The Fortune Teller's Daughter

by Diane Wood

  Nat didn’t know what to say. Even when she asked the question, it had sounded insecure and immature, but being with Alex was a whole new experience—a journey into emotions she’d only ever read or talked about or touched on briefly with Christine, and it left her scared and vulnerable.

  Before long the holding and touching turned to kissing and the kissing to renewed passion. This time they spent time learning what the other liked, teasing and playing in ways that tantalized and delighted. It was as if they were striving to become one as they melded and clung together, moving in unison, desire engulfing them. The more they moved together the more demanding each became and the more urgent their need for completion. Finally, gasping and moaning, they reached that exquisite point of no return.

  “Oh God, oh God,” whispered Alex as her insides exploded in delicious spasms while she clung, shuddering and desperate to Nat, savoring her every movement, her every thrust. “I didn’t think it could be this good…”

  And then Nat was moaning her satisfaction, moving faster and faster until, with one last groan, her body collapsed onto Alex’s. It had been like nothing Nathalie had ever experienced before, and she was left dizzy and totally sated, a warm glow replacing her usual feelings of guilt and disgust.

  Afterward, snuggled together under the bedclothes, they had time for a few affectionate words before drifting peacefully to sleep.

  * * *

  It was five forty a.m. when Mother came to visit her dreams. At first Nat was able to push her away, telling her that she wouldn’t give her what she wanted. But Mother just smiled and tried to kiss her on the lips, grabbing her wrists and holding her down. Then there was pressure and the weight of a man. Mother was on one side and the man on the other and they were both touching her and touching each other. And she was struggling, screaming at them that she wouldn’t let them ruin everything.

  “It won’t hurt,” he whispered, his body crushing her. “Your mother said I could.”

  “Nathalie…Nathalie…it will be okay. Nat, wake up. It’s all right.” The voice seemed far away. So calm, so soothingly familiar. But she was frightened, helpless, lashing out now, fighting to push them away. Sobbing and moaning, she rose to consciousness, struggling to back away. Then the lights were on and it wasn’t Mother, wasn’t the man. It was Alex—kneeling beside her, trying to grab her flailing wrists.

  “Oh God…I’m so sorry,” she gasped, trying to hide her face and pull away from Alex’s strong grasp. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have let you stay.”

  “It’s all right. It was just a nightmare,” Alex soothed, trying to move closer to the dark woman huddled against the end wall. “It’s over now.”

  Shaking her head and indicating she didn’t want to be touched, Nat wrapped her arms around her body, attempting to back even further into the wall. How could she have been so stupid? Why would she expect that this relationship could be any different? It might take weeks, but eventually the nightmares scared away anyone she got close to. Now it had happened on their first night.

  “I won’t touch you, Nathalie,” Alex promised as she pulled her discarded shirt around her naked torso. “But I want you to look at me.”

  When Nat turned her face away, Alex again implored her, “Please don’t turn away, Nat,” she said, moving back to sit on the chair a few feet from the bed. “It’s just a nightmare, and it’s over now. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Doesn’t it?” mumbled Nathalie, devastated and embarrassed. “You’d best leave.”

  “No. I don’t think so,” replied Alex, firmly, but gently. “What I will do is go and make us a cup of something, and I’ll see you in the kitchen when you feel ready.”

  Pulling on underwear and buttoning the shirt, she quietly left the room.

  * * *

  It had been the mumbling and pushing that first brought Alex awake.

  Nat was crying and sweating and struggling feebly against her. She’d tried to hold her, but she’d become more desperate—moaning incoherently and fighting, almost pushing her from the bed. Now she was curled into a ball, trying to defend herself, and although Alex couldn’t make out the words, she knew Nat was begging someone—pleading for them not to do something.

  Rather than being scared or repulsed, she wanted to protect Nat. Her studies had taught her that most people experienced nightmares sometime in their lives, but nightmares this intense and violent usually signified something far more serious—an horrific event or some form of abuse.

  It was nearly ten minutes before Nat left the bedroom and wandered into the kitchen. She’d obviously washed her face. Physically she looked as if nothing had happened, but her eyes contained a mixture of embarrassment, anger and overwhelming sadness.

  “I made a pot of tea,” Alex said quietly. “It should be good and strong by now.”

  Taking a seat at the kitchen table opposite her, Nat looked defensive. “You don’t have to stay,” she murmured.

  “I know I don’t,” she replied, pouring the dark brown liquid into two large mugs and adding milk and sugar. “But I want to.” Pushing the cup toward Nat and indicating for her to drink, she said, “You’ll feel better if you drink that.”

  It was more a command than a suggestion and Nat found herself obeying mindlessly—enjoying the feel of the hot sweet liquid sliding down her throat.

  For a few moments they sipped silently on their tea, Alex watching Nat, and Nat looking downward.

  “So, I presume this nightmare wasn’t a one off?” Alex asked in her best psychologist voice. Nat didn’t need a lover right now. She needed someone to talk to.

  Still without looking at her, Nat shook her head.

  “How often do you have them?”

  “Often enough,” she responded angrily. “But sometimes it’s not too bad.”

  “Do you know what causes them?”

  “Mostly,” she laughed bitterly. “But knowing doesn’t make them go away.”

  “Then you need to talk to someone.”

  “Yes, so Josh has been telling me for years. Who do you suggest—you?”

  “You’ve had these nightmares for years?” she asked worriedly.

  “They come and go. But they’ve been bad for a few weeks now.”

  “I don’t want to be your psychologist, Nat,” she volunteered gently, answering her earlier question. “I want to be your lover and your friend, and I’m emotionally involved. So apart from the ethics of it, I’d be useless to you. But I can recommend someone who’s very good.”

  “I don’t—”

  “He’s the best, Nat,” she interrupted, raising a hand. “He helped my mother when she went through a bad time, and he was my mentor after university. There’s no one better.”

  “He...?”

  Alex made no comment, but barely nodded.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Alex knew there was no point pushing. Only when Nat was ready would she be willing to talk to someone.

  “So, what do you normally do when you’re up in the early hours?” she asked, reaching for Nathalie’s hand and taking it to her lips. “How about an early morning drive and stroll near the ocean?”

  The sea was rough, but the crashing of the waves was peaceful and because it was overcast and gray they were virtually alone on the windswept beach.

  “I want to go on seeing you,” stated Alex, as she put her arms around Nathalie’s waist and drew her into her.

  Their faces were only inches apart and Nat felt herself drifting into Alex’s warm, loving eyes. How she longed to stay like this forever. “I want that too. I’m just scared you’ll end up hating me.”

  “Don’t be. Maybe you’re right and it won’t work out, but maybe it will. You have to trust me, because it’s too late for me to walk away now. Please give it a try.”

  Nat’s answer was a kiss, tentative and gentle at first, then lingering and passionate. Quietly they held each other, oblivious to any questioning glances, enjoying the smell and sound of the ocean and the w
armth of their embrace.

  And in the distance a man adjusted his binoculars, picked up his long lens camera and began taking photos.

  Chapter Six

  Disclosures from the Past

  George seemed nervous and irritable when Nathalie arrived, but Jeremy was happy to see her as he led her back to his bedroom to show her his new soccer boots.

  “Grandmother says I won’t need soccer boots in America,” he stated innocently. “But I really like soccer.”

  “Well, I’m sure you can play soccer there as well if you want,” Nat said, her heart sinking at the thought of this child moving to live near Mother.

  “Dad says that too,” he agreed, his face lighting up.

  “Do you want to go to America, Jeremy?” she asked. “Won’t you miss your mother and your friends?”

  Looking down and picking at some invisible lint on his shorts, he mumbled, “Grandmother says Mummy doesn’t care, and she says I can go to a better school.”

  So it’s beginning already, she thought. Mother, reaching into this child’s mind, twisting his thoughts, grooming him to think like her. Taking hold of his small soft hands, she turned him around to face her and sat down on the bed. “But what do you think, darling?” she asked, looking into his deep brown eyes.

  “I don’t like Grandmother much,” he whispered conspiratorially, glancing over his shoulder. “And neither does Sam. Grandmother tells Daddy off a lot. I wish she’d go away.”

  “That’s no way to talk about your grandmother.” George’s voice made them both jump and the little boy’s face fell, as if he’d been caught breaking something valuable. “Now, I don’t want any more discussion. Wash your hands and go and get your lunch. We’re eating on the patio.”

  As the child made his way past George, he mumbled, “I’m sorry, Daddy.” But Nathalie noticed that there was no fear in it, just a genuine wish to take back what he thought might have hurt his father’s feelings.

  “It’s none of your business, Nat,” he said quickly, cutting off anything she might have been going to say. “And it’s still not definite that we’re going.”

  “So what have you and Mother been fighting about?” she asked, looking up into his handsome features. “Jeremy said—”

  “He’s a little boy,” he snapped. “What would he know about anything? Now let’s go out and have lunch. That’s what you were invited for.”

  “How’s your boyfriend…Josh, wasn’t it?” George asked suddenly as they tucked into a chicken salad, presumably prepared by the invisible Belinda.

  “Why?” she asked, looking into his eyes, which wavered and looked toward his son.

  “Just general conversation,” he muttered with a shrug. “That’s the sort of thing most people talk about over lunch isn’t it? And I just wondered if he was good in bed?”

  “Well, we’re not most people,” she answered flatly, glancing at Jeremy who was working hard at cutting up a piece of chicken. “And your question reminds us of that. I am not going to discuss my sex life with you.”

  Pushing his plate away and giving Jeremy permission to play with his iPad, George lit a cigarette. “Nat, Mother’s obsessed that you’re out to hurt her in some way,” he said, drawing the smoke into his lungs. “It’s driving her crazy and it’s all she can talk about.”

  “Why? I don’t understand. It was she who told me she didn’t want to see me again.”

  “Perhaps it’s because you and your boyfriend are in the police. She’s got this idea that you want to destroy her…and me. She says you’ve got secrets and that the Tarot cards have labeled you the enemy—the Tower of Destruction.”

  “All because I don’t want to keep on doing what we did as children?” she asked, shaking her head. “She’s my mother, you’re my brother. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

  “The cards tell her differently.”

  “Fuck the cards,” she spat angrily. “Our lives were ruled by the cards and our lives were shit.”

  “No. That’s not true. It’s saying things like that, that would make Mother think…well, you know.”

  “What, George? What would Mother think—that I didn’t like having sex with all those people…with her, with you? Well, she’d be right, I didn’t. I hated every minute of it. Sometimes I just wanted to die, but I was too cowardly to even do that.” Taking a deep breath, she added, “God, George, didn’t you ever want a normal life? Don’t you want one now?”

  “It is normal to want sex,” he answered defensively, “and people pay huge sums to get what they want. You were quite happy to take the money when you were younger. It put you through university and bought you the flat. Mother’s been good to us. Look how I live, and all she’s asking is for you to participate once in a while. It might make her realize that you’re not out to destroy us.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I’m scared, Nat. You know what she’s like. I used to hear her beat you until you were bloody when you were little, because you’d defied her. And in the end you learned it was easier to be nice to Mother. She’s only here for a few months. How much could it hurt?”

  “What beatings?” Nathalie demanded, looking at him in horror. “You’re making that up,” she accused. “Some of the men hurt me, but not Mother…”

  He looked genuinely bewildered. “Why are you lying about it, Nat?” he said, shaking his head and staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. “She’d use a strap, sometimes a rope, and sometimes she’d leave bad marks on you and you couldn’t leave the house. You must remember. That’s how you got the scar across your bottom.”

  His face told her he wasn’t lying, but she didn’t remember. But then she didn’t really remember much at all until a year or so before the men, before six or seven years of age. Now that he’d raised it, it occurred to her that there must be something wrong with her that she couldn’t remember.

  “I used to think she hit you because she was afraid of you,” he said quietly, not really knowing why his mother would have been scared of a small child. “But it got better when you started doing what she wanted. Then she stopped hurting you so badly. Don’t make her start hurting you again.”

  “Is that why you asked me here? To try and talk me into rejoining the family?” she asked sadly. “I thought—”

  “I know we talked last time,” he said with his hands raised to stop her talking. “But I still love you, Nat. And Mother wants us to be a family again while she’s staying here. It’s not that much further to work and it would prove you didn’t want to hurt us.”

  Pushing back from the table, she moved toward the doorway, “I came to see Jeremy,” she said, stopping to look at him. “Not to let you use me.”

  But he was on his feet and moving toward her, forcing her back against the wall of the house. “Just do it with me, Nat,” he begged, holding her arms and pressing into her. “Mother needs to see that you’re with us, not against us.”

  “Then you’ll just have to lie to her again, won’t you?” she spat, struggling against him. “Or are you going to force me?”

  “She’s watching,” he whispered, moving his mouth near her ear, pretending to kiss her neck. “On the security cameras. We have to do this.”

  She struggled, but although lean, he was muscular and strong and she remained pinned to the wall.

  “I’d never force you,” he admitted. “But I’m begging you to just do it. If I can’t convince her that you still love us, I don’t know what she might do.”

  “She’s here?”

  “Of course. How else could she watch us on the cameras? She asked me to get you here, to get you upstairs.”

  “Oh God, George, I thought…I didn’t think you’d betray me.”

  “Don’t you understand?” he cajoled. “I’m doing this for us, for the family.”

  “What family?” she growled angrily, staring him in the face. “Families don’t fuck each other, George. That’s not love. It’s sick and I won’t do it anymore. I don’t c
are what she does to me. Don’t you understand? I don’t even care if she kills me.”

  Letting go, he stepped back. The color had drained from his face, and suddenly the handsome, perfectly groomed young man looked twenty years older. Sitting back down at the table, he whispered, “I used to hold you sometimes when you were little and she’d been hurting you. You’d bury your face in my chest and cling to me. I wanted to protect you but I couldn’t. And I can’t now.” He sounded exhausted.

  “You were only a couple of years older than me,” she stated flatly. “We were babies. You couldn’t even protect yourself. It would be like Jeremy trying to protect Samantha against Mother or against her clients. He couldn’t do it.”

  His head snapped up and anger returned to his eyes. “Jeremy won’t ever have to protect Sam,” he snapped. “I’ve told you. I’m keeping them right away from that.”

  “You were, George. You were until Mother came back. What is she doing here? Why did she come back?”

  He didn’t answer, just stared defiantly, shaking his head imperceptibly.

  “Tell her to leave me alone, George, and tell her if she goes near those children I will destroy her. You’re not a child anymore and neither am I, so there’s no more excuses. We’re all there is between her and your children. Don’t ever forget that.” Turning, she walked from the house. She wanted to see Jeremy again, but it was impossible while Mother was there.

  She knew she’d lose any confrontation with Mother. Even now the woman terrified her.

  * * *

  Sitting on the sand, her hands between her knees, Nathalie stared unseeingly toward the ocean. Why was Mother back? It had to be George’s children. Or was it simply that she wanted to regain control of her own children? But that made no sense—both she and George were far too old to be of any interest to Mother or her clients. They’d been too old at eighteen. But what could she do about it if it was George’s children Mother wanted? Could she really take her on, with all her contacts and all her power, and win? And what if George gave in? What if he obeyed her and they disappeared with the children to America? Backward and forward her mind traveled until she recognized that it was like when they were children. Nobody had helped them then, and there was nobody to intercede now. She needed George to stand up with her. And, even if he did, she just wasn’t sure either of them had what it would take.