One Shade of Gray

by Monica Corwin

  Ugh, yet another strike against that sexy bastard.

  I rolled over and grabbed his T-shirt off the floor. Mine had been destroyed so he’d have to survive if I borrowed his. I slipped it on and went in search of my underwear.

  “I’ll take some of that tea, please,” I called out as I extricated the lace from my leggings and slipped them on. I spun to face him with a smile that died on my lips when I turned to find the kitchen empty.

  “Gray?” I called out looking around for a flash of movement. Nothing.

  A mug of tea sat on the counter, but so did his cell phone. Where could he be?

  I wandered into a laundry room, the wine room, back into his bedroom for the bathroom. Even the guest room was empty.

  “Where could he be?” If there was work, I’d be there too. He likely wouldn’t leave without his cell phone.

  I went back to the kitchen and held my hand near the kettle. It was still warm, but not hot. Then I grabbed the mug and took a sip. That wasn’t even warm. And damn, that man needed to add sugar to this. I pulled the tea bag out and tossed it in the trash. So he’d been interrupted while he was drinking tea, but before he could remove the bag. That was a very short window for English Breakfast.

  I looked around and caught a pad of paper and pen on the end of the counter. It hadn’t been there the night before. The beautiful man had left me a note.

  I picked up the creamy white notepad and scanned it. I blinked and then re-read it.

  My Dearest Isobel,

  If you are reading this, then I’m gone. Last night when you came to see me I had just realized I am likely going mad. I can’t put you through that, nor can I expect you to care for me after our brief acquaintance. I’m going back to England, and then maybe to America, for medical care. It’s likely the end and I don’t want to put you through that.

  Please know the few days we spent together were some of the most treasured of my life. And last night was perfect. I hope you were satisfied as well.

  Hope to see you in the next life,

  Love

  DG

  I re-read the note a third time. “I hope you were satisfied as well.” Like he was requesting a five-star rating on a delivery order. What the fuck?

  I tossed the notepad on the counter and stalked through his flat once more. He wasn’t there, but all of his stuff was. His books, everything. Why would he just leave it all and not say anything?

  I didn’t consider myself a difficult woman to talk to, or reason with. With a huff, I grabbed my wallet, keys, and phone, and headed toward the door. It was closed but not locked. He didn’t even bother to lock it with me still asleep in his bed? Anger began to form in my gut, eating away all the post-orgasm euphoria. That bastard would get an earful if I ever saw him again.

  Oh shit, pants.

  I shimmied into them and gave his flat one last lingering glance, purposefully avoiding the entryway where he and I shared a few memories, and exited. I closed the door gently behind me and went to the elevator with a knot in my throat. Damn this hurt. Why did I put myself through this? I could have left last night when he’d asked me to a dozen times and saved myself this embarrassment and pain.

  I rubbed my chest as if I could get rid of the ache there from the outside. It didn’t budge. Damn bastard. I wanted to think of more colorful curse words for him but the bell dinged and I stepped inside the elevator. The lobby was empty, not even the doorman greeted me when I stepped off the elevator.

  Like the whole damn building was conspiring against me.

  I walked home, not wanting to even look at Michael, because he had a hand in this as well. Dragging me to Gray’s place last night. And he’d been right to seek out help for his friend, but damn it, I could have woken up in my own bed, without this ache. I rubbed at it again. You also wouldn’t have had the best sex of your life last night either.

  Shut up, I grumbled to myself. A passing man eyed me warily. I glared for no other reason than I wanted everyone else to feel as shitty as I did this morning.

  I made it home and again crawled into my bed, letting the chemical spring-scented sheets remind me of home. And Jakey.

  I shuffled my arms from under the covers and dialed his number. It took a few seconds for the usual click through but then a busy tone answered. Not once did I ever get a busy tone when he was out of town on a mission. Maybe he was trying to call me. I hung up and waited, staring at the white face for it to light up. Nothing. Absolutely nothing for twenty minutes.

  I tried again. Still busy.

  What the hell? I threw the phone down the bed to land in a pool of covers before tucking my arms back under and clutching the blankets to my chin.

  All men were off limits today. I rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling, the movement giving me a twinge in my nether regions. Even my own body was betraying me with reminders of him.

  Instead of lying in bed all day and wallowing, I shoved the covers back and went to the kitchen. My often-neglected coffee pot sat there calling my name. If Gray didn’t want to be in my life, then screw him. His loss.

  You didn’t want him in your life first. While technically true, I shoved the thoughts away and focused on the coffee. Last night showed me we had a lot more chemistry than I’d originally expected. Dorian could be irascible and also sweet. Kind and rough. A juxtaposition I needed in a partner. And for a brief moment as I’d rolled over in his bed and remembered last night I thought he might be that partner. That would teach me for making decisions. Back to one night stands and easy lays from now on.

  I grabbed a jar of Nutella and popped up on the counter to wait for the coffee to brew. Two spoonfuls in the pot hissed its completion.

  The scent of the dark roast I found at a local shop warmed and cheered me a little bit. Like super-hot water, coffee was another goto perk-up method. With no parents and only my brother to raise me, and me to raise him, I’d developed whatever coping mechanisms I could to handle stress and unhappiness. And being all alone in the world from the time we were both sixteen, we’d had more than our fair share of ups and downs.

  After our parents died in a plane crash, we’d lived together, in our family home, for almost six months before child protective services got us. When we were separated I thought neither of us would survive it. But we did, and we even grew into semi-productive adults. I scooped another bite of the hazelnut chocolate spread. Absolutely no dysfunction here.

  It bothered me more that I couldn’t get ahold of Jake than that Gray had up and run away. For a flash of a second I had thought Dorian was my Prince Charming.

  When Jake and I were kids we’d play king and queen outside in our tree house. We’d rule together as brother and sister, and I would have my Prince Charming to marry, and he would have his Fairy Princess. As usual, our kingdom would be a peaceful and benevolent one. Of course, that lasted until my brother discovered video games, and I got into ballet.

  That tree house was still in use by the family who bought our house at auction after we were taken away. When I’d grown brave enough to face the memories, I was happy to see the kids playing there.

  The coffee let out a faint sizzle and I poured a cup before it burned from being left in the pot too long.

  Not bothering with milk or sugar, I sat back on the counter and sipped it black. It suited my mood that way. Bitter and hot.

  Wow, I thought. One man runs away from me and I turn into the bitter old witch in the forest, waiting for passing children in my gingerbread house.

  I decided I really wasn’t going to wallow, and I finished the spoon I’d already loaded with chocolate, downed the rest of the hot coffee, and went to shower.

  After that I put on makeup, got dressed, grabbed my things, and headed outside. I lived in Paris, one of the most beautiful cities in the world. And after Romeo and Juliet in a few weeks, maybe I’d take a job in another city to get away from the memories here. I should savor the ankle-breaking cobblestone streets while I could.

  I headed the opp
osite direct of my home, and Gray’s, as well as the theater. When I first arrive in a new city I spend a lot of time wandering, getting lost, figuring out how to get where I needed. Today, I did it for the pleasure of it. I wandered the city’s tunnels and avenues until the memory of Gray was so far in the back of my mind I could barely remember the damnable spicy cologne that made me want to bite him.

  A bookstore caught my eye, but as I ran my fingers across the spines I saw Gray sitting on his living room floor holding a stack of books.

  “Get your shit together, woman. He is one man, you spent a few days together. Get over it.” Talking to myself probably isn’t a good sign.

  I sighed and continued on, not going in for fear he would haunt me more inside the shop.

  My favorite stationary store sat on the corner a few blocks down, so I decided to head there. The heavenly scent of fresh baked bread reached me from across the street so now I had two absolutely non-Gray related stops I could make.

  I went inside the stationary store first and puttered around pen racks and stacks of notebooks. On the back wall, books lined a tall shelf. Lovely, leather-bound journals. I petted the spines of those as well, which were already developing a beautiful patina from other customers. I had no need for journaling or I might have been tempted.

  I bought a few pens, some fountain pen refill ink, and crossed the street to the bread shop. As I entered, I tripped over the step in the doorway and fell right into a man’s arms. He caught me by the elbows and helped me stand. I glanced up to say thank you only to jerk back. “Hello, Mikey.”

  “Hello, Miss.” He smiled but I scowled. The smile slowly fell from his lips. “What have I done?”

  “I thought you’d be with Gray right now,” I said, instead of answering his question.

  He chuckled. “I thought he would still be with you right now.”

  I shifted the bag of supplies to my purse and rubbed my hands together, cracking the knuckles, a habit I couldn’t get rid of when my anxiety was high. “If you didn’t take him somewhere, and he’s not with me, where is he?”

  15

  Dorian

  I awoke shivering in a dark room, water dripping somewhere behind me. The last thing I remembered was the sharp bite in my abdomen. Still in my pants, I glanced down and spotted two angry red circles in the middle of my waist. Damn Tasers, definitely not a new invention I appreciated.

  “You’re awake.”

  I glanced up toward my captor standing in the doorway. Jake, Izzy’s brother.

  Izzy.

  Her face flashed before my eyes. What must she have thought of me as she woke this morning alone?

  “You have no right to hold me here. This is kidnapping.”

  He chuckled and leaned on the doorframe. “I won’t keep you long. Just long enough.”

  “For what?”

  “To talk some sense into you.”

  I gestured at the Taser marks on my stomach. “And you had to do this? You couldn’t chat with me in my living room over tea like civilized men?”

  He entered the room and closed the door. I stood thinking I was probably about to have to defend myself. In all my years, fighting was never a skill I wanted to learn. I could throw a punch when necessary but I’d never gone out of my way to learn the various styles that passed in and out of fashion through the years.

  “Sit down, I don’t intend to hurt you, yet.” He threw himself in a metal chair off to the side of the cot I woke up on.

  “What do you want with me? Are you even Izzy’s brother or did you use that as a ruse to get to me?”

  He shifted forward so his elbows braced on top of his thighs and narrowed his eyes. “What do you think?”

  I scanned his features. Their eyes were the same and yet different. It disconcerted me I couldn’t get an accurate read on him, as I was usually very good at that sort of thing.

  He waited and I didn’t answer, which I supposed he took for not knowing. “I am Izzy’s brother. My name is Jake, as I mentioned.”

  “So, what is this about? Did the Americans decide I’m a threat again, and send you to bring me in?”

  He shook his head and then let it hang down. “No, this is all personal.”

  I failed to see the logic in his plan. How was this meant to play out? “Are you intending to threaten me into staying away from your sister? I assure you, I already tried pushing her away and it failed spectacularly.”

  The press of her hands on my chest flashed in my head. I dropped my gaze so he couldn’t see that there. It was mine. She was mine.

  He stood and scooted his chair closer, so only a foot of space lay between our knees. I tried to stop the shiver in mine from the chilly room. “I have no intention of threatening you. You’re going to stay away from her all on your own.”

  “And how is that?”

  Anger was replacing any sense of honor I had in dealing with her brother. Kidnapping people, tasing them, that was the action of a lunatic. That sort of person didn’t deserve my respect, no matter who his relations were.

  He reached around and pulled out an envelope from his back pocket. I watched carefully in case he had some sort of needle or weaponized powder stashed inside. He pulled up the flap and lifted out a piece of paper. It had already been folded and refolded several times. I glanced between the paper and his eyes, waiting for the answer. Each action he made was slow, precise, and deliberate. I had no doubt this was his end game. Something I was supposed to realize.

  He opened the paper, folded horizontally in three parts, and handed it to me. It was an old picture, a photocopy of a painting. The style was from the era when I was born and by the shape and size it looked to be a miniature. A small, framed portrait people had made to give to family or potential spouses in my day.

  “Why are you showing me this?”

  He pointed to the paper. “Do you recognize her?”

  I scanned her features, trying to associate something with my past or my memory. Nothing. I didn’t recognize a single thing about the girl. “No, I’m afraid I don’t know who she is.”

  “Look again.”

  I glanced back down, my patience running out. “No, I don’t know her.”

  He smiled, it was the smile of a man who had just delivered a check mate. The one given just before a killing blow. “That is Sibyl Vane.”

  I replayed his words in my head and glanced back down to the image on the page. The woman had brown hair like I recall Sibyl having, but this round faced-creature stirred no memory in me. “This isn’t Sibyl.”

  “It is,” he said. “I assure you, I have impeccable sources.”

  I flicked the paper at him and he let it fall to the floor between us, not even flinching to grasp it out of the air. “You may have sources, but I was there. I knew her personally. That’s not her.”

  He pulled another piece of paper from the envelope, a small gray square, and I snatched it from him to look.

  The obituary spoke about Sibyl, but I don’t remember having ever seen an obituary for her. The image in the painting was exactly the same as the girl in a photo accompanying the article.

  I stared at it, rereading for as long as I dared. When I looked back up, Jake sat watching me carefully. “Do you recognize her now?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve never seen this woman in my life.”

  What did that mean? Was I never acquainted with Sibyl? Or perhaps the woman I knew was someone impersonating her?”

  No, that was impossible too. I met her the first time after she performed on stage. I folded over and clutched my head in my hands. “I don’t understand.”

  The chair in front of me shifted and the paper was scooped from the floor. I glanced up to him holding his cell phone out to me. I took it, uncertain what else he wanted to show me.

  The image on his screen was Izzy. Her short blonde hair, that wide smile that could drop me to my knees. She looked so beautiful, so happy, in that picture. “Do you know who that is?”

  “It’s Izzy.”


  He nodded. “Well, you’re one for two, at least.”

  I opened my arms, surrendering to whatever game he was playing. “What do you want from me? Why am I here?”

  He shook his head and slipped his phone into his cargo pocket. “You’re here until you realize that being with my sister is detrimental to her health and happiness. You’re not a sane man, Mr. Gray.”

  “What do you even know about me? Who the hell are you?”

  “My name is Warrant Officer Jake Vale. Isobel is my sister. That’s all you really need to know about me. And more than most do.”

  “I’m going to ask you again, what do you want with me?”

  He leaned in, his face only inches from mine. I could see Izzy’s eyes and it threw me off even more. “Do you recognize me at all?”

  “You and your sister share eyes.”

  “That’s not all we share. Izzy and I are identical twins. I was born two minutes before she was.”

  I scanned his face but it was like trying to turn on a light when the bulb had blown. I couldn’t line his features up with Izzy’s and make them fit.

  “You don’t see it, do you? It’s because you’re not well. I spoke to the medical team that treats you, Gray. They confirmed your symptoms already. You’ll start seeing things, inverting memories and faces, until the past and present mix up and you will be unable to untangle the two. Apparently, it’s common once a patient passes the hundred-year mark. It’s the start of your mental deterioration.”

  I let his words sink in. Hadn’t I considered the very same possibility? But Sibyl and Izzy? I’d only sought Izzy out because she looked so much like Sibyl, hadn’t she? And now, after seeing those images of Sibyl, it was fresh in my mind that they looked nothing alike. Then there was Izzy and her brother, who also looked nothing alike to me.

  “Did the doctors tell you how to fix it?”

  He shifted in the chair, causing it to squeak some more under his weight. “They advised you go stay at their center for treatment. Do you understand why I’m doing this, Gray? My sister cares about you. Once she told me about you, I showed up within hours to keep watch over her. I can see that she cares for you and I know you care for her. If you truly do, then you will let her go so you can get the medical help you need.”