Kidnapped by the Bear: A Paranormal Romance

by Mia Wolf

  “Who are you hoping to find in there?” The voice comes from behind me, and I know whose it is. I wouldn’t have used the word “scrawny” to describe Joshua’s physical appearance when he was younger, but staring at the grown man in front of me, I struggle to find the right words. He seems to have flourished while I wasn’t looking.

  “Joshua,” I manage to say in a manner of a greeting. I can’t remember where I left things off with him, and I’m not entirely sure how to hold myself. “You look well.”

  He smiles. “Can’t say the same about you.” It isn’t malice or ill-will that I hear in his voice, but perhaps bitterness. “Rose told me that you showed up.”

  That makes sense. My dear sister’s confidante, he has every right to hate me.

  “Who’s that?” asks a woman who shows up behind Joshua. On her arm is a baby who looks eerily similar to Joshua.

  “That’s Rose’s brother,” Joshua tells her while taking over the baby.

  “The one that left?” the woman squeaks. I wince at the remark, but I know I deserve it. “Sorry,” she says to me and then adds softly, “but not really.”

  “Yes, the one that left,” Joshua replies to her, enunciating each syllable, while staring me square in the eyes.

  “I had my reasons,” is all I tell them. It doesn’t matter if they trust me.

  “Of course you did.” Joshua shows no sign of mercy. “Baby, can you take Alfie home? There is something I need to discuss with Warren.”

  The woman scowls at me but takes the baby and leaves.

  “What would you have to discuss with me?” I ask, slightly surprised.

  “She’s my wife, don’t sneer at her,” he orders, and I raise my hands in compliance. I hadn’t realized that I had. “We moved out,” he says pointing at the house behind us with his chin. “Not enough space for the baby.”

  He stops speaking and gives me a meaningful look, as if I’m supposed to understand what he’s getting it. I cock my head in confusion. What did I miss?

  “You can have it.”

  That was not what I expected. He seems to have sworn some invisible allegiance to my sister and now he offers me his place which, not to mention, is right next to my old home.

  “Why would you do that for me?”

  “Not for you, it’s all for Rose.”

  “Why would you do that for Rose? You’re married. Are you still leading her on?”

  Something akin to murderous rage flickers in Joshua’s eyes like he wants to bash my head in.

  “I don’t think you have many friends, Warren. This is what friends do. The door’s open.”

  He heads down the path without another word, but I call him back. “Do you, by any chance, have Rose’s phone number? I’d just like to, you know, start building a relationship with her.”

  Joshua looks taken aback, then grudgingly takes his phone from his pocket and gives me the number. “Use it well,” he says before turning his back on me.

  I look at the house behind me. So this is my new home, I suppose, a sense of surprise— and, is it gratitude?—filling my chest. Rose is not going to like this.

  Speaking of the devil, I hear Rose’s front door opening and I turn to see her stepping out, something I was hoping would happen. She has a luggage bag with her which freaks me out a little.

  “Are you moving out?” I ask in a voice too high-pitched for my taste. I clear my throat afterward.

  “Of course not,” Rose snaps back at me. I’m surprised she answered at all. “Ashley asked me to come to New York for a meeting at Regal’s office so I’ll be staying at Andrew’s place for a couple of days.”

  Ashley. The name is a beautiful, faint whisper in my memory; another memory that is soaked in pain. I nod at Rose, feeling good that I was worth an explanation.

  “Joshua gave me his old place,” I tell her to make small talk.

  “Of course he did.” She rolls her eyes. “I really don’t have time right now, I need to go.”

  “I understand,” I say and she walks away without another glance at me.

  She found a mate after everything that happened. The thought fills me with pride and sadness as I watch her silhouette disappear in the distance. I sigh and retreat to my dwelling for the time being, trying not to let loneliness drown me in sorrow.

  I spend the rest of the day going around the village and meeting old friends and some of the seniors who might still remember me and care about how I’ve been, not because I’ve been good to them but because my parents were good people. That’s the only hope I have left for somehow stepping back into village life, cashing in on the goodwill of my parents.

  I go and meet Rigsby who has finally married Tatiana and has a child that looks nothing like the two of them. They’re kind enough to not greet me with contempt, Rigsby actually looking happy to see me. Then I go and meet Eli. I already knew he wouldn’t hate me for showing up. It’s just not in the old man’s nature to be cold to kids. Even when they’re no longer kids. “You look even more like your father now that you’re older,” he tells me. Everyone always said that I look like my father.

  I meet a few of my old friends. Jared, Dean, and Sky, all of whom now have kids and families. They have cave houses for homes; they’re decorated with winter solstice lights. Things have changed and yet so much is still the same. The decorations, the cave houses, the winding paths, the woods in the back; all of it is the same as the day I left and yet everyone has moved on. Everyone, but me.

  In a moment of sadness, of longing for everything that once was, of wanting my old life back, I send Rose a message, telling her that I’m sorry and that I miss her.

  Lying awake in bed at night, the thought that’s been haunting me for a while comes up again, although it’s difficult to pinpoint it. It’s about philosophy, about Plato, about life itself, but most of all about me. It’s about the Allegory of the cave by Plato, and it doesn’t let me sleep at night.

  Chapter 4 – Ashley

  I sag into my chair, the chair infamously called the throne of Regal’s empire. In all honesty, it sucks the life out of me, and on days when I would just rather go to a beach and sprawl on the sand while the ocean breeze gently caresses me, I resent it more than I would like to. Even before I’ve seen my schedule, I know today is going to be one of those days.

  “Violet,” I speak into the telecom, “let’s go.”

  Violet diligently appears into my office within thirty seconds, almost collapsing under the weight of several files that she’s sorting through.

  “What do we have for the day?”

  “Most of the work for Miranda’s project is taken care of, there’s this large chunk of work that needs your approval and guidance, but you don’t have time for that. Your schedule is already packed. It’s work you cannot assign to a junior,” Violet says as if trying to convince me of her paradoxical plight.

  “I see.” Sometimes she can’t help but see problems that aren’t problems at all. “Please send an email to Rose Maibach saying that I want to meet her as the head of design at Regal. Tell her it’s urgent and if she can make it today, that would be like the cherry on top of the cake.”

  Violet takes hurried notes in a notebook placed atop the stack of files and nods at the command.

  I busy myself with the tasks for the day and cancel the off-site meetings because my back is killing me. If I have to see one more snobby fashion design world face, I’ll spill out my guts on the floor. I might be standing on top of this fashion design mountain, but the fake people I have to regularly deal with make me sick to the stomach, especially the ones at the top.

  My phone rings—it’s Violet.

  “Rose Maibach will be coming in this afternoon,” she says.

  “Excellent,” I tell her and breathe a sigh of relief for the first time in a week. The interesting thing about deadlines is that everything always gets done in time but at what cost?

  I relax in the chair—it feels like ten tons of atmospheric pressure have lifted from m
y chest. Even though Rose hasn’t accepted the offer I’m about to make, something tells me she’s not going to refuse.

  After lunch, I’m looking forward to nothing else more than to talk to Rose. When she arrives, I call her to my personal office for a meeting while we sip some Ginseng tea.

  “Do you know why I’ve called you here?” I step out of my seat and walk over to the other side of the marble desk, resting my hips against the edge. I can see Rose’s breath hitch.

  “No, ma’am.” She fumbles with the mere two words she speaks. Sometimes I’m frustrated at the effect I have on people. It feels great when I have the patience and all the time in the world, but when I’m in a hurry, I curse my fate for being intimidating.

  I breathe in and out trying to keep my cool because the poor girl hasn’t done anything.

  “Well, you know that Regal wants to offer you a competitive position starting next month, right?” I stop to wait for her response and continue when she nods like she has no control over her head or neck. “Great, the offer still stands. I’ll have Violet send you the details. You can send in your reply whenever is convenient for you. But that’s not why I called you out here at such short notice.”

  I pick up my sketchbook from my desk and give it to Rose, gesturing at the designs. “We’re working on the designs for Miranda Reynolds’ show.”

  “They’re amazing,” Rose says while flipping through the sketchbook, barely able to contain her enthusiasm.

  “I’m glad you like them. But due to a variety of problems that we’ve been running into, I simply don’t have the time to take things further. So, I’m asking you for a favor.” I pause to make sure I have Rose’s undivided attention. From the looks of it, she seems to be too scared out of her wits to be listening to me. I’ll take it. “The offer for you to join Regal next month remains the same. However, if you could help me out with Miranda Reynolds’ show starting right now, that would be immensely helpful. It’s work that I can’t delegate to anyone else. I need a right hand, which is why the position you’re filling has been created, but that doesn’t start until next month. So, you have every right to say no considering you still work for Steve Parera. But if you choose to do this, you can get to know the team and see if things here at Regal are a good fit for you. What do you say?”

  Rose is sitting there motionless and I can sense the conflict in her head. I wish I didn’t have to ask this of her. I know how busy she must be already. But to my surprise, her answer comes almost instantly.

  “I would love to,” she says, excitement in her eyes.

  “Are you sure? Don’t you want to take it up with your team at Steve Parera’s office first?” I ask. I hope she’s not burning any bridges with Steve Parera.

  “I’ll take care of it,” she says and then her head involuntarily turns towards my chair.

  I laugh at the sight because she’s practically drooling at the piece of furniture like it’s a god she may worship.

  “You want to try it out?” I ask her and she looks like a fugitive caught red-handed which only makes me chuckle more.

  “Are you kidding me?” she blurts out and I can see that she immediately regrets her choice of words. “I mean—”

  “No, I’m dead serious,” I say, shrugging. “Give it a shot.”

  She hesitantly slips out of her chair. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

  I give her a firm nod but she’s already walking towards the chair. She runs her hand around the armrest and the back then looks at me for encouragement. She reminds me of myself when I was younger.

  “Go ahead.”

  Rose lowers herself onto the seat and then slowly leans back. There’s a switch in her expression from confusion and seriousness to joy and excitement.

  “Feel good?” I ask.

  “Feels amazing,” she says expanding the syllables. “But it’s surprisingly uncomfortable for the neck,” she adds idly, rubbing her hands up and down the armrest.

  I return my attention to Rose who seems to be enjoying the chair far more than I have in nearly five years. Have I become too old for this job?

  “It’s a good chair for someone who can do its bidding,” I say.

  “Regal’s throne,” she mouths.

  “Regal’s throne,” I repeat and smile at her.

  “Well, I think you’re the best for the job,” Rose says slipping out of the chair as if the field trip is over and she has come back to reality.

  “Maybe so, but I cannot sit on it forever.”

  We exchange glances and I can tell Rose doesn’t understand what’s on my mind.

  “Anyway, I’m sorry I had to call you out sooner than you might have anticipated, but I’m glad I did. All your help is greatly appreciated.”

  Rose’s phone buzzes, and when she checks it, her face melts into a frown, then slowly softens a little.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s just my stupid brother,” she mumbles, seemingly unaware of her surroundings.

  For me, everything stops in time. “Do you mean Warren?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.

  She nods.

  “Yeah, he’s back and now—” she stops mid-sentence as if slowly coming back to her surroundings. “But you guys already know each other.” She says that as if she only realized it a moment ago.

  I have a million questions I want to ask her, hundreds of thoughts spiraling in my head, so many memories unspooling and crawling out of dusty boxes that I tucked away years ago. I clear my throat because I feel like I’m choking. “We know each other, yeah,” I say after a long silence.

  “I can tell him you said hi,” she says, probably trying to understand why I’ve suddenly grown so quiet. I wish I understood that myself.

  “Yeah, do that.” I pause for a long moment. “I’m sorry but I have the rest of my schedule to get to so if you’ll excuse me.”

  Rose picks up her stuff and leaves. When I’m alone in the office, I crash on the chair and soothe my heart that’s beating out of control.

  Chapter 5 – Warren

  I’m waiting in the hall, lounging on a chair when Rose returns.

  “You’ve got to stop doing that,” is the first thing she says when she marches into the house with a large luggage bag.

  “Good afternoon to you too,” I say, but I’m caught up with that luggage bag. “Does that mean you’re back for good?”

  Instead of words, Rose uses her eyes to convey what she’s thinking which, gauging from the death glare she’s bestowing upon me, seems to be mostly negative. I raise my hands in defeat even though I have no idea what’s so criminal in the simple question I asked.

  “You wanted to talk?” she speaks in a saccharine voice, completely different from a moment ago. That makes me realize, I’m walking on a minefield here. There is such a thing as a wrong answer.

  “Yeah, I did,” I say but I’m cut off before I can begin.

  “Start talking,” Rose commands.

  “I was going to,” I mimic her tone which throws her over the metaphorical edge so I avert my eyes and stare out of the window instead.

  Without another word, Rose leaves the hall and walks into one of the rooms to the right, the one that used to be mine as a kid or even until I left for college.

  “Come in here and help me,” Rose yells from inside the room. It reminds of old times, when she was always the diligent, sincere one who was on top of things while I was always the lost in his own world kind of kid.

  I step inside the room and it’s as if a landslide of history falls on me. The room is still the same as I left it except for the luggage, clothes, fabrics, and blankets that are piled on top of every piece of furniture and in every empty crevice.

  “What have you done to my room?” I exclaim, running a finger through the thick layer of dust on the shoe cupboard.

  “Ever since I started staying over at Andrew’s, I barely get any time to clean around the house,” Rose says in a manner of an explanation. “Anyway, help me clean the stuf
f out,” she orders while pointing at a large pile of clothes stacked in a corner right next to the cupboard. “And start speaking. What did you want to talk about?”

  “You really want to be doing this surrounded by a pile of laundry?” I ask. “It’s important.”

  “Well I can’t bear to look at your face for a prolonged period of time so I’m going to say, yes. Let’s do this here. Besides,” she pauses to look at me, “I get to decide if it’s important.”

  I guess I don’t have much choice. “It’s about mom and dad,” I begin and Rose drops the heavy metal contraption that she had in her hand on the floor.

  She reaches for it then glances at me, “continue.”

  I widen my eyes in momentary fear then do as I’m told. “Do you remember Moira?”

  “Your girlfriend?” she asks idly. Meanwhile, I’m choking up over what I’m going to say. I haven’t admitted this to anyone so far, not even myself.

  “Ex-girlfriend,” I clarify. “We broke up.”

  Rose picks an empty basket from the top of the cupboard and starts sorting another pile of clothes lying on the bed. This one is a gigantic mountain, and I’m amazed how Rose has managed to gather so much trash.

  “Something happened the day I broke up with her,” I add, which makes Rose pause and stare at me. There is a concern in her eyes, she’s already anticipating a disaster. But definitely not the one that occurred.

  “The night I broke up with her, it got pretty ugly. We had a fight.”

  “Ugly? Like a physical fight? You hit her?” Rose asks, anger building in her eyes.

  “Of course not!” I’m in shock that she would think something like that. “Rose, I may not have been around for a long time, but I’m still the same person. Do you really think I would hit anyone let alone my own girlfriend?”

  “I don’t know you, Warren,” Rose says with a sigh. “That’s the truth. I didn’t think you were the kind of person who could leave home, who could leave his family behind. I didn’t think you would leave me alone, and we both know where that went. So yeah, I don’t know you.”