Darkroom Saga Omnibus 1

by Poppet

  The Waterfront is an easy meeting place, and it's even easier for me to blend unnoticed into the milling crowd. There's a bar with a clear view of the restaurant she enters. Opting for the bar, I choose a table in the corner with a good view into the place opposite.

  She's shown to a table where the predator waits. Absently I order bitter lager, keeping an eye on proceedings as he pretends courtesy and beats the waiter to pulling out her chair, using the opportunity to run hands over her shoulders with displaced familiarity.

  Anger surges when after interminable observation, endlessly witnessing his ocular penetration of her cleavage, he continues to hold her hand, leaning in to speak to her, laughing, smiling, hooking hair behind her ear for her. Touch her one more time and I shall have to relieve you of those offensive appendages.

  Her time in captivity leaves me unsure. She's either allowing this because she's lost the confidence to say no, or she's slipping back into old habits. He's an inferior distraction. I resolve to remove the distraction expeditiously. I can't afford to let her sin again. He keeps ordering cocktails, and she keeps drinking them. This is becoming predictable.

  He has convinced her not to drive home, I assume, as she gets into his Camry. I strongly desire to slice that smug smile out of his face. Starting the engine, I endeavour to reach home to watch her from the covert darkroom that sees everything she wishes to hide.

  He opens more wine while she places music into the disc drive and presses play. His arm poised on the back of the couch so that she's forced to be encircled when she sits beside him.

  My heartbeat thumps out the faint music filtering in when she laughs at something he intimately whispered into her ear, leaving a hand on his thigh. I watch as he kisses her, hands roaming my territory. Fools walk where angels fear to tread.

  I am God's witness.

  Standing and reaching for the armour which announces me as God's warrior with shaking agitation, when he encourages her onto the floor, eagerly unbuckling the belt and then the button, leaning his head back in counterfeit rapture as my angel sins incomprehensibly. Pretentious impostor.

  No! She kneels for me! You've ruined her!

  Dirty knees on a resurrected Eve. The first sinner.

  Vengeance will correct this deficiency. I leave the voyeur darkroom, change swiftly into jeans and collect the instrument bag on my way to the door. It's late, no one will see me if I take the fire escape.

  •

  The Watcher

  Where is her interceding presence?

  How many men is he going to allow to interfere?

  Why is he idle?

  How dare she feel safe enough to challenge the wrath of this army? We've come too far.

  Must I summon? Should I intervene?

  Shauna, you cannot pray at that temple. He is not your maker, he is the taker.

  “O come, let us worship and bow down, let us kneel before the Lord our Maker, Psalm 95:6.”

  ~ Chapter 9 ~

  Vengeance is Mine, and recompense, in the time when their foot shall slide; for the day of their disaster is at hand and their doom comes speedily

  ~ Deuteronomy 32:35

  Shauna:

  I needed that. It was soul soothing being held. Vengeance is the corrosive eating away inside me; a slow acting poison insidiously infecting my thoughts and altering my ability to live life again, morphing my DNA, mutating me.

  John certainly isn't my first choice when it comes to suitors, but he's gentle and funny, and gave me respite from the horror of my life. Watching him walk back to his car from up on the balcony, I feel separation anxiety, already aware of the gap of being alone, pining for companionship even though my heartbeat is sluggish with alcohol and pleasure indulgence.

  A sliding door alerts me to company as Victor steps out next door. Self-consciously I pull my robe tightly closed, securing the bow. I'm caught as John looks up, giving me a brief wave before seating himself into the vehicle. I wonder if Victor knows I'm here? Can he see me behind the dividing screen?

  “Nice evening to be outside,” he mentions. He doesn't poke his head around the screen, so I feel okay. Poor guy's just being neighbourly.

  “Yes it is.”

  Silently I observe John get into his vehicle. Raising a hand in a brief wave goodbye, our eyes connecting in that secretive way that lovers have.

  He looks away after switching the lights on. An unearthly bang tears the serenity asunder, a roar and whoosh followed by intense searing heat that I can feel even from this distance. A chorus of alarms begin a discordant wail down the street. I can't breathe. The disbelief is overwhelming.

  My date has just been incinerated. The fire has flames hotter than Armageddon, flames from him, Vengeance in all his fury. Glass, projected high into the night by the explosion fall with mocking melody onto surrounding cars. Diabolic rain.

  Instinct takes over, he's found me, I know this was him. Is he here now, watching me? Frantic I force my unsteady eyes to focus on the dark shadows up and down the street.

  “Good grief! I'll call the emergency service!”

  I nod to Victor's intruding voice, I can't get my mind to work. “Auuuuuh,” is all I manage.

  A head pops around the screen, “Shauna, are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  Dazed, I shake my head, unable to look away from John's creaking, flaming car.

  “I'll be right over. Don't move.”

  But I do. Fear has me tight around the throat. He's out there. I know he is. I slam the door closed, lock it, and slam the security gate closed in front of it. Hastily drawing curtains while my skin crawls as if doused with frost. I'm caught in indecision. Who do I call first? Mum? The medics? The police?

  As I'm staring at my cell phone, the screen lights up and it vibrates skittishly over the coffee table. Snatching it, wild shock slicing through me like bolts of lightning, I read the message.

  “Poor choice. Choose again.”

  I drop it. My numb fingers limp with oxygen deprivation.

  Knocking. The door.

  “Shauna? Shauna!”

  I force my automaton self to move, unbolting and unchaining the door.

  Victor steps in as I twist the handle. “Shauna?”

  My vision hazes with tears as I stare at this nice man. Stay away from me or you'll end up dead like John.

  “You're in shock. I've called the police. Come.”

  An arm wraps comfort around my shoulders. I'm not reacting. My voice, I try to speak but a hoarse hiss escapes instead of speech. Dumbfounded I am led into his home. He leaves both our doors open, and walks me to a mocha suede couch. My legs buckle.

  “Poor baby, you're trembling. Remember I'm a surgeon, let me give you something to calm you? Hmm?”

  I nod in response. Do I tell him? Do I tell the police? Should I stay silent? What will they do? Lock me up for being an accessory to murder?

  A glass, tablets. Swallow. Numb shock.

  “Was he a friend?”

  I shake my head.

  “What must I tell the police?”

  “His name is John. He was my blind date. He brought me home because I was too tipsy to drive. My car! Oh God, how I'm going to retrieve it?”

  “I'll help. Lay back, get some rest. I'll fend off the cops.”

  “Victor.” Why am I whispering?

  His face stoops next to mine. My head is spinning, I'm fighting my eyelids.

  “Yes?”

  “Lock the door. I'm afraid.”

  “You are safe here.”

  A hand caresses hair away from my face. Lingering. This, my last lucid moment.

  •

  Victor:

  Perfection. The plan is flawless and executed with brilliance. She shall willingly come to me. And she has. Asleep in my lounge, wearing another man's scent. I capture the moment of her vulnerability. The first victory with my free angel.

  Fly home baby. Fly back to me, where you are cherished.

  I step closer, clicking, my mechanical eye cap
turing her in black and white. Lowering the camera I drop down next to her, languidly tracing her face.

  “My angel. Why did you fall again? No other understands. I'm right here. I have everything you need. You eat from the wrong tree.”

  Anger resurfaces, whipping her robe away to stare at nakedness, her despicable wanton body. I fight myself back into restraint. “I don't want to have to purify you again.” I am forced to remind her, “You may not enter into temptation; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak. Mark fourteen verse thirty-eight. Pay attention angel.”

  Appreciation wells up and I trace her thigh with affectionate fingers, “Don't make me do it, angel. Bow to no man. Kneel before your maker. Only I can save you.” Lifting her hand, I kiss it, “I am your salvation. Embrace me.”

  My little homing pigeon. Returning to roost of her own volition. Seeking the comfort and rest only I can provide. I am her sabbath.

  •

  The Watcher:

  I can't see her. Again that man interferes.

  His identity preternaturally hidden from me. Keeping his back to the lens I peer through for observation.

  I have but one eye in her home. The lounge.

  Perhaps I require more.

  ~ Chapter 10 ~

  A photograph is a secret about a secret.

  The more it tells you the less you know.

  ~Diane Arbus

  Victor:

  This is a process, and it requires patience. It must be done without light, induced with chemicals. Wrought increments of change so the shadow brings forth the light.

  Like a photo developing Joseph's technicolour coat drawn from the aether, until she is transformed, resplendent.

  It is unfortunate for her to have so little insight into this process of change. Angels don't just get wings. They earn them. She was not in the dark long enough, this much is now obvious. In eager anticipation I let her fly too soon.

  She was the x-ray I added flesh to. Now her clean knees are dirty. Forcing me to reintroduce dark elements so the pain can continue the transformation.

  Together we could be so mighty. Kneeling next to her I move the satin white robe. Satin is unsuitable. This must be rectified. Delicately I kiss a pink nipple. So soft.

  Oh Father how perfect you made woman.

  Despite hardening years on the feet and attitude, the mother's attributes that give and sustain life remain delicate. Softer than a silk button. Closing my eyes I rest on her yielding bosom. I never knew my own mother.

  When we give life Shauna, I shall revel in your body.

  Yes, moan for me. You recognise your maker. I shall sip from your cup, you from mine. Forming a covenant of blood together. I will teach you, my seductive disciple. Illuminate your ways, you will worship with me, the Spirit will cover us, and you will be a new Eve.

  My moment is broken with time constraint. The cops have taken fingerprints from her apartment, making notes that she went on a date, he brought her home, she left her car there. I didn't give details, I'll have to take her in tomorrow to fill in the blanks I should not know. But as a witness myself, I can vouch that she is innocent and was devastated. He must have an enemy who followed him. All evidence, now blown to pieces.

  Thank you Father, my Alpha, for giving me these skills to wield vengeance on the sinners. He caused Shauna to fall. Vengeance was swift. His judgement will come.

  Walking quickly, I collect the new underwear which is identical to hers; grab the flash drive and head over to her place. My own set of keys as well as hers in my hand.

  A vague nuance of him still lingers, mixing a faint cocktail with the police presence here earlier. But the deeper in I walk, the stronger her essence permeates pores, savagely teasing my olfactory nerve. I have at least an hour to retrieve her latest emails. Fiddling with the settings so that I don't need to get in again to retrieve them.

  What's this? A friend coming to stay for two nights next week? Click. Sarah. Hello Sarah, where have you been hiding? Scanning, oh really.

  She's here for a week, will spend two days and one night with my angel, and wants to take her out for cocktails in Camps Bay to meet her 'nice friend' Mark. We'll see about that, Sarah.

  Snatching up her cell phone I delete my message from earlier. I make a fast copy to the flash-drive of her iTunes. She must feel comfortable. Playing her own music to her will seal the common ground, making me more attractive.

  Compatibility means so much to women. Orgasms, adoration and the fact that they're the root for mankind's downfall isn't enough for them. Oh no, you have to be trim, strong, witty, have clean habits, own a reliable set of wheels, have a great job, and worship their feet, with compatibility oozing out of every blood cell, to bag a woman's interest.

  In her bedroom, I pause, inhaling the scent of her from the pillow where she sleeps, close to the window and farthest from the door. Squeezing it, I place it back, perfectly.

  Unease skims my spine. I can't shake the impression that I'm not alone in watching Shauna. I pull the hoodie down further to obscure my features, I've learnt to trust my instincts over the years. Moving to the bathroom I check the laundry bin.

  Underwear catches my attention like obscene images of slutty temple girls. Swapping the copies in my pocket for her unclean and used ones, I can't resist the temptation to indulge. Eve tempted Adam. We've been falling for them ever since. Hardening tightly inside my jeans at the provocative scent adhering to lace lingerie.

  God I want her. Why does she keep postponing the inevitable with these pointless distractions? Was the orgasm worth it? Why does she crawl for men who didn't make her? Did she learn nothing from Sodom and Gomorra?

  •

  The Watcher:

  Get out!

  Cracking my knuckles with tension, my fist smashes the screen. Destroying the LED image of the defiler as I watch him snooping!

  Get out!

  •

  Victor:

  Satisfied, I secure her home, switching off lights, comforting dark. I stride back to number six-one-six. Bolting the door behind me. Quickly retreating into the secured darkroom to hide my finds and to install her music onto the hard-drive, accessed from panels in various locations around my spacious apartment.

  The security on this room is retina scan with hand print and digital code, with lipo-battery back-up. My windows have been replaced with solar panes. This is one room I will always have access and power to.

  I remove the hooded sweatshirt, smoothing my short brown hair as I walk to stare down at the innocent expression of my slumbering seraph. Check her pulse. Open an eye to examine her pupil. She's still deeply sedated.

  Unzipping, I release my frustration from the confines of Levi Straus. Wrapping her delicate warm hand with mine, together we clasp. Become familiar with me Shauna. Get used to my scent. When I mark you, it's for life.

  ~ Chapter 11 ~

  †he camera can photograph thought.

  ~Dirk Bogarde

  Shauna:

  Blistering heat blasts my face. I feel suffocated by it as if it sucked the air right out of my lungs. Panic wakes me.

  Sitting up, heaving for breath, I find myself covered with a black blanket. My drowsy gaze looks around. First noticing flawless symmetry in object placement. Black, taupe suede and earthy hues dominate the space. I find myself smiling as perusing eyes observe the black and white photos lining the wall. Puppies are so cute. This speaks volumes about Victor. Despite his tough exterior, he's hiding a warm heart.

  Of course he is. He basically rescued me from dying of shock last night. My heartbeat slows to a semblance of normal, as realisation dawns that I'm safe. Poor John. I feel so guilty. Is it my fault? Am I next?

  That's when my gaze finds him. Aw. He didn't leave me. Still wearing black jeans and matching t-shirt, he's asleep on the chair at a right angle to mine. Legs stretched out, strong neck arched in relaxation with his head tilted back resting on the plump chair. I study his face unobserved. His stubble is dark, matching br
own eyebrows. His nose has a kink in it as if it was once broken. Even asleep he seems assertive and confident.

  My focus travels down, enjoying a filled out male form in deep relaxation. Veins protruding under forearm skin. Why are men's arms so sexy? I love the hair on a man's arm. They always seem combed. Lifting my own arm, I compare. You can hardly see mine at all. They're so faint and insignificant.

  How old is he? Does it really matter? I'm twenty-eight, so I suppose it does. If he likes Rod Stewart I'll have to resign myself to the awful fact that he's too old. Certain music I just can't abide. Abba and Rod being two at the top of the no no list.

  But then the plus side is he won't be insecure. He'll be confident and self-assured. Knowing who he is. And an older man generally is pretty smashing in bed. He doesn't seem married. No sign of a female presence here. No ring. Nice watch. He dives too? I'm sure that's a diver's watch.

  The eyes snap open, instantly alert, catching my gaze. Sheepishly I smile in guilty response. “Good morning.”

  He smiles lazily, “Is it? How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.”

  “Shower here. You'll find a new toothbrush in the basin cupboard. I'll make us breakfast.”

  “It's okay. I'll just pop home.”

  He gives me a hard stare. “Shauna, I don't mean to pry, but you were frightened out of your mind last night. I'll stay with you until you've been to give the police your statement, and picked up your car. And I'll follow you back here. Here you're safe. Let me help.”

  His sincerity and obvious concern smack me hard. My heart feels like it's having a judo throw. Why is it a random stranger wants to save and help me, but my own parents think I'm mad? Overwhelmed, I nod. Where were you when Vengeance had me?