Lunangelique (The Lunangelique Series)

by Campbell, Kristin R

  I look back behind me from the direction I came but don’t see anything but darkness. I feel like I’m being followed or watched but I can’t make out any silhouettes. The tunnel bends behind me as it bends in front of me. Anyone can be hiding around the corners.

  The hairs on my arms are standing up at attention. I look forward again and continue to cautiously walk towards the light. I’m so afraid of what I will find. I feel like I know what is up ahead but I’m afraid of seeing it.

  My breathing gets more rapid as I push my back to the wall and slowly peek around the bend.

  I wake up screaming into my pillow. When I realize what I’m doing I quickly try to stifle my cry. I pull myself up in bed and put my hand to my heart; it is racing a marathon in my chest. I wipe the sweat off my forehead and stay still for a couple of seconds to make sure I didn’t wake the house up.

  What was around the bend? I can’t remember what I saw that would make me scream. I remember the cave and the feeling of being watched and the feeling of knowing what was up ahead but that was it. What was it?

  When no one comes to the door I slip back under the covers and lie back down. I don’t think I fall back asleep that night.

  *

  The next afternoon, Cole surprises me by coming over around four o’clock. He is already impeccably dressed for his performance tonight. I open the door and can’t help but do a double take at his attire.

  “Wow, you should wear a tux more often,” I compliment him. “Want to come in?” He nods and I step away from the door frame, letting him enter the vestibule. “Why are you here so early? I thought it didn’t start until six.”

  He hands me a lily that he’s been hiding behind his back. It’s so unexpected, I can’t help the way my face lights up at the surprise. “You are amazing,” I gush at him and lean in to give him a kiss.

  “So are you.” He pauses uncomfortably. “Um, I thought I, we, could hang out at your house for awhile, until it’s time to go.” He leans over and whispers in my ear, in case anyone is in earshot, “I couldn’t wait another minute to see you.”

  I laugh at him and while he doesn’t laugh out loud his eyes do. “Well, as you can see I am not as ready as you are.” I address my wardrobe of a jean skirt and tank top. “So,” I draw out the word and lead him into the family room, “you can park in here and I’ll try to hurry and get dressed. Don’t worry, the parents are at work for another hour and Alex is off somewhere with Kaitlyn.”

  “What? I can’t keep you company in your room while you get ready?” He pouts, feigning the idea that staying alone downstairs bothers him. “I let you wait in my room for me,” he makes a point. Maybe he really is offended to wait downstairs.

  “Fine, come on,” I say and head up the stair with him tailing me.

  “So, how will your parents feel if they come home and I’m in your room?” I turn back to him and roll my eyes at him. If he was so concerned he wouldn’t have pushed the issue.

  “It’s fine,” I tell him.

  “Your parents really don’t mind that you and Alex have the opposite sex in your room?”

  “Nope. They’re weird.” I pause rethinking how to describe my parent’s philosophies. “Not weird. They’re open and trusting. I think their parents were really over-protective, which led them to be the opposite. Who knows?” I open the door to my bedroom, feeling a little embarrassed that he’s coming into it but then I redirect the thought because he has been in here, I just don’t remember it.

  “I forgot to mention before that I like your room,” he says, on the same train of thought as me. “It’s very personal. Very you. I feel like if I look around the room I would be able to know everything about you.”

  I take a moment to look around the room as if I’m seeing it for the first time, through his eyes. I have a full size bed, dressed in light silver sheets and a white comforter, pictures of me with friends and family spanning a lifetime on a pin-board near my cluttered vanity, a hope chest for my mementos, an antique dresser and nightstand that hold the flowers he gave me the other day. The walls are painted in a soft gray with white trim that I just recently painted this summer. There are a few canvas paintings I completed dotting the walls. And on the wall over my bed is a collage I painted depicting monuments of all the places I want to visit one day. It scans the globe covering everything from Big Ben to the Pyramid of Giza to the Great Wall of China and everything in-between.

  “Who did this?” he refers to the collage.

  “Stencils,” I admit. I break away from looking around the room with him to find a dress to wear tonight.

  “But, who painted it in,” he looks at me questioning.

  “I did,” not wanting to admit it because I feel guilty for my ability to pick up anything and just know how to do it. It feels like a sin.

  “Where did you get stencils for all these places?” he asks, ignoring my guilt-ridden voice.

  I take a deep breath and pull out two dresses from the closet, turning to him so he can help me choose. One is long, silver and is basically backless until right above my butt; I wore it for prom last spring, and the other one is cornflower blue cocktail dress I wore to Kaitlyn’s older sister’s wedding a few months ago. “The long one is more for tonight’s crowd,” he informs me.

  “So how did you do it?” he refers back to the collage after I’ve gone into the bathroom to change. He knows I’m avoiding answering. I hurry up and change, throwing my previous attire into the laundry basket and adjusting my sticky bra into place before walking out of the bathroom and hurrying to the vanity table. I feel so self-conscious applying my makeup in front of him.

  He’s sitting on the bed, expectantly, staring at me, still waiting for an answer. He’s committed to not speaking another word until I answer his question. I throw the eyeliner I was applying down and take a defeated sigh before turning to face him. “Fine. I don’t know why you are so insistent anyways. It’s not like you don’t avoid certain topics.” I spit out at him venomously, instantly regretting the action when I see the shock and hurt on his face.

  I use a softer voice when I inform him, “It’s not so hard to figure out. I copied the outlines onto many, many, many pieces of paper, punched holes through them, carefully placed them over the wall, marked the walls, played connect the dots and then I painted; making sure to blend the colors so that one monument flowed into the next.”

  I turn back around and pick up where I left off on my makeup. Noting that he hasn’t taken his eyes off my reflection. I don’t look at him. I would rather pretend he isn’t here while I concentrate on getting the makeup on.

  “It’s amazing. I don’t understand while you aren’t more willing to talk about or share your talents with everyone.”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” I say more harshly than I meant to.

  We stay silent for awhile. I know I should apologize for talking to him so harshly but I can’t bring myself to do it. The talents I have are for me. He wants to hide his past from me, for now, according to him, and so I feel entitled to hide my freakishly-natured talents from him.

  I start to wrap my hair into a French twist but Cole says, “I like it when you leave your hair down.”

  “You just want to play with my hair,” I tease him. Trying to ease the tension that is hanging between us.

  He smiles and the tension is immediately broken. “You have me pegged.”

  “As you know I can’t deny you,” I admit and release my hair from the pins so it falls back down my back. I pick up a brush and run it through my hair to smooth it out.

  “So what is the theme for the new gallery opening tonight?” I curse myself for going back to an art topic. But I can’t help it, I’m curious, and we are going to a museum tonight.

  “I don’t know. I never thought to ask,” he admits. “It’s a job. I just go when I’m scheduled.”

  “Oh,” I sound a little disappointed. And I am. “So what am I supposed to do when we are there?” I get up from the seat and Cole fol
lows my lead as I head back downstairs.

  “Keep me company.” He smiles.

  “What am I suppose to do while you are playing?” I make my question clearer.

  “You can stare at me dotingly and listen to me play or wander around the museum. There will be an intermission an hour into the performance that will give me time to spend with you and then there is afterwards.”

  My dad is already home when we come downstairs. “Hi, daddy,” I say to him when we walk into the family room. I come over to him and give him a kiss on the cheek.

  “You two look nice,” he compliments us.

  I beam at him and Cole tells him thank you and then shakes his hand in welcome. He looks at his watch. “We should go soon. It’s right after five and I still have to set up.”

  “Okay,” I tell him. I turn back to my dad, “See you later.”

  “Not too late. It’s a school night,” my dad chuckles to himself. He hasn’t said that to me or Alex in over a year and he’s laughing at his old habit. “Just kidding. Have a good time.” He plants a kiss on my forehead.

  “Good night,” Cole nods his head to my dad. And my dad gives him the same sentiment.

  We get to the museum at twenty minutes to six. People are already piling inside and Cole curses under his breath. He parks in the back at the employee parking lot.

  “I’m sorry for taking so long to get ready,” I tell him.

  “You’re fine. Don’t apologize. It’ll be fine. I get to unpack and tune up in one of the conference rooms before I go out. No one will be expecting me to get ready in the atrium,” he comforts me.

  He escorts me out of the car and then opens the trunk to get his violin case out of the back. “Don’t you need your sheet music?” I notice he doesn’t have any and I start to get alarmed.

  “I don’t need it,” he assures me. “I’ve been playing for so long that my fingers have memorized every note.”

  He opens one of the side doors and we enter into a hallway, where he immediately turns left into a conference room. I sit in one of the chairs and watch him tune his violin. Then he strums out ‘Hot Cross Buns’ really quick and I laugh.

  “Alright, let’s go.” He hurries down the hall to a door but before he opens it he turns to me and gives me a quick and passionate kiss before opening the door that leads right into the atrium.

  The first thing I notice, we notice, when we walk through the door is the poster that introduces the artist portrayed tonight. It’s Edmund. And the man himself is standing alone on the stairs, watching the crowd come in. He’s dressed in a grey suit with a white shirt and a light blue tie.

  I grab Cole’s hand. “I didn’t know he was an artist?” I implore at the same time Cole says, “I didn’t know he was going to be here.” Cole has a surprised and scared look on his face.

  “Are you okay?” I ask him.

  “Yeah,” his face softens. “I’m just surprised and a little mad that he didn’t tell me.”

  I reach up and stroke his face reassuringly. I feel bad for him at the moment but before I can say anything comforting to him the curator begins to present Edmund and Cole to the audience and he has to leave my side. There is much clapping before the curator gently quiets everyone and then leads them into the wing where Edmund’s art is displayed.

  Cole quickly disappears into the wing to begin playing for the guests as they mingle and move throughout the room. I hang back until everyone is inside before I walk in.

  Edmund’s theme is a mix of mythology and religion. The paintings depict the story of Creation told through Greek mythology and ends with a war among the Angels. Why he chose to mix the two themes is beyond me. If it was me, I would have separated the two so I can have two art exhibits.

  I have to admit the flow of it creates a beautiful effect. He uses a softer palette, choosing to blend colors, instead of contrasting bold colors. Something that I favor in my artwork too, like Michelangelo or Monet.

  Cole’s music creates a lovely dreamscape for the worthy VIP viewers. I’m lost in the artwork as my body sways to the ebb and flow of the music. As I stand in front of a painting of Hermes I image what it would be like to fly through the sky with the Earth far below me. Flying would be the ultimate adventure.

  I slowly move to the next painting, forcing my feet to lift into the air and take off on winged sandals. I don’t take my eyes off Hermes until I’m standing directly in front of the next painting.

  What I see makes my throat constrict. I swallow hard at a nervous lump in my throat as I stare mesmerized by the painting of Selene, the Greek moon goddess. The picture depicts her sullenly straddling a crescent moon, she has her elbows propped up on the tip of the crescent and her head is resting in her hands as she sadly gazes down at the Earth, watching a blond haired man sleep in the shadow of a mountain. She is wearing a subtle transparent silver Greek gown but Edmund depicted her in such a way as to not show her nudeness beneath the gown. On her head is a gold crown shaped like the crescent moon.

  What makes my throat constrict, causes a nervous lump in my throat, my body to sweat and my hands to start shaking is, when I look at Selene, I’m looking at me. It seems like Edmund has put my face into his artwork! How is that possible!

  I feel people moving in from behind me and I turn to make my way across the room before someone can point out the resemblance and assume I’m one of Edmund’s models. I don’t want to be caught standing in front of my own resemblance. I’m so embarrassed. Before I can flee the painting, a hand grabs my arm and I look up to see it was Edmund who had come up behind me.

  “It’s not you. I promise,” he says to me as he senses my embarrassment.

  “How can it not be?” I say in a low, husky tone as my voice breaks. My throat still feels constricted, disabling me from talking further. I start to take deep breaths to calm myself and Edmund offers me a glass of water he had been carrying. I take it greedily, wanting to clear my throat and calm down before I hyperventilate in front of everyone.

  He releases my arm. “For one thing,” he starts as I chug the water and continue to take deep breaths, “I painted it before I met you.” He points to the date on the description card. “And for another thing, the muse was someone I loved and lost. The similarities are coincidental,” he assures me.

  It doesn’t seem very coincidental to me and I’m still not convinced. I stare Edmund down until I notice that Cole is no longer playing and I excuse myself to go find him. When he sees me, his mouth drops open and he rushes to my side, embracing me and asking me what happened. I let him take me back into the atrium where a buffet is laid out with drinks. He grabs me a glass of wine and then leads me into a wing that holds Egyptian artifacts.

  “What happened?” he asks me again after he sits me down on a bench before sitting next to me, running his hand up and down my bare back.

  “I don’t know,” I admit my confusion and try to choke back my tears. He takes my glass of wine and holds it up to my lips to coax me to drink it, in the hopes I’ll calm down. I take a gulp and cough.

  “Shh… Shh...,” he soothes me, putting the glass down and cups my head in his hands, wiping the tears from my face with his thumbs as he makes me look at him.

  “I’m just really confused right now.” I give him some kind of answer as I try to pull myself together. He takes it the wrong way though.

  “About us?” He looks hurt and confused.

  “No, no, no. Well partly.” I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “Edmund has a painting in there and the resemblance is a little too close for comfort.” Cole’s face drains of color and he swallows hard. I don’t let on that I notice his scared, guilty look, just like I don’t let on all the other things that are bothering me about him and his weird reactions. Things that are adding up and he will have to account for soon. But not here. I need to piece a few more things together.

  “You should go back in there. I’m just going to collect myself and then clean up in the bathroom before heading back,” I tell
him.

  He doesn’t say anything. He quietly gets up and goes back into the visiting art wing. I finish the glass of wine and make my way into the bathroom to use lots of paper towels to blow my nose, dry my face free of tears and wash my hands. After I’m finished I smile at myself in the mirror, trying to put on a poker face to hide the feelings I have inside. I walk out of the bathroom, practicing my smile on two women who are walking into the bathroom. They seem convinced as they give me winning smiles back so I proceed to Edmund’s wing and continue my viewing of the paintings, avoiding the one that ruined my night. And avoiding Edmund, which turns out to be easy because he is surrounded by adoring fans and prospective buyers.

  When Cole finishes his second set, he is bombarded with his own set of admirers. I stand back and watch him handle them all with comfort and ease, finally excusing himself to come to me. I give him my own adoring smile as he walks up to me and kisses me softly, which gives us some coos and awes from some older ladies standing near us. I smile, coyly at them and Cole nods his acknowledgement as he takes my hand and leads me back to the conference room so he can pack up.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asks me while he gently lays his violin back in its case.

  “I’m starting too,” I tell him, watching him zip up his case.

  “Good,” he gives me a small smile. “Do you want to stay and walk around the museum or just go?”

  “Let’s just go,” I breathe out restlessly.

  “Want to get home early and rest up for school tomorrow?” he teases me.

  “Not really,” I answer truthfully. “I hate that summer is over and I won’t be able to spend as much time with you as I want.”

  His smile lights up his entire face in response to my answer. He looks at his watch. “It’s only eight o’clock. Let’s go grab something to eat.”

  My stomach growls right on cue, liking the suggestion. “Yeah, I haven’t eaten since lunch time.”

  “Me neither. What can you go for?”