"Very."
"I didn't believe her. I didn't want to believe her, but you know how it is. Words like those aren't easily forgotten. And since many of the things she had told me in the beginning were true ... well, you can understand my bafflement."
Sadash seemed thoughtful. “Did she tell you anything else?"
"She didn't have the chance. I paid her and left the tent. I was deeply upset. She confused me."
He sighed, leaning back against the chair. He was smiling, but it was a sorrowful smile.
Alana laughed. “Don't look like that. It isn't your fault, you know."
He muttered something under his breath.
"What did you say?” she said.
"Nothing. I don't want you to talk about sad things anymore. It makes me depressed. Let's talk about something else."
"Yes. Let's talk about you for a change."
But Sadash hardly said much. He said he wrote programs. He said he had his own computer software firm in Miami and that he was in the process of opening a branch here in San Juan. X-Net was the name. He was vague about his family, in fact he didn't give her much chance to ask him about himself. She was aware of it. He turned the conversation toward music, then toward law and religion and the high crime situation in San Juan.
"Maybe there's justice on another planet,” Alana said. “But not here. I hate the police force; I hate judges and lawyers and anything that has to do with law and order because, for me, there isn't any law and order. I believe in vigilantism. I believe is right to take the law into your own hands. And I hate religion. I was educated in private Catholic schools all my life, but I hate religion. Religion is based on hate. It was created to control and separate people."
Sadash laughed. “Is there anything you don't hate?” he said.
"I don't know,” she said. “I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound insulting or anything. Are you a Muslim? Just because I'm not religious doesn't mean I don't respect other people's beliefs."
At this he grinned savagely. “You little liar. You're perfectly contemptuous of them!"
Alana flushed. How did he guess? He was right!
"Don't worry, my religious days are long gone,” he said, reassuring her. “I've seen too much gore and horror to believe that religions are nothing but weapons of war and destruction."
"I once wrote a poem about it,” she ventured, made bold by the wine.
He gave her an intimate smile. “Tell me,” he said.
"It's not a real poem, just a stupid little thing,” she said.
"Let me be the judge."
Her eyes widened. “Now? Here?"
"Why not? I'm dying of curiosity, Alana,” he said. The way he spoke her name ... so luring, so intimate.
Involuntarily her eyes darted to the unbuttoned part of his shirt, to his hairy chest. For a giddying second she pictured herself snuggling against it, kissing it, touching it intimately. Her eyes dropped down to the table, full heat gushing over her.
He was gazing expectantly at her, smiling, leaning slightly forward over the table with his long arms folded against it. “Don't be shy,” he said, almost a whisper.
"All right,” she finally said. In a melodramatic self-mocking voice she began:
It is the effect of a dying world
when figures dressed in black say,
'God is Good, Man is Bad.'
Reality inverts that version.
Grey cells cry,
'Man is Good, God is Fiction!’”
"As clever as it is short,” he said.
"You really like it?"
"I love it,” he said again, rather passionately. “So you don't believe in God?"
"Not in the God created by men and religions. But there has to be something else, some immense power or energy. When I'm drunk, I think there's nothing, absolutely nothing. But I really get awful when I'm drunk. My common sense tells me there has to be something."
He asked her many things, about her friends, her hobbies, her tastes, her four years in Boston. She talked and talked, and every time she came to a stop, Sadash asked her something else. He was insatiable. And every time Alana tried to turn the conversation in his direction he would skillfully manage to turn it back to her again.
"Sadash!” she finally protested. “Enough about me! I hate talking about myself. I don't know how, but you tricked me. I don't know how you've got this much out of me. You hypnotized me! I do really hate talking about myself. And what about you? You've hardly told me anything about yourself!"
"Don't be so impatient. You'll learn everything about me soon enough."
"What do you mean, soon? Don't be mysterious. I hate mystery."
He shook his head reprovingly. “There you go, lying again. You love mystery.” Still that gently taunting smile on his face. He reached for her hand and held it between his, then he turned her palm up and looked at it.
Alana didn't resist him, startled and all of a sudden quite breathless. She let out a nervous little laugh. “What are you doing? Reading my palm? You already know about my palm-reading experience."
One long index finger traced her life line. Again that tingly coolness, as though he had just come out of an air-conditioned place. But, ah, so comforting, so pleasurable...
A convulsed shiver ran through her. She stiffened.
"Well, will I live long?” she said.
"Didn't the gypsy woman tell you?” he drawled.
"No. She said that's one thing she never tells her customers—the hour of their deaths."
He looked at her. “You said when you first saw me, my face seemed familiar. Why?” he asked, his index finger tracing the lines in her palm.
"I didn't say that. Did I say that?"
And yet she was thinking, Yes, I know I saw you. And I know when and where. In the bazaar in that dark country and in my nightmares. But since it cannot be possible, since it cannot be true, then it must be an illusion, or a dream. “I was mistaken,” she said.
Then the most incredible thing happened. She heard him say, “You're not mistaken, my little angel. And you know it.” But his mouth had not moved. The words had flashed strongly and clearly in her mind, but her ears had not heard a thing. But this was impossible. Still another illusion, her mind playing tricks on her again. And yet she was so sure, the message had felt so real! Either she was becoming insane or ... this was really happening! But how to believe something so implausible? There was no other realistic explanation; it had to be the power of suggestion. The fact was, even though she was in love with the supernatural, she was by nature a highly skeptical being.
Narrowing her eyes, she studied his face for a second. But it was an inscrutable mask. Impossible to say what lay behind that little smile, that melancholic curve of his mouth.
She glanced at his index finger moving on her palm. What was he doing? Trying to hypnotize her as experts hypnotized alligators, by rubbing them? She was beginning to feel lethargic, as though she were being slowly sedated with an opium serum.
He laughed. Then he turned over her hand, kissed it, and gave it back to her. His beautifully drawn lips, full and sensual, felt oddly moist and cool and hot at the same time, like menthol.
She suddenly realized they were the only customers left in the restaurant. Only the waiters were moving back and forth around them, cleaning and tidying up the place.
Sadash glanced at his watch. “It's one o'clock. Maybe we should leave, before they throw us out,” he said. He got up from the chair and extended his hand.
She swallowed hard. “You didn't tell me how long I'll live,” she said, reluctant to leave, locking her hand into his.
There was a dark twinkle in his yellow eyes. “That's a purely relative question, my little poet. It depends on your definition of living,” he said. And he led her out of the restaurant and into the warm and shimmering street.
"Well, as the cliché goes: Thank you for a lovely night,” she told him outside. “Though I'd say interesting is the word."
"I want
to see you again,” he said. “Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"Same time as today. Eleven-fifteen. In the club,” he said, his deep voice irresistibly inviting.
"I don't work tomorrow,” she said. “We could meet earlier. At eight?"
How to say no? Yet an indescribably panicky feeling took possession of her. She suddenly wanted to run away, to get as far away from him as possible.
He seemed pleased. “Okay. At eight. Let me walk you to your car."
"Oh, no, that's not necessary,” she quickly said. “It's not far away. Besides, there's still people in the streets, and you parked your car in the exact opposite direction. There's no need for you to come with me. Really, it's okay."
And she thought: He's dangerous.
"It'd only be a pleasure,” he said.
"No, thank you. Thank you, but you really don't have to.” I don't want to be in a dark street with you. No, no, no!
"Aren't you afraid going by yourself?"
She lifted her chin in defiance. “Afraid? Me? The only thing I'm afraid of is my own imagination."
He nodded slowly, smiling. Then he shrugged, casually slipping his hands into his pockets. “All right, see you tomorrow then,” he said.
"Bye-bye."
He turned on his heels and stalked off . Somewhat disappointed, she watched him walking down the street until he turned and disappeared round the corner. Not once did he look back.
She hastened in the opposite direction and turned left at the corner, all the while deep in thought, going over the date in her mind. His gestures, his words, his smile. He was like a devil, with those sinister slanted brows, those eyes which resembled golden talismans. His lips were made to be kissed. To be bitten. Yes, to be bitten. She wanted to bite him, to pierce the pink flesh and draw blood from those lips, to drink the blood.
She halted her thoughts, stunned. But she couldn't recall any time she had been so agitated. She was almost in cold sweat and her temples were throbbing. A strange image flooded her mind. That of a great white shark devouring a seal, its jaw viciously jerking from left to right to tear the bloody flesh. That's how she felt. Yes, quite literally, that's how she felt. She should have let him accompany her to her car. God knows what would have happened. She wished him here now.
She continued down the street in long quick strides, then turned right at the end of the block, completely absorbed in her thoughts, hardly aware that by this time all trace of human beings had been left behind, that it was perfectly dark and deserted and quiet.
A sound. Ahead of her. Subtle and vague.
Alana stopped, glued to the ground. She glanced behind her.
Nothing.
If the sound had been behind her she would have dashed to her car at the speed of light. But the sound had come from ahead, where there were those two little alleys on the right.
She held her breath, clutching her purse tightly against her chest. Nothing, don't be silly. Don't be stupid. It's nothing. Probably a cat. Walk quickly, yes, that's it. Walk quickly. To the car. Get to the car. There was no reason to be afraid, was there? She had walked these streets at night hundreds of times and she had never had a bad experience in her life. She had never been robbed; she had never been mugged. Even in Boston, walking at night, she had always felt strangely secure and protected. Bad things couldn't happen to her, they happened to other people, in the news, in the movies. Actually, many times she had fantasized about being mugged and then taking out a gun or a knife and sending the attacker to the other world. Very vile and sadistic, these little fantasies, for she always saw herself immensely enjoying her revenge. Oddly, she wasn't afraid of the actual mugger. What froze her blood were the abstract whispers and silhouettes of the dark. The hidden menace.
Yes, that's it, keep walking, very good, don't even turn your head, just pass the alley. But just before she was to pass the alley a dark silhouette sprang out of it and blocked her path.
Alana gasped, flinching back, her purse still tightly clasped against her chest.
Dark greasy hair, bloodshot eyes that were anxious and disoriented. Just a kid, maybe sixteen, seventeen. The glimmer of a knife flashed before her eyes.
"Just give me the purse, okay? That's all I want, the purse. Come on, give it to me!” he hissed in a thick, malicious voice, tightly holding the knife in one shaky hand.
"I don't have any money with me,” Alana lied, shocked by the icy steadiness of her own voice. Her heart, though, was ready to blow up and shatter her ribcage. “And don't even think I'm going to give you my Visa card.” Incredible, these words, yet they did come out of her mouth.
Obviously the kid was not expecting this. His eyes widened with incredible meanness. His mouth twisted in a vicious grimace and he was about to say something when a clattering sound behind him made him stop. A distinct sound—empty cans being kicked across the pavement. But there was no one in the street. The noise appeared to have come from the other alley, the alley that was still ahead of them.
The kid swung slightly to the side and turned his head in the direction of that alley. Taking advantage of his sudden confusion, Alana pushed him with all her strength and started running as fast as she could toward her car.
Behind her, less than five seconds later, Alana heard a quick, short scream.
Then quickly after that a muffled scream.
Panting and breathless, the clinking of her heels ringing in her ears, she glanced over her shoulder only to realize with shocked disbelief that the kid was not following her. In fact, he seemed to have vanished and was nowhere in sight.
Alana stopped running and swung around to stare at the dark, and now empty street, this time truly terrified. What the hell happened? But she knew. She knew! She knew that the scream had come from that kid's mouth. Someone had surprised him. Someone had hurt him. Someone had dragged him back into the alley. She was sure of it.
Silence. Except for the unsteady sound of her own breathing.
She turned her head in the direction of her car. She could even see it. Yes, there it was, her Suzuki Samurai, parked there at the end of the block. Only she still had to pass the other alley, the one where the clattering of the empty cans had come from. It was crazy, she couldn't move, her legs were shaking, nailed to the ground. She was standing in the middle of the street between the two alleys. And suddenly she felt like laughing. Yes, like laughing hysterically like a hyena. The whole thing felt like a bad joke.
Finally she gathered sufficient courage to begin trotting toward her car, trying not to think about what had just happened back there with that kid, her pace quickening with each step. By the time she was about to pass the other alley she was running.
It all happened in a matter of seconds.
Two steel arms grabbed her and lifted her off the ground and swung her in the air and into the enveloping darkness of the alley. She gasped, so petrified she was unable to utter a sound. It was as if she had been suddenly knocked to the ground by a truck, so perfect was her shock.
Before she had time to scream, a big strong hand closed over her mouth.
"My daring little fool!” A deep and husky whisper, full of passion and vehemence. “You wished me here, and here I am."
And a second later she found herself pinned against the wall and staring wildly into his face. One arm was clasped around her waist, the other still pressed over her mouth.
"Shhhh.” He was smiling, but it was not a gentle smile like before. It was feral, and the way his amber eyes glinted in the darkness was feral, too. Like the panther, just like the panther! But it was him again, and in spite all logic she was beginning to feel safe again.
"Shhhh. Calm down. Your heart is making wild music in my ears, your lovely little heart,” he said. So soothing the sound of his voice, like a love song.
"Sadash!” she gasped when he released her mouth, her hands against his chest. She tried to push him away, but he only pressed himself harder against her, crushing her against the wall.
"
That's my name,” he softly mocked.
"What ... what are you doing? What are you doing here? I was just ... there was a kid there. He ... he tried to mug me. I...” she stammered, panting, pausing for breath. “There was a noise, and then I pushed him and started running and then—I think something happened to him. He screamed and then ... and then when I looked back he was not there anymore. I think..."
"You're not making any sense,” he whispered in her ear. “I told you I should have walked you to your car."
She felt his hot breath against her ear, felt the rough early morning beard on his chin against her face. She felt his right hand closing over the side of her neck. How could he had seemed cold to the touch before? His face was hot, his hands were hot.
An anguished moan escaped from her throat.
"Sadash, please ... what ... what are you doing? I cannot...” her voice broke. Shutting her eyes, she turned her head to the side and made a final weak effort to push him away.
But now he was softly biting her ear, his sharp teeth playing with her lobe. Torture, that's what it was, endless torture. A convulsed shiver ran through her, once, twice, at his touch. She moaned again. His right hand slid over the nape of her neck and with his thumb he began to stroke that pulsing part of her neck just below the jaw where the artery swells and throbs.
"You ... you followed me ... why did you follow me?” she managed to ask, half opening her eyes, her voice just above a whisper. But no coherent thoughts were left. Her mind was reeling.
Vaguely she heard him chuckle.
"I told you. I came to your call,” he breathed heavily, kissing and softly biting her lobe, his thumb stroking and rubbing her swelling artery, so terribly sensitive, this little spot. He turned her face to him and began to kiss her eyelids, her nose, her lips, her chin, his mouth scorching and welting every inch of her flesh. Then, with only his left arm wrapped around her waist, he lifted her off the ground until they were eye to eye. She might as well had been made of air, so light she felt in his arms. So strong, unnatural, so strong. She clasped her hands around his neck and fixed her half-closed eyes on his mouth, her cheeks glowing, totally lost in him.
Embraced by the Shadows Page 9