by Brian Brahm
“What?”
“Oh, you know. I saw how you looked at her.”
“I was being nice. What? A guy can’t be nice without it being taken the wrong way?”
“Not at all, but there’s being nice, and then there’s: BEING NICE. I’m not blind you know. She’s cute, she has no ring, and she seemed to be a bit smitten by you.” Cody said sarcastically, using a terrible English accent.
“Yeah, well, I’m not ‘smitten’ by you, so stick a sock in it!” Partly joking, and partly being serious, Scott ended the conversation before Ella’s return.
Returning with the books, Ella gently handed them to Scott—placing them in his hands while her longing eyes locked into his. She found herself smiling involuntarily, as if she couldn’t stop had she wanted to. A slight shy chuckle was shared between both parties, and then Ella released her hands from the books, realizing that she was holding one end of the books while Scott held the other.
There was so much Scott wanted to say to Ella—so much he wanted to ask, but the only words to escape his mouth were, “Thank you.”
“You’re so welcome, Scott. Do you have any questions? Anything at all? I’m no expert, but I know enough to where I can probably help, at least a little.”
Her offer was so sweet that it almost overwhelmed Scott. Don’t blow it! He thought to himself. “Actually, I didn’t want to bother, but since you offered, I could use a little help.”
“There’s a coffee shop on the other end of the mall; how about we discuss your problem and any questions you have tomorrow?”
Now overwhelmed with excitement and happiness, for having the opportunity to have one-on-one time with Ella, Scott accepted her invite while doing his best to conceal both his relief, and his rapidly growing feelings for Ella. “That would be perfect. What time would you like to meet?”
“Does noon work for you? I can take my lunch at that time.”
“Perfect! I’ll see you at noon.”
Cody found it hard not to grin, and also felt slightly uncomfortable at the familiar exchange between his friend and a total stranger.
Scott and Cody exited the building—Scott looked back every few feet—admiring the building only because he knew an enchanting angel still graced its interior.
“It’s over.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve never seen you like this. It’s sad—scary and sad. You were whipped the moment you laid eyes on her.”
“Whatever. She seems nice, that’s all.”
“Oh right! I’ve seen you around, ‘nice’ girls, and you didn’t act like that!”
“OK, so she’s nice—and pretty!”
“And?”
“And—maybe I like her. What will it hurt to have coffee?”
“It won’t hurt. But that will most certainly lead to dinner, which will lead to a movie, which will lead to: ‘hey, why don’t you just come over and I will make dinner for you?’ And of course, that will lead to: ‘hey Cody? How would you like to be my best man?’ I’m right—you’ll see.”
“You get all of that from me liking a girl?”
“I’m just saying.”
Scott dropped Cody off at his home after enduring his verbal assault, which was an attempt to fully embarrass Scott, and also gave warning that his best bud was maybe a little jealous. And why wouldn’t he be? Ella was smart, beautiful, well dressed, well mannered, and certainly was easier to look at than Cody.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Dormant, seemingly lifeless gallows whisked by like silhouettes against the gloaming star-filled canvas. The sun set early these winter months, making the day seem shorter than it was. Chills set in the almost night air that prompted Scott to turn on the car heater.
Peering down at the books that rest on the passenger seat, Scott thought of Ella: her smile, soft sweet voice, radiant hair, shapely legs, and an innocence that ultimately won him over.
Scott looked at his watch. A sound of exasperation escaped his lips. It was only a quarter till five, nineteen hours and fifteen minutes before he would see Ella again.
A thought then suddenly entered Scott’s mind. She said she would try to help ME, with MY issues. “She knows it’s about me,” Scott said, now concerned she would think he was insane if he told her anything remotely close to the truth.
Ella was perceptive and caring. She was a pseudo counselor to all her friends and family because she listened, because she was sincere.
Quickly realizing that he would not be able to keep anything from her, he started to think of how he would word his experiences. His fears.
With twenty minutes of driving ahead of him before he reached his abode, Scott turned on the radio—already set to his favorite rock station. A classic by Ozzy rang out. How ironic, that a man whose moniker is, Prince of Darkness, is playing on my drive home. Scott laughed at the thought. “I’m being chased by the Prince of Darkness,” he muttered under his breath.
Suddenly, a white noise interrupted the song, Diary of a Madman. “Come on!” Scott played with the radio’s dials to no avail. Broken words separated by static started coming through the frequency, but not from the song. “Angelus . . . Lucifer . . . abyssus.” Scott listened intently in an attempt to decipher the words. The voice grew louder each time it repeated the phrase. Scott turned the radio volume down, but still the voice grew louder, to the point where Scott’s eardrums ached—on the verge of erupting. “Mortem! Die!” The final words came through at an unnaturally elevated volume.
Slamming on the breaks, Scott pulled over to the side of the road, turned the engine off, removed the keys from the ignition, and quickly exited his car.
His ears rang so loud; blood surely must be oozing out of them. Scott stuck his pinky in his right ear—no blood.
Scott was able to make it the rest of the way home without IT speaking through the car’s stereo, like some demon that had possessed his car in order to reenact a scene from the movie, Christine.
After entering his apartment, Scott noticed the red light on the answering machine blinking. He pressed the button.
Beep! “Scott, this is Mustapha, please call me as soon as you receive this message, it’s urgent.”
Beep! “Hi Scott! This is Ella; I’ve been thinking about ways I can help. If you feel like it, give me a call with more details and I will be happy to talk before we meet tomorrow. Bye!”
Beep! “This is Mustapha again. Please call me. I would like to meet with you and your friend. No fee—this will be free of charge. Something happened, and we need to try and help each other. Talk with you soon. Call. OK?”
Beep! A falsetto voice spoke. “Scott, I love you! Passionately! Smoochie, smoochie! Marry me you big hunk of a man! This is Ella, your exotic love mistress.” A loud, puckered kissing noise followed, and then the sound of Cody chuckling could be heard in the background before the message ended.
“Child,” Scott said under his breath while dialing Mustapha. He had come within a fraction of calling Ella first, but Scott was a sensible man, not easily overruled by emotions or hormones.
The phone rang. “Scott! Thank God you called. Please, can you, Cody, and I meet? The sooner the better.”
“What happened?”
“I would prefer to explain in person.”
“Cody experienced something—“
“Cody too? This is worse than I thought. Please ask your friend to meet at your house tonight. Are you available tonight?”
“This is important. Come over whenever you can, and I’ll call Cody.”
Scott wanted to read and be in bed early so he could be rested and at his best for Ella, but his curiosity and fear were a ferocious appetite that needed to be fed.
“Come on . . . answer,” Scott thought to himself, while impatiently counting the number of times the phone rang before Cody answered.
“Hello?”
“Scott here. Mustapha—this guy that’s helping me with my case—he wants you to meet with us at my place, ASA
P.”
“What’s this about? Did he say?”
“No details, but he’s on to something and he believes he can help us. He sounded a little freaked-out, so we need to at least hear him out.”
“I’ll get dressed and head over, but this better be good.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Cody and Mustapha arrived at Scott’s house within moments of each other. Cody in his black 1974 AMX Javelin, and Mustapha pulled up in a 2000 silver Aston Martin.
Scott lived in a simple 1970’s three bedroom home—a rental serving as a temporary dwelling until he met his future bride. Scott kept it clean; the lawn was always mowed and trimmed, and he lent a little of himself to the interior—consisting of gothic-renaissance era styled furnishings, sconces, artwork, etc. Most were surprised at his taste in décor, but Scott was an old soul who liked the finer things—even if he couldn’t afford them.
“You must be Mustapha! I’m Cody . . . how are you doing?”
“Been better, dear sir, but nice to meet your acquaintance just the same.”
They walked in the already open door to Scott’s warm and welcoming abode. Mustapha immediately complimented Scott on his taste in interior design, “Well done, Scott—you have a beautiful home.”
“Thank you, but it’s not mine. I rent for now.”
“No matter—I was speaking of your furniture and overall interior, not so much the home itself.”
“I’m glad you like it, everything will be coming with me when I’m able to purchase my own home.”
“Not to rush things, but can we get started? Where shall we sit?” Mustapha said in an anxious tone.
“Let’s sit at the dining table—would anyone like a drink? I’ve got water, orange juice, tea, milk, and two beers left by friends when they came over for the fight last Friday.”
Mustapha settled on tea, while Cody insisted on a beer. Scott went with water—he wanted nothing with caffeine, alcohol, or sugar so soon before bed.
“First off—Cody—have you had any bizarre happenings since going to Scott’s childhood home?”
Cody looked at Scott to seek approval. Scott nodded and Cody answered. “Actually, yeah—I had a dream that started happy and went sour fast. Everything turned black, and then this man appeared wearing a top hat, dressed all in black. I woke up to a loud banging noise, and when I checked my front door, it had been slammed so hard the glass had shattered.” Cody hesitated, looking to his left, trying to remember the sequence of events.
“Go on.” Mustapha said in an effort to coax Cody into finishing. Mustapha needed to tell his part before too long.
“I cut my finger while attempting to pry the glass from the door, so I went to clean the wound in the bathroom. When I returned, there was something written in my blood on the door.”
“Yes? What did it read?”
“It was in English and it read: death is imminent.”
“Troubling . . . then what?”
“There was a man—the man in my dream—he was standing across the street staring at me. He grinned, wiped blood on his lips after sucking on his finger, and then he disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“Yes. A bus drove by, and after it passed he was gone.”
Mustapha, intrigued by Cody’s admission, dove directly into his experience.
“Last night, I was looking through your documents, your research, and I received a phone call. I picked up, but could only make out a hissing sound and static. I hung up, and then the phone rang a second time. I picked up, and when I was about to hang up again, I heard voices. They spoke in several languages, including Arabic.” Mustapha paused, as if perplexed. “Now—why would it start off in my native language, knowing full well that I would understand? How could it have known?”
Mustapha looked at both Scott and Cody, his eyes wide open, shoulders half shrugged, as if he were awaiting an answer that would never come. “It spoke in several languages, and then all at once! I wrote down what I could make of it.”
He handed Scott the paper, “This is what it said to you?”
“Yes. Quite troubling, isn’t it?”
“So, if I’m reading this correctly, and assuming your interpretation is accurate, it’s telling us that it will go after anyone who helps me?” Scott became vehement as a ball of concern formed in his throat. He was to meet Ella tomorrow. Would he now have to cancel? Maybe she’s already marked? Maybe by giving him the books, she’s already helped him?
“Dear God.” Scott said somberly.
Mustapha inquired, “What is it?”
“This girl, she recommended two books and I purchased them. She also offered to help, and I’m supposed to meet her tomorrow.”
“There’s no telling if she’s involved already. It may be best to stay clear of her until this is settled.“
“I at least have to call to see if she’s doing OK.”
“I wouldn’t involve her anymore,“ said, Cody.
Scott knew he was in a serious quandary. Should he completely blow her off—hoping this thing will leave her alone? Or is it too late? Should he meet her so they can face it together? Scott barely knew Ella, but couldn't live with the idea of something bad happening to her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The dawning of a new day: a fiery ball rose in the east, slowly evaporating the frost laden, dormant grass that awaited spring. For Scott, the new day meant the possibility of a new threat, a danger from depths unknown, and an uncertainty about his future with Ella.
Shutting off his alarm, he rolled to a seated position on his bed, pausing for a moment to gain his equilibrium before standing.
Scott had little sleep that night, pondering his dilemma regarding his meeting with Ella. It haunted him more than the tall mystery man. He had four and a half hours before his scheduled meeting with Ella, and indecision still plagued him.
Four eggs, one piece of dry wheat toast, and a glass of orange juice filled the morning air in Scott’s kitchen with a familiar scent, and filled his stomach with much needed energy.
He worked out for thirty minutes, took a shower, and dressed for his special occasion—even though he wasn’t sure he was going. Once ready, he prepared himself to call Ella. He should have called last night, but the meeting with Mustapha and Cody carried on into the morning hours—too late to call Ella.
Scott reached for his cell-phone, and dialed all but the final digit, hesitating, readying his right index finger to press the cancel button. He pressed the final digit to complete Ella’s number—the phone rang.
“Hi Scott!” Ella answered, anxiously anticipating his call.
“Good morning, Ella. How are you?”
“I’m good, thanks!”
“I apologize for not calling last night, I had a late meeting at my place—I’ll explain later.” Explain later? Great, now I’m all but committed to keeping our noon lunch date, he thought.
“No problem, I know how things can come up. I’m glad you called this morning . . . “
Scott winced, waiting for Ella to tell him that she saw a tall thin man, wearing a black top hat.
Ella continued, “I’m not sure exactly what your issues are, but I looked through my personal library and found a few more books I can share with you.”
Relieved that Ella didn’t have anything horrific to reveal, Scott accepted her kind offer, and kept the lunch date.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Sitting at her faux wood desk, Ella finalized the previous day’s orders to be shipped.
She was efficient and accurate, and although loved by everyone at the office, there were employees who lacked enthusiasm for the job, doing the bare minimum, and therefore harbored animosity towards Ella, believing they were overshadowed by Ella’s herculean work ethic.
The clock struck eleven, and Ella became excited; her meeting with Scott was in one hour. She wore her favorite skirt and blouse combo, finest heels, and an alluring but ambiguous scent.
Not one to seek love, or ev
en appear available, Ella was struck by new and unfamiliar feelings: she felt amazing, but confused. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach—they had been since he left her office the day before. These new feelings were an important sign for Ella; she knew he could be the one, so she acted on it the only way she knew how, discretely.
The bells on the door activated, a customer or delivery driver had entered. Ella rose from her desk that sat just down the hall, around the corner from the entrance. “Hello sir, can I help you?” Ella asked upon seeing the customer standing in the lobby.
“I’m a friend of Scott’s. You know him, correct?”
“Scott who?” Ella questioned, uncertain if the man’s intentions were good or bad.
“Scott Abrahamson,” the man replied, with a meandering grin.
“I don’t really know him—he came in for the first time yesterday—as a customer.”
“Your pupils dilated at the mention of his name.”
“I’m not sure what you’re implying, sir.”
“No matter—please give him this the next time you see him.” The man handed Ella a bag. “Don’t open it; I want it to be a surprise.”
Ella, in a hurry to end the awkward exchange, accepted the bag and agreed to give it to Scott.
Watching the tall thin man walk away, she felt distressed. She hoped Scott would have answers as to who this man was, and how he knew they had met.
The clock reached noon, and Ella was already out the door and on her way to meet Scott at the coffee shop.
As she approached, Scott’s Roadrunner was already parked outside: a good sign that he was punctual and equally, if not more excited about their meeting.
She entered and immediately spotted Scott sitting in a booth near the back of the shop. He stood up and waived to be sure she noticed him. A polite handshake started their meeting—he waited for her to sit before seating himself. A sign of a true gentleman, Emma thought.