by Linn Chapel
Why shouldn’t I dress up, for once? she silently demanded of her reflection. It doesn’t mean anything, she added firmly. I’ll never see him again after tonight.
She turned away from the mirror and left her bedroom in a hurry before her reflection could answer back.
Four
As Tressa returned to the living room with the midnight-blue dress fluttering softly about her legs, Holt looked up from a volume he had taken from her shelves. For just an instant, Tressa thought she saw a sudden flash of pleasure light up his expression. Then it was gone – if it had ever been there at all. With a cool and distant look, he put the book away.
As they emerged outside on the street, they spoke lightly of Tressa’s neighborhood and the rundown state of her apartment building, but she was very conscious of the too-careful tone of their conversation. Of course they’d have trouble speaking naturally, she thought. They were both preoccupied with the business of hiding things from each other.
After a short walk, they arrived at the river with its restaurants and night life. Artificial lights glowed and twinkled up and down the street, but Tressa knew they wouldn’t weaken Holt like sunlight. Even so, he’d probably prefer a table in a dim setting. The dimmer the better, for her own purposes. There was the matter of the tracking bead, after all.
Before she could suggest such a spot, Holt himself guided her to a dim and secluded courtyard attached to one of the restaurants. Through the entrance, she could see a number of small tables and chairs arranged within the courtyard. Tall hedges bounded the perimeter, blocking out the lights from the street and casting the tables into shadow, but a myriad of fairy lights woven into the hedges created a soft, charming ambience.
Peter might not approve of the low lighting and private nature of the courtyard, she reflected a bit uncomfortably as she stepped inside, but at least she wouldn’t be alone with Holt, for several other patrons were seated at the tables.
Holt led her to a small table in the darkest corner, where she took a seat across from him. Walking next to him was one thing, but facing him was another, she discovered. Her breath seemed to catch in her lungs and her former attempts at conversation faltered.
When a waiter appeared, Holt murmured an order. Soon the waiter returned with two glasses of wine, which Holt paid for in cash.
Wine? Tressa knew from the Handbook that Holt could drink water, but wine surprised her. And money?
Well, of course he would need money. He had a car, after all. Maybe he paid rent, too.
It all made him seem so... normal.
She glanced at Holt’s profile as he gazed through the entrance in the hedge at the bustling street scene beyond. When he turned to face her again across the small table, the atmosphere within the courtyard was dim enough for her to be able to see a few tiny lights in the depths of each dark eye. They drifted like sparks of fire, and then they were gone.
No, not normal.
“Holt,” she ventured, “tell me what you do – when you’re not busy saving young women at night. Or criticizing modern poetry.”
There. That made him smile.
“My true employment is much less exciting, Tressa. I work from home as an editor for an academic press in London.” At her questioning look, he went on. “I provide footnotes and references for old documents. Most of them are historic letters.” He shrugged. “I’m well versed in the archaic meanings and allusions of the English language, so the publisher is pleased with me. But – shall I be candid? – most of the letters make for very dull reading. If one could die of boredom, I would have been dead long since,” he said with a faint, ironic smile.
Tressa blinked and looked down at her glass of wine. You can’t die at all. Or rather, you can only die in few violent and horrible ways.
She forced her tone to remain light. “Would you like another job?”
Instantly, Tressa knew she had said the wrong thing. Holt’s eyes took on a haunted look and a burst of tiny lights suddenly sparked to life in their depths. He turned away to stare moodily across the courtyard at the encircling hedge. “Yes, but all that I once cared for has passed away. New things have come.”
When you were turned, you mean. I wish we could talk about that.
“My work will cause me to travel soon,” Holt told her in a distant voice. “I must leave for London in a few days.”
Tressa’s hands had been nervously plucking at the fabric of her skirt beneath the edge of the table, but at this news, her fingers froze. “How long will you be in London?”
“For several months.”
Tressa took a hasty sip of wine.
“You look tired,” he said, taking a sip of his own wine. He was watching her closely over the rim of his glass.
“I had a busy shift today,” she explained quickly. If only he weren’t so observant! The fatigue she had been feeling all day from blood loss was probably making her look downtrodden. She added, “I have to spend a lot of my free time studying, too, because I’m taking some online classes in Patient Care Management. Once I’ve finished them, I might be able to make some changes in the hospital’s protocol for its elderly patients. So far, my efforts haven’t made any difference,” she admitted.
“Have you always wanted to be a nurse?”
“No, I studied history before that. I went to college for two years, but I never finished my degree.” She shook her head. “To make a long story short, I could tell it wasn’t bringing me any closer to what I was looking for. It’s hard to explain, but ever since I can remember, I’ve been looking for something – something I thought I could find in the history of the past, but whatever it is, I’ve never found it.”
“Very curious,” he murmured.
She looked at him thoughtfully across the table. “It might have something to do with a way of life that’s different than everything I see in modern times.” Ruefully, she added, “The world feels like a giant marketplace. Everybody is buying and selling but no one is ever enjoying or appreciating anything. They’re too busy using electronic devices or filling out electronic forms.”
“Yes,” said Holt, as he played idly with the stem of his wineglass. “I fear I must agree with you about the devices and the forms. And above all, the buying and the selling. If you were to find some past way of life that appealed to you, what would you do about it?”
“I’d probably change my life around to follow it. And look very eccentric, too!” admitted Tressa with a laugh. “When I was a student, would you believe that I tried to study by candlelight in my dorm room?” she asked him. “But I had to get rid of the candles. College fire regulations are very strict.”
He laughed. “What did you do after you left your college?”
Tressa smiled, remembering. “I landed a temporary job with one of my history professors, who’s part of a national initiative to record the oral history of America before it’s lost. For about six months, I traveled around the country, making recordings at nursing homes. Listening to the residents tell their stories was so interesting that it didn’t feel like work. After the funding for my position ran out, I moved here, to the Northeast. I wanted to live closer to my brother, Peter, so that I could help him out with a project he started in his free time,” she said vaguely, reminding herself not to drop any facts about Operation M. “The local hospital was short on nurses and trained me as a nurse’s aide to work with its elderly patients.”
Tressa’s attention was suddenly caught by the movements of a thin, pale-skinned figure with spiky brown hair who was slipping closer and closer through the tables of the courtyard. It wasn’t long before the stranger slid into a nearby chair.
Holt set down his wineglass. “Go away, Stix.”
The visitor chuckled. He swiveled his head around to gaze at Tressa. “Who’s your pretty friend, Holt? Why don’t you introduce us?”
“Leave, Stix.” Holt jerked his head at a narrow gap in the hedge that opened onto an alley behind the courtyard. “Or I’ll introduce you to my fist.” In a
lightning-quick motion, Holt reached out and clamped his hand around the intruder’s wrist.
“I get it! No trespassing allowed,” whined Stix. Scraping his chair backward, he wrestled himself out of Holt’s grasp. Edging away through the tables, he sent Tressa a sickly smile. “At least not while Holt’s around.”
“My patience is gone,” snapped Holt. He rose from his chair.
With a hiss that made Tressa’s hair stand on end, the pale figure sped quickly away, leaving the courtyard through the narrow gap.
“He was spooky.” Tressa tried to hide the dread that still shivered down her spine. With his pale skin and hungry eyes, there was no mistaking the true nature of their recent visitor.
“He’s an irritation, a scoundrel.” Holt took his seat again.
Tressa forced herself to laugh. “What was his name?”
Holt swirled the wine in his glass. “Stix, with an ‘x’. Don’t worry. I won’t let him disturb you.” He drained the last of his drink. Catching sight of her drooping eyelids, he said, “I should bring you home, now.”
Tressa nodded, aware that the hour was late. As she rose from her seat, she was surprised to see Holt stepping well away from her, with his hands clasped behind his back.
“I must keep my distance from you,” he explained, shooting her a little grin, “for your brother is sitting at a table across the street, watching us.”
Feeling a bit exasperated, Tressa peered through the courtyard entrance for a glimpse of Peter. She finally spied his face amid a small crowd of patrons at an outdoor café across the street.
She caught his eye, frowned, and shook her head at him, willing him to leave. Obviously, no harm of any kind was going to come to her tonight. She’d drop the tracking bead into Holt’s pocket on the way back home, and then say goodbye to him outside the entrance to her building. That was all.
But Peter only lifted his chin and sent her back a stony look.
“I’m sorry about Peter,” she sighed, turning to Holt.
“There’s no need to fret. Stix may be a tiresome bore, but Peter is quite amusing,” Holt murmured. He made a low, courteous bow in Peter’s direction.
Her brother crossed his arms over his chest and glowered fiercely back, causing Holt to laugh softly under his breath.
Together they left the courtyard, and as they made their way back along the river, Holt remarked in a casual voice, “If I had a sister as beautiful as you, I would be just as particular about the company she kept.” He glanced her way and Tressa was glad of the darkness, for she felt her face flushing at the compliment.
“There must be a dozen young men vying for your favor. Have you chosen one, yet?” he continued in a conversational voice.
“No,” she answered firmly and a bit testily. “No one I’ve known has really seen me as a person. You wouldn’t believe how much trouble men can be,” she blurted out in frustration. “Especially the older ones.”
“You may rest easy with me,” Holt said smoothly, “for I have no plans for anything other than companionship. And a bit of protection, if necessary,” he added in a harder voice, casting a look over his shoulder. He seemed satisfied that Stix was not following. “In any case, I will be leaving town very soon.”
Tressa looked away so that Holt wouldn’t notice the disappointment that had just swept over her.
They had left the busy nightlife district behind. Now they were passing along a quiet stretch of river walkway that was softly lit by a series of wrought iron lampposts. Gazing over a decorative guardrail, Tressa could see the dark waters of the river flowing along at the bottom of a gentle bank.
A drift of fog suddenly filled the air, making it difficult to see the walkway. Slowing her pace, she glanced over at Holt.
But he wasn’t there.
Tressa came to a sudden stop and looked wildly about for him. Another river was flowing past her now. Its broad waters stretched off, disappearing into the mist.
Everything was different, she realized. The lampposts were taller and the embankment was steeper. The sound of heavy traffic penetrated the fog.
She wondered if she had entered one of her dreamscapes, for the feeling was the same. But how had such an environment formed without any help from her?
None of this comes from my own mind.
More fog was rising up from the river now, creeping over the banks to engulf her, and for a moment, she couldn’t see anything at all.
Then the fog cleared and she was looking up at Holt.
“Tressa! Tell me what’s amiss.”
Shaken, she tried to explain what she didn’t even understand herself. “Sometimes I can see places with a kind of daydreaming,” she began.
“Daydreaming? But you seemed frightened.”
“I was confused. The places I see in my daydreams are always familiar, because I make them to order,” she explained. “But this time, I found myself suddenly walking next to a very wide river that disappeared into the fog, and I heard a lot of traffic nearby.” She gave her head a little shake. “I didn’t plan any of it, and that’s what confuses me.”
By the light of a nearby lamppost, Tressa saw a guarded look come over Holt’s face. “I was thinking about another river just now,” he said.
“You were?” Her breath caught in her throat.
“It was the Thames, in London.” He glanced at the dark river below. “Walking here caused me to recall the last time I had walked along the Thames on a foggy night. My memory was just as you described.”
“The Thames,” she repeated weakly.
“Tressa, have you the power to read minds?”
“No. At least, it’s never happened before.”
Holt seemed unconvinced. He also seemed alarmed. “Perhaps you do have this power. After all, entering a daydream is no ordinary talent.”
“No, it’s true that I can’t read minds. I have a knack for something else, but it’s not as impressive as mindreading. If I concentrate, I can sense intentions. I can tell if someone’s thinking about coming or going, or if they’re planning to speak up, or remain silent. I don’t use it very often, but it’s probably a psychic ability.”
It was psychic in nature, and she could read intentions more fully than she had just implied, seeing shapes and textures, but there was no need to make Holt more uneasy than he already felt.
“But you cannot read thoughts?” he asked again.
“No, truly I can’t. Somehow, I must have picked up a trace of your memory. It’s very strange,” she admitted, “but it must have been a chance occurrence.”
Holt’s eyes suddenly darted away from her face to peer down the path behind her. “Stix decided to follow us, after all. Most unwise of him,” he said in a low voice. He turned and urged her along the path with a light touch on her arm. “I’ll prove to him just how unwise, once you’re safely home.”
Walking briskly, they left the river path to make their way down a side street to Tressa’s apartment. “When is your next night shift?” Holt asked abruptly.
“Tomorrow. My shift starts at 3 and ends at 10 o’clock,” she answered, her voice dropping in trepidation as she remembered that she had been assigned to work with Dr. Patterson again. “Why?”
“I’m worried that Stix might seek you out at the hospital. But Tressa, is there something that troubles you about your shift? You sounded worried, yourself.”
“Oh, that. It’s just that I’ll be working with Dr. Patterson tomorrow. Now that he’s getting another divorce, he’s going to be more trouble than ever. All the nurses are talking about him. But I’ve started leaving the building from another wing so that he doesn’t follow me after my shift.”
“I see. Can you take the city transit to work?”
“Yes, I’ve done that before, when my car was in the repair shop. But-”
“I’ll drive you home from the hospital, myself,” Holt said firmly. “I’ll be waiting for you just outside the hospital entrance at 10 o’clock. If the doctor is with you, I shall pu
t on my most intimidating air for his benefit.”
“That won’t be hard,” she said with a laugh. “Alright, Holt. Thank you for taking the time to drive me home.”
So, their odd acquaintance was to continue for another evening before coming to a close.
Just then, they reached her apartment building and she was about to bid Holt goodnight when he said, “Stix has a number of tricks up his sleeve.” His gaze traveled up and down the dark street. “I’ll see you safely upstairs before I leave, Tressa.”
It wasn’t fear of Stix that had Tressa’s nerves prickling as she led the way into the building and climbed the two staircases with Holt at her side. She let her sensing ability flow outward as best she could with her eyes open, but she encountered only a soft, gray, cloudy shape with no needs, no plans. Holt’s intentions seemed to be completely neutral.
Still, being alone with him inside of her apartment was a bad idea, she reminded herself, even if the thought of spending more time talking with Holt made her feel wistful.
All too soon they arrived at her apartment door. She’d part from him now, in safety of the hallway.
“Holt,” she began, bringing out her key.
Holt reached forward and took the key from her. “I must be certain that your place is safe from Stix.”
He unlocked the door and swung it open. She gasped, for she was completely unprepared for the wave of mesmerizing power that suddenly engulfed her.
Tressa felt his hand on her shoulder, guiding her into the dark living room. Then the door clicked shut behind them.
Five
So powerful was the effect of the numbing cloud that Tressa felt her body swaying dizzily, and she would have fallen if Holt’s arms had not come around her for support.
His breath stirred the strands of her hair as he spoke just above her head. “Stix is not here, Tressa. The only danger is me.”
The mesmeric cloud thickened. Shivering, Tressa struggled to remain conscious.
“Being alone with you and knowing that our acquaintance will soon end has made my longing for you even stronger, too strong to resist.”