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Eyes burning, I eject the chip and lock it away in the drawer of my desk. I’ll look into it tomorrow, after I’ve gotten some sleep.
Pinching the bridge of my nose does little to abate the ache in my eyeballs, and I settle into my chair to relax a minute. I need to absorb the information I’ve gathered so far.
* * *
The path ahead disappears beneath the dark canopy of trees looming overhead, as I follow my old man deeper into the woods. All sounds turn heavy, the air suffocating in the blackness that lurks outside of my flashlight’s arc. As if magnified, the rattling of leaves shakes, like the cold shiver that races down my spine. The clicking and chirping of insects somehow louder than before. A noxiously sweet smell of death permeates the air.
“Pop.” The young timber of my voice is foreign to me, innocent, still untouched by the horrors I would soon witness.
My father doesn’t bother to turn, his direction and determination undeterred.
Eerie caws of birds echo with warnings of what lies ahead, the path as familiar as the fear that skates across the back of my neck.
“Pop, wait.”
Still no response from him, as he continues to lead me farther and farther from the light. Veering off the path, we cross over fallen brush, and earth softens into warm marsh. My father comes to a stop, just before a clearing. Minutes seem to pass in the span of seconds.
He falls to his knees and slips the barrel of the gun into his mouth.
“Pop? What are you doing? Stop!”
Pain pierces my elbow, down to my bones, as I wrench my arm away from sharp teeth, set beneath black, lifeless eyes.
The eyes of a black wolf.
I jolt forward in my chair on a gasp of breath, the phantom pain of teeth still lodged into my flesh. Peeling back the sleeve of my dress shirt shows no new blood, or injury. Only the protracted ridges of an old scar. No cause for the pain. Running a hand down my face, I exhale a breath, looking around to find I fell asleep in my office.
The dream is familiar to me. One I’ve had a number of times over the years, always ending the same way--the wolf returns to attack before my father has the chance to pull the trigger.
Polishing off the last of my drink, I push up from my desk, and pause in the hallway on the way to the living room. I open the door to the bedroom and peek inside, find Céleste sprawled out on my bed. Crossing the room brings me alongside the bed, and I stare down at her long locks of hair, spread out over stark, white sheets that’ll probably be all over the place when she wakes up, but somehow I’m not nearly as annoyed about that as I should be.
Lying on her stomach, face smashed into the pillow beneath her, she sleeps soundly, her pale skin glowing in the darkness. One supple thigh sticks out from the sheets, and smack in the middle of it is something I didn’t notice before. A marking.
Closer examination shows a burn of some sort, but in the shape of a symbol, like a branding. With a frown, I study its shape—an upside-down triangle within a circle, from what I can make out. Or, more likely an inverted ‘A’, but poorly-healed to the point it’s hardly legible. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Céleste was at that house, that she gathered up all of those dark, religious artifacts, or that the mark on her leg might very well be associated with this cult. After watching her, I suspect she may have been a victim of something, and I intend to find out how she may be linked to Julio.
I reach down to move a strand of hair covering her eyes and am greeted by the long dark lashes that flutter over her cheeks in dreams.
At a flash of blood spattered across her snowy skin, I flinch and withdraw my hand. As hard as it is to keep my distance from her, I have to. For her sake, as well as mine.
Because one thing is certain—she isn’t safe with a man like me.
22
Céleste
Yawning and stretching, I roll over onto my stomach, pleasantly surprised by the soft, plush surface beneath my belly. The warm scent of spicy, masculine cologne consumes my senses, when I bury my face in the pillow--the same delicious scent I went to bed with last night.
The guy is bad news. Bad, bad news. But something about him is irresistible to me. Like the darkness between flashes of lightning and the shiver of thunder. Pitch black fantasies with muscles and teeth, just waiting to tear into innocence.
Opening my eyes brings into view the dimly-lit room, where only slivers of light stretch through cracks in the blinds that cover the small windows lining the top of the wall. Pushing up onto my elbows, I look around to find it’s as empty as the night before, and by empty, I simply mean void of Thierry. Of course, I knew that before I even opened my eyes, because something in the air snaps like electricity whenever he’s around. I can typically feel it pulsing and burning beneath my skin, and at the moment, the only thing I feel is the rumble of a severely empty stomach.
A glance at the clock shows it’s after noon. Jesus. I haven’t slept this late since the first week of summer vacation after my senior year.
Yawning again, I crawl out of bed and stumble my way to the bathroom. Flipping on the light shows the reflection of a well slept, but sickly-pale looking girl who could really use a dose of sunlight. My hair sits cocked upright in a tangle of messy curls that I lodge my fingers through to tame. The toothbrush that I left out on the sink the night before dangles beside Thierry’s in the glowing spaceship, and I smile when I remove it to brush.
After a quick rinse with mouthwash, I return everything to its place and head for the kitchen, where a note sits alongside a danish on a plate and an empty coffee cup. Twisting around for the pot, I frown on finding some other contraption I don’t have a clue how to use.
Keurig?
