“I’m telling you this because you look like a deer in headlights out there with the buzzards, flocking around, waiting to pick at your flesh. You look like you’re about to run screaming any minute and I need you to understand that you won’t just be hurting yourself if you do that. You’ll affect everyone in this place if you do. So grow a pair, ignore the rich, snobby dickheads out there and focus on what’s important. If you care about Mr. Lam, you’ll find a way to ignore the gossip and dirty looks. We have all made sacrifices because we care about Mr. Lam and we’re still standing. It won’t kill you to grin and bear it. ”
Cara nodded with understanding and suddenly broke into a broad smile.
“Don’t worry, Maurice, I don’t care what people say. I’m not going anywhere,” she informed him and as the words flowed forth, she knew she was speaking the truth. But the chunky man did not look convinced.
“You say that now,” he muttered. Cara reached out and patted his arm reassuringly.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she repeated.
Chapter Nine
Cara had been searching for her lover for over an hour. He had completely vanished after the ill received announcement and after Cara had left the boisterous kitchen, she had been unable to find him anywhere. As she searched the ballroom among the demons and animal costumes, she stopped to ask guests in her wake if they had seen him but either no one had or they were not interested in helping her. She found her way to the gardens and they were eerily deserted. Half of the party had retired after the anticlimax earlier and other guests were finding their coats inside the grand glass room. Cara felt a smidgen of guilt at the sudden wind down in the party. Connor had so badly wanted to enjoy his birthday but his “friends” had turned on him. Months of detailed planning had been ruined by pettiness. Cara wasn’t sure if she was angrier or hurt by the turn of events. She wandered further into the gardens, hoping Connor had gone out there to clear his head. There was no lighting in this area of the maze and she had passed the last heat lamp moments before. It was only her thoughts, the cold and frozen shrubbery under the stars. She realized that Connor was not there and turned back to the security of the party before she ventured too far off the beaten path. Someone stepped out of the shadows and Cara gasped. It was Genevieve Sucar. Alarmed, Cara stepped back at the platinum blonde walked directly toward her, unspeaking. Her mouth, a compilation of Botox and pink Elizabeth Arden lipstick was pursed into an unnaturally thin line and as she drew closer, Cara felt herself backing into bushes. Her heart leapt into her throat and she tried to stare confidently at the woman but her hands were trembling in fear.
“What – what are you doing here?” Cara tried to sound commanding but her voice wavered. Genevieve stopped abruptly in front of her and Cara forced herself to meet the woman’s eye. As she looked into the ice blue irises, Cara had an uncanny feeling of familiarity but before she could place it, Genevieve shoved something at her.
“Repayment,” she growled. She turned and walked back into the cold, dark area of the maze, leaving Cara to stare down at the cashier check in her hand. It was made out to the Sunstain Foundation for three million dollars. Cara choked and then realized what it was about Genevieve which had been tickling at her. The look in her eyes, it had been the same void, lifeless expression which those other people had held at the first charity event she had attended. Gone was the outrage, the fire sparking from her blue orbs which had sprayed out when Eli and Connor had gone head to head. Instead, she had appeared almost stoned, hypnotized and unaware of her surroundings as she stood, without a coat in the freezing cold in a strapless, short dress and stilettos. Cara raised her head to stare after Genevieve but she had disappeared around one of the endless turns. Shivering, more from unease than coolness, Cara turned back to the warmth of the party. She clutched the check in her hand, determined to find Connor and as she made her way back into the building, she found Tabitha standing by the bar.
“I need to find Connor,” she told her urgently. “Do you know where he went?”
Tabitha barely glanced at her but smiled mirthlessly.
“No idea,” she responded, flippantly, purposely turning her back to Cara. Infuriated, Cara grabbed her by the arms and spun her around, forcing the older woman to look at her.
“I must find him,” she told her with firmness. “Take me back to the house.” Tabitha looked taken aback by Cara’s tone and wrenched her arms back.
“If you need to find your way back to the house, Ms. Castillo,” she told her from between clenched teeth. “I’m sure Mr. Lamoreaux’s drivers are outside. Please don’t ever touch me again.”
As she turned away, Cara saw tears in the older woman’s eyes and like a bolt of lightning, she realized why Tabitha was so upset. She was in love with Connor! Guilt flooded her but it did not override her need to find Lamoreaux. I will talk to Tabitha later, she promised herself and headed out into the parking lot, searching for Frank or Bruce. She did not see either driver nor did she see the Aston Martin in which she and Connor had arrived. He’s gone back to the main house, Cara decided. She looked around, unsure of what to do next. She was filled with a sense that something was wrong, the encounter with Genevieve Sucar simply solidifying what she was feeling. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Van and Andrew standing by the curb. Andrew was smoking a cigarette and deliberately blowing smoke into the teenager’s guileless hazel eyes. Van simply stood there, enduring the hazing. Cara hurried over to them.
“Can one of you drive me back to the house?” she begged without preamble. Andrew flashed her a sarcastic smile and aimed his exhale in her direction this time.
“Gee, sure, princess. We’ll just drop everything and chauffeur you anywhere you need to go. We’re not all fucking the big boss, Clara. We don’t have the luxury of fucking off when we feel like it,” he snapped. He dropped the dropped the butt of the cigarette onto the pavement and sauntered away, shaking his head as though Cara was the biggest moron he had ever encountered. She looked helplessly at Van but she knew he did not drive. She would have run back to the house if the temperatures had not been subfreezing and the pathway back was lit. In truth, she was terrified of who else she may encounter in the garden or on the side road leading back to the mansion.
“I’m sorry I can’t drive you, Cara,” Van told her, looking sympathetic. Cara shook her head, forcing a smile onto her face. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. She had no doubt that he would have gone out of his way to help her if he could. She turned to leave but Van tentatively put out his arm to stop her.
He looked around to see if he might be overheard and then leaned in to her.
“I can’t drive you but I know how you can get back to the house from here without leaving the walls,” he whispered. Cara arched an eyebrow, waiting. He gestured for her to follow him and she made her way back to the ballroom. Discretely, they made their way into the supply closet and Van pulled out a lighter with a marijuana leaf depicted on a black background. Cara looked at him questioningly.
“Why do you have a lighter with a weed leaf, no less?” she asked, one eyebrow up. He chuckled.
“I steal them from Andrew. He is always looking for them and it drives him crazy when he can’t find one when he goes smoking. It’s my stupid way of getting back at him for being such an asshole all the time.” Van slapped a hand over his mouth, shocked at the uncharacteristic profanity but Cara just laughed.
“Good. He deserves much worse than that. He is a giant asshole,” she conceded. Van led her to the back of the room and Cara gave him a confused look.
“What are we doing here, Van?” she asked. She was becoming impatient. She needed to find Connor. Something bizarre was happening and she needed to figure out what was going on. She knew that he held the key to the darkness surrounding the estate. She and Van had reached the back wall and suddenly, he reached out and pushed on the intricate wainscoting. The lower part of the wall parted slightly and Van used his slender fingers to pry at the wall. Brow furrowed, Cara watched him as the wa
ll fell away and she was staring at a pitch black passageway. Van tossed the lighter at her.
“This will lead you directly back to the house. You’ll need the lighter. There’s no light and I have to close this door behind you,” he told her, looking around fugitively. Cara sensed his nervousness and immediately stepped forward to enter the tunnel.
“Are you sure this leads back to the house, Van?” she asked, but she knew he wouldn’t be sending her down a rabbit hole if he didn’t know where it led. He nodded and started to close the wall behind her.
“But you never learned this from me,” he told her, his face disappearing as the opening closed. Standing completely in the absolute darkness for a second, Cara took the opportunity to gather her scattered thoughts. She wasn’t sure why she was filled with such an urgent state of forbidding. The house had always held strange mysteries, the people had maintained certain quirky qualities and Connor himself was a conundrum of openness and enigma but for some reason, at that moment, Cara knew that she needed to understand the shroud of weirdness.
“Go now,” something in the darkness seemed to whisper at her. “Go before it’s too late. You must hurry!”
She flicked the lighter and a small, yellow glow showed less than two feet before her face. The path was remarkably unobstructed and while there were beams low to her head, she followed the secret spot through endless cow webs and a scattering of timid mice. Occasionally she would stop to allow the lighter to cool before starting through the chill of the underground again but true to Van’s word, she found herself on an incline and facing a wooden door, twenty minutes after her journey had started. She pushed at it and after some urging, it finally gave way. Cara stepped over the threshold and into an unfamiliar place. Had Van sent her somewhere else? Was she in the right spot. As her eyes adjusted to the shadowy light, Cara took notice of the candlelight shimmering against stained glass. She was in the forbidden library. She had not stepped foot back in Connor’s library since that first fateful day when he had so angrily forbidden her from entering. She slowly closed the wooden door behind her with a groan and ventured further into the room, her pupils restricting as the full view came into focus. She was on the wall furthest from the door to the dining room and she could see the entire study. A fire was glowing on the hearth and in the high back, wing chair, Connor sat, stock still. She could only make out his profile but there was something awful about his face and for a moment, Cara didn’t recognize the blank, contorted expression. Her heart failed to beat as her initial thought was that he was dead. She sprung forward, ready to scream for help but the cry died on her lips. His hands were moving. As if she was in a horror movie, she watched her lover scrawling into one of those spiral notebooks at an almost fanatical pace. As she drew nearer, she noticed his eyes had rolled completely to the back of his head where only the whites were visible. His lips were moving only slightly but his left hand would not cease movement. She was directly beside him now, could hear a slight muttering tone emitting from his seemingly possessed body but her attention was on the paper.
There were scribbles upon scribbles but then one single word jumped out.
Repayment. Cara’s blood ran completely cold. That was what Genevieve had said when she handed her the check in the garden. Repayment. Genevieve and her cold, almost lifeless face. Just as Connor looked then.
“Connor!” she screamed. “Connor wake up!”
Time ceased to function as she watched the metamorphosis take place. The pasty white glow diminished and his blue irises reappeared, rolling forward slowly. As the haze seeped out of his gaze, the writing decelerated until the pen simply dropped from his hand to the old hardwood floors. There was a ticking, a ticking which Cara had never before noticed. It was coming from a metronome on the hearth. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Connor directed his steely eyes on Cara.
“What are you doing here?” It was the same tone he had used on her the first day. A combination of fear and confusion threatened to overwhelm her to tears.
“What are you doing?” she yelled back, backing away. “What were you doing?”
Connor rose unsteadily to his feet, the last of the trance-like fuzz clearing from his eyes. He stared at Cara and she couldn’t understand his look. She stood, frozen and tried to decide what to do. Run! Run away! That voice yelled at her from somewhere neither in her head or in the room.
“Connor?” she pleaded. “Please say something.”
He cleared his throat and for the first time, she saw him look defeated.
“I was traveling,” he finally said. Cara blinked.
“What? You were what?”
Connor stepped away from the chair and drew near her but she was as guarded as a cat. He could tell that one false move would cause her to spring and run from the room.
“Do you remember when I told you I was diagnosed with autism?” he asked her. She nodded slowly, she uncomprehending what was happening.
“I told you my mother had taken me to countless doctors, some of them legitimate physicians. When the suggested medication, she began searching for alternative solutions. I told you there were dieticians and herbal doctors. But there were others, people who society would consider crazy.” He paused, seemingly unsure of how to continue. Cara remained frozen, wondering if she wanted to hear more. She wisely said nothing and allowed Connor to continue on his own terms.
“My mother was always a spiritual person. She has always believed that there is much more to the universe than what can be seen or explained. When I was eleven, we visited a woman. I suppose you would call her a psychic but she was more than that. Yes, she could make predictions and seemed to know more than she should but she had an ability.”
Cara found her voice.
“What ability?”
“She could get into people’s souls.” Cara’s emerald orbs were like saucers as she looked at him. Is he delusional? Have I been in a relationship with someone fighting mental illness? A million questions of that nature flooded Cara.
“Into their souls?” she asked cynically, despite her attempt to sound neutral.
“It doesn’t make sense; I know but it’s true. The act of what she could do is called astral projection and it is literally the ability to overtake the soul of another person. It can only be done for a short time or you will be unable to return to your own body.”
The disbelief in her face was overly apparent and Connor rushed on to explain.
“She told me that I was not autistic but that my soul was simply yearning to travel. I had the same dubious expression on my face as you do right now. I was much younger, of course so I still had some naïve desire to believe in make believe.
She sat me down that very day, put me in a chair and placed a metronome by my head. She told me to listen only to the rhythmic beat and let whatever happen, happen. She turned off the lights, only a candle was lit and she and my mother left the room. So I sat. And listened to the ‘tick, tick, tick’. I wasn’t expecting anything to happen. I felt my eyes get heavy and I was in that spot between sleep and awake, you know that place where you can dream but you’re still very aware of your own surroundings?” Again, Connor paused, checking to see if Cara was still with him. Assured that she was still listening, he continued his tale.
“Suddenly, I was no longer sitting on that hard, wooden chair. I was floating above myself, watching a hypnotized boy sitting next to a metronome. I felt elated, free. I could never remember ever feeling so happy. I was flying. I couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t hear anything. And then I wasn’t there anymore. I was outside of the room, with my mother. She was crying and the psychic was patting her arm, trying to console her. I had never seen my mom cry. Never in my life. I found myself standing next to her, trying to comfort her…” Cara could see Connor’s tan complexion go pale at the memory. “…and then I was feeling anguish, sorrow, broken. All I could think was ‘what did I do to make him this way?’ I was crying, my heart was broken. I looked up and the psychic star
ed back at me. She smiled and said ‘I knew you were just a traveler.’ I didn’t understand what was happening but I suddenly realized that I was in my mother’s body. The psychic recognized that I had taken her over. Of course, I was shocked. The experience jarred me to the core and with a sonic boom, I was back in my own body, trembling.” Cara felt her own face wan at Connor’s last words. That was how she had felt at the sex club – floating above everyone else, weightless, deaf. Was there a truth to what he was saying?
“After that, we went to visit the psychic often. She worked with me, teaching me how to utilize this gift without abusing it. You understand that with this ability comes an amazing amount of power. And with great power comes great responsibility of course. I was happy for the first time in my life and I could go anywhere, be anyone I wanted. Of course, I abused it. I did awful things – got back at teachers whom I disliked by overtaking them long enough to do something which would result in their dismissal. I would take over my dad, have him give me money in a trance state, often wondering why he did it later. The psychic tried to warn me, nature abhors a vacuum and karma will balance everything out in the end. She was right but I found out the hard way.”
Cara sunk down to the floor, her legs suddenly weak. She believed him. He was not lying, not insane. She had a rush of flashbacks, all evidence of what he was saying. He had the ability to take over people’s minds and he used it. He had used it at his charity events for donations. He had used it with Genevieve Sucar. And he had used it with her, to get her to love him. As she remembered the shameless act she had performed with him in the ballroom kitchen, her face exploded in color and she jumped to her feet.
“You forced me to love you!” she cried, ashamed and devastated. Connor’s brow furrowed and he began to shake his head but Cara did not let him speak.
“You have the ability to do so much good but instead you use it to get more money and get women into bed? Have you no shame whatsoever?”
Romance: Pummel Me: A Boxing Romance Page 55