Falter Page 10

  I shook my head, trying to show strength and fearlessness. I untied my apron, slid it over my head, and set it neatly under the counter. Gavyn watched my movements, his gaze sliding over my frame. When I turned, and he realized I saw him watching, he quickly returned to his state of indifference and bowed his head, slicing his knife into a strawberry. I rolled my eyes, maddened by the mixed signals, and stomped off.

  I rounded the corner into the hallway and flattened myself against the wall, letting two customers pass as they exited the guest bathrooms.

  “Excuse us,” the man said, glancing at me for a second before returning to his conversation with a young woman about what store they would go to next.

  I ignored the clatter of a pan crashing to the floor in the kitchen—along with the colorful spray of curse words that followed—and jogged by, heading straight for the stairs at the end of the hall. I pulled the dark, blue door closed behind me and climbed up the steps.

  Stopping just before entering Gavyn’s apartment, I knocked on the doorframe and waited for a response. No answer. I rushed through the doorway half expecting the worst, but George was still lying on the futon. Alone.

  “George,” I whispered, quietly padding across the room. “Where’s Archard?” His skin heated my fingers as I touched his wet forehead. Wiping the sweat from his brow, I asked again.

  He grumbled and opened his eyes slowly. “Huh?”

  “George, can you hear me?”

  “Of course I can hear you, girl. I’m sick, not deaf.” A weak smile curved his lips.

  “Where did Archard go?” I asked, scanning the room for any signs of change or something missing. It would be my luck he was a thief. Nothing looked out of place though.

  “He left a while ago.”

  Hearing George’s feeble voice deepened my fear for him, but I didn’t want him to know it; so, instead of dropping to my knees and wallowing until he surrendered his stubborn pride and went to a hospital, I kept my composure, carrying on as if little was wrong. “Well, what did he say?”

  His eyes closed, again. “He brought me a message of peace. Said my sins were forgiven.” He coughed, struggling to catch a decent breath. “Said I would be better soon—better than ever.”

  I lowered to the edge of the chair behind me. Tears welled in my eyes. My vision blurred. What was he talking about, sins? I did not consider George to be a very sinful man. Neither of us were big on faith, but if we were, I’m fairly certain he didn’t believe some strange man could grant him forgiveness. Why would Archard tell him something like that? George must’ve misunderstood.

  I eased back into the cushy, black leather chair at his side and stared out the massive, clear pane of glass opposite me, searching for a way to escape the fears that were making my head throb. A cool breeze whistled in through a crack around the slightly ajar window. I narrowed my eyes and leaned forward. I didn’t remember it being open before I left.

  George’s teeth chattered next to me, drawing my attentive gaze away from the opening. Below the pile of blankets, his body shook around shuddering breaths.

  I pushed myself out of the chair, sneering at his discomfort, and marched over to close the window. As I approached the pane, a shiver from the sharp sting of the cold air bit into my skin. My hand reached out to pull the gap closed, but I stopped with my fingers resting on the latch. Easing it open further, I leaned out into the chilly evening. The breeze ruffled my hair, but did nothing to clear my head.

  I surveyed the narrow alley filled with eerie shadows and dampness below me. My nose scrunched at the occasional sour smell of mold and stray animals drifting on an updraft. I assumed that this building and the one next to it were pretty old considering they didn’t have any fire escapes. My heart skipped a few beats when I glanced down and became overwhelmed by a disorienting sensation of falling. The second floor was higher off of the ground than it seemed. No one would make that fall uninjured; if someone decided to jump…good luck. But, for just a moment, I let my mind ponder the freedom one might find in the brief descent. There had been many nights of my life, during my rather hellish times on the street, I’d considered ending it all. And what about now? If George died, what would be left for me?

  A nip at my nose reminded me how cold it was and that I’d been hanging out of the window long enough. I pulled the glass panel in, latched the lock, and looked around for anything broken that could explain who opened it, and why.

  Dismissing the thought of a break-in due to a lack of evidence—besides the fact that no one could have possibly scaled the wall to get in from the outside—and George being far too ill to get up and do it himself, I realized there was only one person who could have opened the window. Archard.

  Irritation dug into my nerves.

  How could he do that after seeing how sick George was?

  I cursed under my breath and turned to walk away. My movement reflecting on the glass revealed a smudge on the smooth, translucent surface. I’d almost missed it. The smudge shimmered under the last sliver of sunlight inching its way out of Gavyn’s apartment. Its opalescent glimmer had a touch of gold, like mother of pearl on a seashell. The small, imperfect oval of film resembled a single fingerprint, yet there was no distinguishable print pattern.

  I bent over to examine it closer, spotting a single fuzzy fiber sticking out from the center. It was creamy-white and soft as silk. I plucked the fiber from the spot and rolled it between my thumb and index finger. A familiar odor rose from the fuzz, pulling me into a vague memory. The smell was fainter than I remembered. It was intoxicating, indescribable, and invoked feelings that heated my cheeks to a rosy red.

  I breathed in deeply, the vagueness of my memory clearing like rippling waters smoothing to expose the depths below. It was the same aroma from the bathroom on the first night of my stay here.

  I closed my fist around the fuzz trying to place where it might have come from and how it got here. I opened my hand and lifted it closer to stare down at the small white strand, waiting for an answer to pop into my head. Finally, an “Aha!” moment. Down—the fuzz resembled down feathers. A bird must have flown to the sill and left the smudge and strand of feather.

  I was happy to find a logical answer to at least one of my questions, though it didn’t render a reasonable connection to the familiar smell. I held up my palm and pursed my lips to blow the tiny feather away, but before the breath left my lips, the fuzz began to disintegrate. It crumbled into pieces so small I could barely see them, then drifted from my palm.

  I stared at my hand in disbelief, flipping it over and back again, surprised by what I just saw. How does something just fall to pieces like that? It was solid when I held it—I was sure of that. This couldn’t be another trick.

  I gulped, forcing saliva down my anxiety constricted throat. “George, do you remember a bird flying in? Did you hear any wings or rustling?” My voice trembled, afraid that I could be imagining this. I glanced over at the window. The smudge was still there. Not imagining.

  “No, Nevaeh. What’s wrong with you?” He squinted, looking me up and down. Worry shadowed his face when he saw me standing by the window gawking down at my open hands, flipping them back and forth like I was losing my mind. I stopped flip-flopping the second I realized he was watching me and slowly lowered my arms to my sides. I forced a small smile to ease the stress I saw growing in the tight wrinkles on his forehead.

  “Nevaeh…are…are you ok?” A wheezing came from under his gruff words.

  “Do you remember when Archard left?”

  “No, I think I had fallen back asleep before he went. Why?”

  “You don’t remember him opening the window either?” My tone was as soft and calm as I could manage.

  He coughed after every other word he spoke. “Dammit, Nevaeh, what is your problem with Archard, and what the hell is going on with the window?” His voice was louder and raspier than before, emphasizing that he would yell if he could.

  “Nothing. Never mind. You need to relax.
You’re using too much energy talking.” I tried to settle him back down and get his coughing under control.

  “Well, quit asking me so many dag-blamit questions, and quit not telling me what they’re about.” The coughing subsided when his tone lowered.

  I returned my shamed gaze back to the window, scanning the roof of the building across the alley, the narrow opening leading to the street, and the ground below. I was hoping to see something that could offer even the slightest clue of what left the evidence on the window. There was nothing. No animals, no people. There wasn’t even the empty boxes or trash you would normally see in an alley.

  My eyes pulled back to the filmy smudge. The subtle shifting hues of the darkening sky outside brought the shimmering print to life. The faint afterglow from the dying day shined through the print and carried the colors out into a funnel of rainbows, flickering to the floor. Dust specks twinkled like tiny sparks as they swam in the air, swirling inside the light path.

  My angst and confusion stilled while I stared at the beautiful colors. It was breathtaking. Warmth caressed my hand as I held it in the beam of light and let the colors reflect off my skin. Then, I noticed that the amount of flickering colors was quickly depleting. My eyes bolted back to the glass pane. The smudge was shrinking. Something invisible was wiping it off the surface of the window. Within seconds, the smear was gone. I touched the glass to feel for anything, any sign of the beauty that was just there. The surface was smooth and dry.

  All evidence was gone without a trace, just as the fuzz had gone.

  What the hell just happened?

  This—the little insane things—made me feel alien in my own mind. I dropped to my knees to catch my breath and keep from hyperventilating—and for God sake, stop the room from spinning.

  I thought about everything that happened over the past few days: the strange dream I couldn’t remember, the hallucinations, the vivid odors, the fast-healing burn, Layla’s cut, and the strange little things that just disappeared for no reason. They had to mean something.

  Then there was Archard. In the instability of my mind, he drew me in.

  My insides grew numb. I realized how much energy I had recently wasted trying to understand everything. Maybe I wouldn’t ever understand. I slumped against the wall, too exhausted to hold myself up anymore.

  God, why is this happening? Haven’t I had enough confusion and humiliation in my life already? Am I even supposed to figure this out? Or, is this some sick joke you’re playing to teach a lesson to someone who doubts you so much?

  Shame clouded my heart as I silently scolded God. But how can I have faith in a being that allows a person to suffer, then offers no answers when asked for help?

  “Dammit, Nevaeh, you are an adult, and you have learned to take care of yourself. Don’t be such a pity-party.”

  I crawled across the floor to George and laid my head against his side. Each of his forced breaths raised my head up and down slowly. The rhythm was soothing. It reminded me that he was still alive. His face was more serene than I had ever seen, even when he was well. He looked relaxed, in spite of his pale, gaunt skin and the constant shaking from his sickness.

  What could Archard have said to George that gave him such peace?

  Climbing back into the leather chair, I clutched my mother’s locket and unconsciously polished the metal between my fingers, its smoothness comforting me. My eyes closed to think of her, and I drifted away.

  “Nevaeh…Nevaeh.”

  My whispered name came with a soft touch sweeping the hair out of my mouth. My eyes fluttered open, and I saw Gavyn’s outline leaning over me in the faint glow of moonlight spilling into the room.

  “Yeah?” I answered lazily. “Oh no, Gavyn I’m so sorry.” I straightened myself up, throwing my legs over the edge of the seat. “I meant to check on George and head back down, but I sat down and…” I had fallen asleep. “What time is it?” I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

  “It’s nine. You wanna come down and get something to eat before I finish closing the kitchen?” He flashed that caring smile of his. “Then you can get to work helping us close up.” He glanced at George with sympathy softening his rugged features. “There’s nothing you can do by just sitting here. You need to do something to take your mind off of things…and we could use the help.”

  When he looked back at me, his eyes showed the softness I’d seen since the beginning. I didn’t sense any of the coldness that occurred over the last day or so.

  “Yeah, of course. I should’ve been down there helping out a while ago. I’m so, so sorry.” I started pulling myself out of the crevices of the chair. “I don’t mean to constantly take advantage of your kindness…”

  His hand grabbed mine, stopping me mid-movement.

  He slowly lifted me up, peering down into my eyes. “I told you before, I don’t mind. I get that you have a lot going on. You can’t help that it all came with a new job. I’m just glad that it happened with you here.” He paused, his gaze moving to my mouth and lingering there for a moment. I watched his beautifully full lips move in the shadows as he continued whispering to me, “Nevaeh, I see that you are relentless in your ways, but I am offering help. You don’t have to do this alone. No one should.” His warm hands slipped around my waist, pulling me closer to him. We hesitated for a second in our closeness, and I could feel the alluring heat emitting from his body, warming me and warming my soul.

  He inched his lips down to meet mine. I drew in a long, deep breath. His breath smelled of sweet strawberries from the café. The gleam in his beautiful, green eyes was confident but wanting. As much as I wanted to taste his lips, my nervousness won. This was not the right time for me to explore our affections.

  I gently pulled his hands from my waist and broke our connection, then turned towards George. I tucked George’s blankets under his sides, ignoring the yearning in my chest begging me to wrap myself in Gavyn and whatever he offered. “I should get something to eat and get to work.”

  I smiled at Gavyn one last time before walking out of his apartment.

  Gavyn’s actions were a mystery to me. I had a hard time adjusting to the thought of love and tenderness coming from a man without a cost. My lack of experience wasn’t helping in this matter, either.

  I hadn’t dealt with the gentler side of men. The side of men that I’d seen romantically was not romantic at all, but acts of loneliness and despair forced upon me in the shadows of a dark abandoned warehouse while George was away hunting us food. I shuddered at the memory of the man’s nearly black eyes and days-old body odor that soaked into my skin wherever his dirty, bare hands touched me.

  Thankfully, George found us before it was too late and saved me from the thralls of such a monster. He would’ve left me there to die when he finished—or killed me. The scene of George beating the man unconscious with a steel beam and dragging me from beneath him plays in my mind often.

  I’m not so naïve regarding affection between men and women that I don’t know the positive effects of real love. I know that not everyone’s intentions are driven by lust. It was just difficult for me to trust anyone in general, let alone the whimsical feelings I have when I’m close to Gavyn.

  My emotions stir when I’m near him. I want to let go and let him take care of me. I can’t, though, not without knowing where the future will lead George and me.

  I stepped down the stairwell slowly, taking time to clear my head before leaping back into work. When I reached the bottom, I took solace in the darkness, staying there for a second. I closed my eyes and inhaled one more deep, cleansing breath.

  As I touched the doorknob, I was blinded by a white light more luminous than the sun. I covered my eyes and squeezed them shut, trying to correct my sight. The brightness continued to saturate my vision with my eyes closed, until moments later, pitch blackness closed in around it like a curtain. A panicked whimper escaped my mouth, my hands slapping against the walls I was no longer able to see. Jumbled pictures began to cycle
swiftly behind my eyelids like a movie fast-forwarding in my head. My body went limp, and I fell to my knees with a painful thud.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Premonition

  Hiding with anticipation behind the heavy, wooden door, sweat dripped along the hard ridge of my nose and into the tightened corners of my mouth. The saltiness stung as it dampened a healing cut on my lip. I fought the urge to wipe the beading moisture from my face, afraid that they would find me if I made any sudden movement.

  My insides churned as an awful odor from outside the confessional crept around the door. Heaviness grew around me. The air racing in and out of my lungs thickened.

  Sulfur, burnt skin, and evil was a smell I’d grown familiar with, but I don’t know that you ever really adapt to such a repulsive stench. Something about being near the stinky demons seemed to instantly trigger my vomit reflex. Luckily, in my recent exposure to them, my gag control had improved.

  They spoke in mind-numbing screeches and clicks, forcing me to forget my nausea and refocus. I eased over and peeked through the crack, hoping that a big, ugly face wouldn’t be staring back at me.

  Dim candlelight and the radiance of a full moon spilled into the cathedral. I’m sure, at one time, it had been a beautiful place of worship. Now, it was a rundown, forgotten ruin.

  My eyes wandered over the old building, examining its weak but elegant beauty. Stressed and splintered hardwood floors stretched beneath lines of broken pews. Remnants of frayed, red velvet rippled down the center aisle. Green ivy twirled up massive, chipped marble pillars that used to brace a high, domed roof. Sparkling stars drew my attention to the large holes in the ceiling where faded pastels portrayed Jesus’ ascension.

  I glanced at the front of the church, watching a mouse scurry across the raised platform. A huge, stone altar stood alone on the elevated floor, longing to hold the fruits of Jesus again. And a single golden chalice lay on its side atop the altar collecting dust; the only remains of the blessed wine it held before was a deep-red ring staining its cup.