elevators looming ahead. Pushing the button to go up, she said a small prayer of thanks when the doors slid open and the elevator was empty. Rubbing her temples, she pushed the button for the fifth floor and leaned back against the wall until the elevator jerked to a stop.
Pulling the card key from her back pocket, she slid it along the slot to open the lock to room 511. Pushing open the door, she didn’t even stop to turn on a light, just felt along the bathroom counter until she found the pain reliever. Squeezing the tabs together and turning the lid, she shook two out; dry swallowed them and then felt along the wall until she bumped her knee on the first bed. Not even bothering to undress or to even remove the fanny pack, she flopped down on the bed and fell almost instantly into a deep sleep. When she awoke the next morning, she remembered nothing of the strange old woman and the experience she had been through. As if in a trance, she threaded the ring through an old chain, placed it back in the velvet bag it had been in, and hid it in her underwear drawer buried in an old Dolle’s box that had once held salt water taffy. The box contained her Ocean City’s best collected treasures. Shells she had picked up along an early morning beach, a small bottle of sand that she’d had for what seemed like forever, and taped to the lid, a copy of the picture taken the first time they’d visited this magical place, of her in the bathtub. Deep inside, she knew she must never show this ring to anyone, she just couldn’t remember why. As far as she was concerned, it was the key to the man she would love one day, and somewhere in her heart she knew this to be true. Why it was such a secret, she couldn’t begin to explain but in her mind, in her soul, she knew it was imperative to keep it all to herself. She tucked the box back in the drawer, deeply hidden among her underwear and bathing suits and left the room, ready to start another day.
***
“HEY, GET A move on!” Marissa called to Dalton. You’d think that they had all day the way he poked and prodded around getting the gear together. She, on the other hand, was anxious to get on the road so they could set up camp before nightfall.
“Yeah, yeah I’m coming…” Dalton grumbled. He’d never really liked camping but since Marissa seemed so anxious about this particular trip, he figured playing the outdoorsy type once in a while was something he could tolerate.
A smile touched his lips as he thought back to the first time he had met her. She’d been shopping in the grocery store where he worked as the butcher, obviously struggling between buying a rack of lamb and a prime rib roast, mumbling to herself as she looked back and forth between one and the other, trying to decide on which one to buy. Being the gentleman he was, he’d offered his assistance and had given her his opinion as to which one would be better to serve her guests and why. A week later she’d come in and asked him to dinner as payment for his help. Who could resist? She was classically beautiful, her long brown hair, streaked with woodsy colors of gold and red and bronze reminded him of a forest of leaves in the fall. She was tall and almost stately and would probably look snobbish if it weren’t for those eyes. Beautiful green eyes that made you think of magic and the fields in Ireland where enchantment happened. An aura of tranquility seemed to surround her and it somehow kept him feeling calm when he spoke to her. It was rare to find someone who seemed so serene and at peace with their life, and he gladly accepted her invitation after insisting she allow him to pay for the dinner and choose the restaurant. She readily accepted and they had made plans for the following Saturday night. It was over dinner at his favorite Italian restaurant as they took part in an after dinner glass of port, that she’d told him what a disaster her dinner had really been and how she had burnt the roast so badly the neighbors had called 911 thinking the apartment building was on fire. He had roared with laughter so loud the other patrons in the restaurant had started to stare, a few chuckling along with him despite not knowing what was so funny. Daltons laugh was straight from the belly and as contagious as chickenpox. He’d hardly been able to catch his breath and he’d gotten a stitch in his side that had threatened to topple him out of his chair. The laughter stopped as quickly as it had started however when he glanced across the table and through his tears of laughter, seen her sitting there with her head hung in shame. His heart melted as she admitted to him that she had never been able to “get the hang of cooking” and had even boiled eggs so dry that the shells had turned black. Dalton reached across the table, taking her hands in his, feeling a sense of pity for this lovely woman, and had suggested to her that maybe in the fall of the next year they could both go for cooking lessons as he really couldn’t cook either. A hopeful look crossed her face and she readily agreed that it was a good idea. It would be nice to do something like that together he thought, surprising himself at thinking that far into the future; it wasn’t something he did very often with women. No one so far in his thirty three years had managed to have him thinking long range, but Marissa had already dug herself deep into his he
art even though it was only their first date. Sighing, he forced his mind back to the present and gathered up more of the gear and hauled it down to the Jeep, still lost in a daydream of life with Marissa.
Marissa stared out the bedroom window watching Dalton as he packed the camping gear tightly in the back of the Jeep and smiled thinking how much the vehicle suited him. He was a real outdoorsman despite him thinking he wasn’t. She’d known a trip like this would appeal to him even though it had been harder than she’d thought it would be to be subtle enough to leave him thinking it was his idea to go on this crazy adventure. She grinned as she thought about how close they had become since the disastrous cooking fiasco almost four years ago now. He had become her best friend, her confidante and her lover. He had seen her through the tragic death of her mother, the loss of one job and the search and employment in another. Life never seemed to slow down, much to her dismay. It seemed like the dawn of each morning brought with it a new crisis that needed to be dealt with whether at work or at home. She was glad to be getting away from it all, even if it was only for a long weekend. It would do them both some good.
Lost Souls Page 2