Embraced by the Shadows

by Mayra Calvani

  Valeria cut in. “She doesn't."

  "I don't,” Alana said.

  "Unless she's feeling...” Valeria began.

  "Unless I'm restless,” Alana said.

  Miguel nodded, smiling, looking from one to the other. “You know, I never noticed it before, but you two look alike."

  "We could be twins, couldn't we?” Valeria said. “Fraternal twins, anyway."

  "We are twins,” Alana said. She felt positively giddy, she could feel the blood gushing inside her veins, flaming with alcohol. Her limbs were starting to feel as if they weren't attached to her body, but she still had complete control over her mind.

  How the hell was she going to drive home? Well, she wasn't. She wasn't that stupid. She was going to ask Miguel and Valeria to drop her off at the apartment. “Listen, Miguel. I've been watching you tonight. I like the fact that you've only had three beers. That's great. You're a responsible guy. That's just wonderful.” Her voice was soft, gently taunting, like music. Was it the alcohol in her blood what made her say that, or did she mean it? She wasn't sure.

  Miguel seemed flattered. “If I were home right now I wouldn't mind finishing up two six-packs in an hour. I love beer. But when I have to drive, that's different. I'm not planning on dying on the road."

  If you were home right now you'd be with your wife, you bastard, Alana thought.

  "I told you how wonderful he was,” Valeria said, stealing the cigarette from Alana's fingers and taking a puff. She nestled her head against the crook of Miguel's arm, took another puff from the cigarette and gave Alana an inquisitive look. “What face?"

  "What?” Alana said, though she knew very well what Valeria had asked.

  "You said you were thinking about a face. What face?"

  Alana shrugged. “Oh, nothing. Just a face I saw across the room. A very ... unusual face."

  "What do you mean, a face? Was it a man or a woman?” Valeria said.

  Alana let out a quick short laugh. “Oh, a man ... most definitely a man."

  "Then why do you say you saw a face instead of a man?” Valeria said.

  "I don't know. It was very strange, as if there wasn't anything else in the room except for that face. I didn't even see what he was wearing, I didn't even see his chest or shoulders. It was just a face, a luminous face in the darkness, staring at me,” Alana said.

  "That's spooky, Alana,” Miguel said. “Maybe you saw one of the waiters."

  "Don't worry, Miguel. If you knew Alana a little better, you wouldn't be surprised. She loves living in a fantasy world. An interesting-looking man was looking at her, that's all. So tell me, Alana, was he handsome?” Valeria asked.

  "Try and read my mind again,” Alana said viciously, suddenly annoyed by Valeria's matter-of-factness.

  "Come on, Alana. Don't get mad,” Valeria said, pouting. “I was going to ask you the next dance."

  "Go to hell,” Alana sweetly said.

  Valeria looked at Miguel and shrugged. “She's like this. She gets mad very easily when she's drunk. I guess it's all that hot Mediterranean blood in her veins, coming from her Italian and Spanish ancestors."

  "What about you, my love?” Miguel said to Valeria. “Where did you get that beautiful blond hair?"

  "Most probably her ancestors were Nazis,” Alana said.

  "My God, now she's going to blame me for the murder of six million Jews. Yeah, who knows, maybe I do have Nazi blood in me. How in the world would I know? How in the world would anybody know? I bet not even God knows.” She downed the rest of her drink. Then she laughed.

  Alana knew better than to expand on the subject of Valeria's birth. She could see through Valeria's laughter—the hidden darkness, the coldness.

  There was a short silence.

  Miguel frowned, obviously intrigued and ignorant of Valeria's childhood.

  "How long are you two going to be here?” Alana quickly said, giving him no chance of asking any more questions. “I don't feel up to driving. I was going to ask you to drop me off at the apartment. Is that okay?"

  "Sure, no problem,” Miguel said. “What about your car? Isn't it dangerous to leave it out there all night?"

  "I'll have to take the risk. Better to risk my car than my life,” Alana said.

  "You want to go now? It's not even three o'clock yet,” Valeria protested. “Let's dance."

  "Why don't you save some of that energy for later, my love?” Miguel told Valeria, lifting her hand to his mouth and brushing it with his lips. He whispered something into her ear, making Valeria squirm and giggle.

  "Stop it!” Valeria said, laughing. “Alana, you wouldn't believe how indecent this man really is.” But all of a sudden she stood still, entranced by the music, and said, “Listen, Alana. It's our favorite song! Let's dance! Please, please, please, let's dance!"

  Alana was tempted, but she shook her head. “I'm tired,” she protested.

  "So what?” Valeria said.

  "She's tired, mi amor. Leave her alone,” Miguel said.

  "Don't be ridiculous. I don't care if she's tired!"

  Alana laughed. “Oh Lord. No creature on earth can insist so much.” But to placate Valeria, she added, “The next fast-paced song will be ours. And after we dance we'll get out of here and you'll drop me off at the apartment, okay? I want to sleep and...” She stopped herself. She had been about to say dream. I want to sleep and dream.

  "And, what?” Valeria said.

  "And get rid of your stupid, unbearable company once and for all,” Alana said.

  The three of them danced the next song, and the next, and the next. And while Alana danced her eyes searched for the mysterious man. She desired so much to see the face that she willed herself to see it, to the point that her temples began to throb. But to no avail. She walked out of the club feeling weak and forsaken, drunkenly telling herself that if she could only see the face she would instantly feel better.

  By the time they sat in the car the sudden realization hit her brain like a powerful blow to her skull. It didn't make sense at all. Not at all. But somehow she knew that the creature in her dreams and the man with the mysterious face were one and the same.

  She leaned her head against the backseat of Miguel's car and shut her eyes.

  Yes, yes, yes. I want to sleep and dream.

  CHAPTER 3

  By the time Alana finished having breakfast the next morning, she had decided that last night's conclusions were ridiculous, if not downright impossible. How could the strange creature of her dreams and the man with the mysterious face be one and the same? She had gotten drunk last night, and had let her imagination run wild. She had thought things she desired to be real. But even this she couldn't understand. Why would she desire the two to be the same?

  She poured herself another cup of coffee and went out to the balcony, stretching herself out on the lounge chair. Thank God she had not mixed drinks last night; otherwise she would be sick now. As long as she didn't mix, her stomach didn't rebel. And thank God there was no sun to sting her eyes, which felt like frail, skinned grapes inside their sockets. The morning had been gentle, had welcomed her with grey skies and cool air and a light rain. Since their balcony was covered by the balcony above it, the rain didn't touch her but only tickled her feet deliciously.

  With a sudden giddiness, she thought about last night's dream.

  Panther.

  There had been no creature this time, no vampire, but a big black panther with shimmering yellow eyes and deadly curved fangs. She didn't remember anything else; the image overflowed her brain.

  While sipping her coffee, Alana heard Valeria going into the kitchen. This was a ritual on Saturday and Sunday mornings: get a cup of coffee, stretch out lazily on the balcony, and talk.

  "I guess we won't be going to the beach today,” Valeria said, appearing on the balcony, taking the cup to her lips and gazing at the rain. Like Alana, she also loved dark rainy days. She sat down next to Alana on the other lounge chair. “You feeling okay?"

 
"Uh-huh."

  "That bad, huh?” Valeria said. “Me too. Was I terribly impossible last night?"

  "Nah, just your regular irritating self."

  Valeria smiled. “You fell asleep in the car. We had to drag you upstairs and into bed. Do you remember?"

  "Of course I remember. I was not that drunk. What time did Miguel leave?"

  "I don't know. Close to four, I think."

  "What does he tell his wife?” Alana said.

  "He told her he was going to a poker game. His friends cover for him."

  "I think he's falling in love with you,” Alana said with a slight grimace of disgust.

  Valeria gave her a little guilty smile. “You think? No, I don't think so."

  Alana winced. “Damn, my head hurts. Don't you have a headache?"

  "Of course I do. We overdid it last night."

  "Can you rub my shoulders a little? They feel as if they're on fire,” Alana said, sitting up and turning her back to Valeria. She didn't wait for an answer. Valeria rarely said no, but even when she did, Alana always bribed her somehow.

  Valeria put her coffee down and began to rub Alana's shoulders.

  Alana moaned, tightly shutting her eyes. She could very well fall asleep, right here, sitting up. “My God, it feels so good! Please, a little bit more,” she begged.

  "Okay, but later you rub mine, too."

  "Yes, yes, okay."

  For a few more minutes Valeria massaged Alana's shoulders. Then Alana, feeling deliciously groggy, turned around to ease the tension in Valeria's shoulders.

  "Do it better, Alana. Harder. I was not doing it like this to you. You always trick me like this,” Valeria protested.

  "My head, Valeria. Don't whine."

  Inside in the living room, the intercom rang.

  Alana and Valeria gave each other a look. Instinctively, Alana glanced at her watch. It was almost one o'clock, and it was unusual for the intercom to ring on Sundays.

  "I'll go and check,” Alana said, standing up.

  "Saved by the bell, but you owe me a back rub,” Valeria said, following Alana into the living room.

  Through the intercom a young male voice announced it was a flower delivery. Alana pressed the button and told him to come up.

  "Flowers?” Alana said, bewildered. “Miguel, maybe?"

  Valeria shook her head. “That's not his style. Why do you assume right away that they're for me? Why didn't you ask who they were for?"

  Alana let out a snort. “I don't know. You're the only love goddess around here."

  "Something tells me they're for you,” Valeria said, trying to control a smile.

  "Who the hell is going to send me flowers? My uncle?"

  They were for Alana. A lovely arrangement of plump, red roses.

  After tipping the delivery boy and closing the door, they rushed to the living room sofa to read the note. Sorry I missed the opening. Lots of success in your new job. I'll see you in two weeks. Don't bother calling me. I'll be camping in the Arizona desert with friends. Love and kisses, Humberto.

  "You see, I told you they were for you,” Valeria said.

  Alana smiled. “What a wonderful surprise. That's so nice of him. But how did he know about my new job, about the opening? I haven't spoken to him for two months ... why are you looking at me like that?"

  Valeria burst out laughing.

  Alana's eyes widened with surprise. “You! You spoke to him! You told him?"

  "Okay, guilty of all charges,” Valeria said, raising her hand as if in court. “He called a week ago to check how we were doing, and I told him about your new job and about the opening night. He wanted to call later and speak to you, but I told him it would be nicer if he surprised you with flowers. He'll fly here in two weeks, anyway, and we'll have a nice big get-together."

  "So he's still in the States? But he graduated two months ago. That's the last time I spoke to him."

  "You know how he is. He told me he plans to rest this fall semester, then start his master's at the end of January."

  "So the flowers were your idea?” Alana turned to give Valeria a kiss and a hug. “That's sweet of you, thank you."

  Valeria swallowed, her big brown eyes moistening.

  "So he'll be coming in two weeks then,” Alana said, smelling the roses. Then she raised a brow at Valeria. “Like old times again, huh?"

  Humberto had been their closest friend since their days of primary school.

  How many times had he pulled their hair when they were little? And how many times had Alana and Valeria fought each other over him? He was the first boy they had ever kissed and they played the switching game, in and out of love with him until at last the three had settled into being the greatest friends. The naughty things they had done together! Rebelling against teachers, torturing other kids, cheating during tests. Even when they went their separate ways after high school, they always kept in touch.

  "Valeria, did you and him...” She had asked Valeria this question a hundred times.

  "Sleep together? How many times have I told you no ?” Valeria replied, though there was a hint of dark playfulness in her voice.

  "I don't know. I don't know why I don't believe you. Everybody has secrets. Even though we're so close, we must have secrets. Maybe that's one of your little secrets."

  "That's not true,” Valeria protested. “I don't keep any secrets from you. I always tell you everything. Speaking to you is like speaking to myself."

  Alana decided to let it pass. Sometimes silly conversations like this ended up in big illogical arguments. “All right, I believe you,” she lied, fondly tousling Valeria's hair.

  But now Valeria seemed wounded. “So everybody must have secrets? This means that you have secrets."

  "It was just a statement. I didn't mean it personally."

  "Yes, yes, sure. Tell me, Alana. Do you keep secrets from me?"

  "No,” Alana lied. “I always tell you everything, you know that.” Though she was used to Valeria's vehemence, now and then it startled her. Even for twin souls, it was normal to have little secrets, wasn't it? And in the past she had caught Valeria in lies, little lies, just as she herself was lying now. “Well, we better get dressed now,” Alana said, putting an end to the conversation. She stood up, cradling the roses in her arms. “We have to get the newspaper. I'd like to see what they wrote about the club. Then you have to drive me to the club to get my car."

  "If it's still there,” Valeria said.

  "Yeah, let me put these roses in water.” Alana walked over to the kitchen cabinet to look for a glass vase. Valeria stood up and followed her.

  Alana rinsed the vase and half-filled it with water, then she began to arrange the roses in the vase. A thorn stung one of her index fingers. She flinched back in pain.

  "Damn!” Alana said, clasping her injured finger with her other hand and watching as a ruby dot of blood formed on the tip. For an instant she seemed dazed, transfixed by the sight of her own blood.

  "Let me see,” Valeria said, examining the finger. “That's why I hate roses. Oh, poor Alana! Does it hurt much?"

  "If you hate roses, why did you tell Humberto to send me some?"

  "I love roses; it's their darker side I hate. Don't be such a coward. Here,” and she took the tip of Alana's finger into her mouth and sucked the blood. She threw Alana a strange thoughtful look, then she pulled the finger out of her mouth and said, “Remember the pact?"

  "Hmm,” Alana said.

  It had been Alana's idea, after she'd seen it in a movie, and Valeria had been thrilled with the prospect. They had been fifteen at the time, and fascinated yet terrified by the ritual. With a needle they had gently punctured each other's thumbs, and their blood had joined, and they made the oath to always love and trust and help one another, and to never, never betray one another.

  The heaviness of the memory hung in the air for a moment.

  "Your blood is too salty,” Valeria finally said, licking her lips. “How many times have I told you to
cut down on salt?"

  "Are you crazy? And lose all that taste?” Alana said, and continued placing the roses into the vase.

  This time she was more careful.

  * * * *

  He watched her.

  From the darkness of the balcony he heard her slow sweet breathing and smelled the richness and innocence of her blood.

  Moving forward, he opened the sliding glass door and for a moment lingered there, admiring her beauty and listening to Bach. She had fallen asleep with the stereo on, very low, on the same classical music station. She had started doing this years ago, believing it made her sleep better. She had recorded all of her favorite classical melodies in one cassette, and very often she would put on this cassette in place of the station. Mozart, Vivaldi, Ravel, Beethoven. He admired her taste in music.

  He watched the rise and fall of her chest. Her splendid hair, so thick and long and wavy, possessed a very unusual hue under the faint light of the moon, like expensive brandy. Her brows arched high above her eyes, and her nose was small and her lips pink and full, as if they had been slightly bruised from too much kissing. Her features made him think of cats, or foxes, or raccoons, the animals he found the loveliest. Her skin was soft, with just the right amount of freckles on her nose and cheeks, like a slight sprinkle of cinnamon on vanilla pudding—the texture so soft, so pale against the black silk kimono she had fallen asleep wearing....

  Alana, he called.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him.

  Alana. Come, my angel.

  She rose from the bed and moved to stand in front of him, and just as she had done years ago, she clasped her arms around his waist. Soon he was lost in her hair, relishing himself in its luscious human scent. He took a handful of her hair and brushed it with his lips, then curled a lock of it around his finger and pulled her face closer to him. She shuddered under his touch, and for a second he held his breath and shut his eyes. It was almost unbearable, this waiting. A waiting that was both physical and emotional, for just as much as he needed to possess her, he also needed to reveal himself to her, to talk to her without having to control her will or thoughts. But like a good lover—or hunter—he believed that foreplay was everything, and he loved the thrill of anticipation, he loved the little hunting games until the final climatic kill.