by H. R. Holt
“Hello, lover.”
He saw her seated on the bench on the front porch, wearing only a shirt and a pair of socks. The calm expression he often carried morphed completely and he glared at her.
“Calm down, lover. I know your little one isn’t here,” she said and undid her hair, letting it cascade down her shoulders. “I also know it’s your lunch hour. I cooked you something. You can eat while I seek pleasure… in another way…”
“I don’t know what makes you think I’m interested in you,” he said and walked into the house, slamming the door behind him, but knowing she would follow.
Sure enough, she walked into the house and stared up at him as he went up the stairs. She began following him, “Remember last Christmas? A little kiss here? A little kiss there? Well, I want more of that, and a little bit of something else.”
“What?!” he asked and turned. Virginia was two steps behind him, almost as small as a child, but he knew she wasn’t guiltless. He couldn’t believe she attended church! If she embraced who she really was, he would at least accept her as a human being! “What do you want from me?”
“I want you,” she answered. “I’ve always wanted you. If only you would believe that…”
“Don’t you understand?! I’m twenty years older than you are! Is there no one else in this world you can devote yourself to? Someone younger? Someone who isn’t an old man?” he asked and reached the second floor. He realized he wasn’t going to be rid of her, knew he wouldn’t be able to go in the attic. He turned and looked at her resignedly. “Why can’t you “love” someone else? Do you even know the meaning of the word?”
“Do you?”
Emmanuel looked at her blankly for a second, “I guess I don’t.” He turned and began walking away. “Not anymore.”
“Will you ever get over her?” Virginia sobbed. “Will you ever know that I exist? I do exist. I can show you what it’s like to live and continue to love, to feel alive without ever sacrificing emotions. Even if love doesn’t exist for you, it exists for me. Why won’t you let me exist for you?”
Virginia realized he wasn’t listening to her. Since she was a woman who often got her way, no matter how high the odds were stacked against her, she wouldn’t let him walk away. She had planned on catching him ever since she’d returned to town, after burying another husband who had made her too distant when it came to lovemaking. Larry, her fourth, made love to her to make himself feel alive, but never for love. Not even once. She needed to feel loved, and knew Emmanuel Reagan was just the man to do it. She didn’t care if he returned the emotion.
She went towards him and wrapped her arms around him, began undoing the buckle on his belt. She whispered passionately, “Make love to me.”
Emmanuel turned and looked down at her, not knowing how else he could reject her. She considered three kisses to be love, when he knew for a fact they’d both been intoxicated when each one happened. He disentangled her arms from around his waist and shoved her away. She began sobbing, but he would have nothing to do with her. He walked into his room and slammed the door behind him, hearing the volume of her crying increase.
He sat on the bedside, ran his hands through his hair, and then pulled out a cigarette. Once he lit it, he stared at it, watching the smoke rise from the abomination he went to for relief. It wouldn’t help him get over Esme. It never would. He’d tried for years to push her to the back of his mind, but she emerged each time he tried. He remembered the way she bit her lip when she was nervous, the aroma of her perfume, the brilliance of her eyes, and the way light would dance across her hair. What troubled him most was that, when he thought of her, he couldn’t imagine her smiling. He always saw her in tears. Tears he couldn’t and would never be able to wipe away.
After sitting in silence for a while, he realized it was almost time to go back to work. He stepped out of his room but paused when he realized Virginia was no longer standing in the hall. Instead, he saw a white man-child sitting in the middle of the floor, eyes closed and hands pressed flat against the sides of his head. Emmanuel realized there were parts of the man-child that was splotched with brown.
“Who are you?”
The man-child opened his eyes and Emmanuel realized how unusual they looked, almost like a snake’s. The owner of these eyes quickly moved so that he was standing ramrod straight, his hands still pressed to his head.
“What is the date, year and all?” he asked, almost whispering. “Please tell me. It is of most importance. I will answer all the questions you may have at a later time. I have not the time now. Please.”
“August 24, 1939. Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”
“I am Truth,” he said and smiled. He found it peculiar that the doctor was questioning him even though he’d been requested not to. “Where is your daughter? It is best she is not here. She is away?”
“Wh-why? I don’t understand. Yes. Yes, she’s gone. She’s at school.”
“Good. I hope she may stay away for a time. Come,” the man-child said and ran off. He stopped at the end of the hall and looked back at Emmanuel. “Come. We haven’t much time. I can only stay untainted for so long.”
Emmanuel started running, wondering if he had lost his mind. He followed the man-child known as Truth, and found him in the attic. Truth looked at him and smiled, his hands still pressed to his head. The doctor realized the splotches were showing up on more of the man’s skin and debated on what was causing it. Was he ill? If that was the case, he had never seen such a disease.
Truth was standing beside a collection of stuff covered by a familiar pale sheet, telling Emmanuel to run through it. “Are you insane? I’m not going to—”
The man-child nudged Emmanuel along, and then shoved him in with his own body weight. He realized the time was almost up, could feel the presence of evil, and glanced into the attic once more before disappearing. She was standing there, dressed in black, smiling wickedly.
***
Reverie started home directly after class, shouldering a bag one of the teachers had gotten for her. Ms. Mary Smith was the English teacher and saw plenty of potential in Reverie as a writer, and had plans to make sure the young girl fit in. So far, the attention seemed to be working. Ms. Smith, who was nearly seventy, had seen plenty of students through rough times, even those who didn’t claim they needed help.
Ms. Smith also knew that Emmanuel wouldn’t give his daughter something to carry her books in because he figured she could carry them like he had to. Although she didn’t have much to do with the other school in York County, she had seen Reverie carrying her books on many occasions. Being caring a teacher, Ms. Smith had addressed him more than once in church and at the market. She stated that times were changing, children had book bags, and that Reverie was a girl. She couldn’t carry such hefty books in her small hands. He would merely look at her with a raised eyebrow, not saying anything about how she’d contradicted herself. Were the times changing? Were girls still considered too weak to carry their books? If that was the case, times weren’t changing in the slightest.
When Ms. Smith presented the large black bag to Reverie, the younger girl had merely looked at it with a raised eyebrow. She’d been told to stay a few minutes for this? She couldn’t in her wildest dream believe that she would be cornered by an elder woman. Since it would prove beneficial for her to have a bag so that she didn’t have to stop by the house and relieve herself of the burden. She could then walk around in the woods, holding her chosen book, and not worry about dropping the others. Reverie accepted the bag with a large smile.
“Thank you, Ms. Smith,” she said and immediately began putting her work away. “I will definitely use this, even though I don’t know what my father will say about my accepting it.”
“Well, if he gives you any trouble, tell him to address me on Sunday. I’m sure he won’t be bothered about it so much. He’s a nice, gentle man, and he knows I gave it to you for a reason.”
“He does have his moments of an
ger, Ms. Smith. I mean, I guess everyone does, so I don’t really hold that against him. I think everyone has been angry before, but it’s usually good that it doesn’t last for long. I mean, it’s good for me that my father is as nice and as gentle as you say he is. I’ve been blessed in that respect, I guess.”
The older woman smiled, the wrinkles lifting up on her face and making the crow’s feet beside her eyes even clearer. She was often very strict, dressed sharply with her hair fashioned into a tight ball on her head to accentuate her firmness. Although some of the students spread rumors around about her, they eventually got around to thanking her when it came to graduation. She was the most popular and most unpopular teacher, especially when it came to freshmen. There would be some teachers who gave their students everything they wanted, but Ms. Smith only gave when she thought a student needed something. It was why her retirement was going to prove upsetting for most of the faculty and staff: she had been their teacher as well.
Reverie thanked her teacher again and departed, thinking about what her father would say and why she was so easily nervous around Ms. Smith. Reverie had met her and her family years ago, even though she was clinging too closely to her father’s side to connect with the Smiths. When he wasn’t looking, Ms. Smith, who was married then with a flock of young grandchildren, would give her a piece of candy. Reverie never told her father about the secret candy, although she doubted he would mind now. She wondered what happened to Ms. Smith’s husband, and why her grandchildren hadn’t been in church for years, but questioning without feeling as if she were prying wasn’t something Reverie was particularly good at.
As she walked down the hall, she looked around her at all the faces, trying to avoid bumping into them. She knew most of the students in York County High because she had seen them somewhere before, even though she couldn’t recall where she’d seen Isaac. When she saw him standing near Penelope, he turned to her with a large smile on his face. The smile slid off his face before she had a chance to return it. She knew most students, but that didn’t mean she connected with them. Isaac’s grim expression told her one thing: she didn’t belong here.
When she stepped outside, she looked at the sky and realized how dark it was. She knew there was the threat of rain, so decided to put everything in her bag and continue on, anticipating the rain. Since she wasn’t much for singing, like her father was when he was alone, she decided instead to talk to herself.
Reverie hoisted up the key from around her neck and looked at it, wondering if she was about to do something she’d regret. What lay in the attic? Why was her father hiding it from her? What had she heard last night? She attempted to answer these questions audibly, finding that everything about the situation was loaded. Almost as if her mind was infected, she began thinking about Isaac.
“Why doesn’t he like you? You told him that he was just a friend, but he simply doesn’t want anything to do with you now, and that’s that. Let’s face it, Rev, you aren’t his kind of excitement. He likes Penelope, who can only devote herself to him, not to studies or anything like that. It’s not like he’s the prince of the high school, either. There are no actual princes in all of America. You, bookworm, should know that. Another thing: your life isn’t meager. You’re just undergoing something of a crush. It happens to the best. It’s the worst who keep themselves stuck in the crush. I’m sure you can pull out of it.”
As Reverie considered what she was saying to herself, a large smile forming on her face, the sky above her exploded and rain began falling like tears from a million angels. They were delicate and fell into her face, causing her to smile brighter. She began rushing when she realized that she was still dressed in her school uniform, laughing as she did. So much for a walk home!
When she reached the house, she darted up the steps and stood on the porch, a puddle gathering around her. There were three cats gathered on the bench, two of which were wet. She laughed at Euclid, the only one who was dry. He was the smart one of the bunch, and the only surviving cat that had belonged to her mother. The other two were younger, one, Apollo, was white with a bushy gray tail and face; the other, Aries, was orange and slim. They had sparked her interest in animals.
She opened the door for them, waiting for each cat to step inside and rush towards the fireplace. As soon as they did, she walked in and lit up the fire for them, then rushed upstairs, bag and all, to her bedroom. She checked the books to make sure they were dry and changed her clothes, still smiling about her run through the rain.
When she stepped from her room, she heard a shuffling noise from upstairs. Unable to avoid her desire to check the attic any longer, she took the necklace from around her neck and began walking down the hall, still drying her hair with one hand. The hallway wasn’t completely dark because of the windows looking towards the yard, but she still had to strain her eyes to see.
Before she could turn the key, her heart pounding a mile a minute, she heard a knock on the door. She jumped and flung the towel onto the stand beside the door, knocking over a candle. Retrieving it and picking up the candle, she rolled her eyes and began making her way down the hall, wondering who would be knocking. Virginia? Oh, she hoped not.
Reverie smiled as she imagined how her outfit would sicken the pompous “lady.” Her father wouldn’t mind her being dressed in blue jeans, a black button-up blouse, and last year’s worn-out shoes because he knew she felt comfortable in them. The school uniform was uncomfortable, almost as if they were designed to make you feel awkward.
Reverie hated the uniform, told her father so at breakfast, and he smiled. He had figured such was the case, even though he’d refrained from asking her. Whenever he asked her a question, she was tempted to give him the truth. Of course, last night had been different. She’d told him the truth, but he’d gotten onto her anyway. It wasn’t like she questioned him about every little thing, but she could tell when he wasn’t telling her the truth.
When she reached the front door, she pressed her head to the door and asked who was there while her hand rested on the doorknob. She didn’t hear anyone. Instead of waiting for a response, she opened the door and a hand came out of the darkness, grabbing hold of her neck. He raised her into the air and she looked down at him, realizing she’d never seen him before. Most men she knew had hair, but this man was bald and had dark green eyes that stared at her, not caring in the slightest that he was choking her. He smiled.
Reverie kicked his face, his stomach, but he wouldn’t let go. He squeezed tighter. As she used her hands to try and release his hold, he threw his head back and began laughing. She felt herself growing weak, wanting desperately for her father to return. She began crying and she realized that she could no longer kick, merely flail wildly without any results. The man laughed louder as she closed her eyes, slipping into what she was sure was her death.
“Hey, Goliath!”
She opened her eyes and saw Isaac standing at the doorway. He looked at her for a second, offered a smile, and then turned back to the man. The expression he wore on his face was one she hoped he would never use on her, wondered if he’d ever used it on the opposing team before. After all, didn’t one have to be aggressive to play sports, especially football? Reverie blinked, realizing the oxygen to her brain was almost diminished. She didn’t care about football.
“I tell you what, Goliath: I’ll let you walk away without any serious injuries if you put her down,” Isaac said and grinded his fist into his hand. Did he know what he was up against? His opponent was larger than he was, by height and by build. Reverie didn’t want him to get hurt, but she didn’t want to die either. “I promise. Come on, what do you say? I’m not usually one to make promises, so you better take up on this one. It won’t come again.”
“Wait your turn, pretty boy,” the large man stated, his voice booming. He threw back his head and started laughing again. “I promise that I’ll torture you with my entire arsenal… after I kill little Ms. Reverie Reagan. They want to make sure is swift and sure, like an arro
w through the heart.”
Isaac scoffed. “Wrong answer.”