Montaine

by Rome, Ada

  Welcome to Leidensburg. An old-fashioned stone sign announced our destination as we exited the highway onto a winding country road that carved through the primeval forests of upstate New York. We soon found ourselves on the quaint main thoroughfare of a university town. The patios of small coffee shops teemed with students. They chatted, sipped from mugs, and leaned over laptops.

  We skirted the edge of a quad surrounded by imposing columned buildings and drove slowly through streets lined with stately colonial homes. Trent pulled up to a curb and cut the engine. He removed his helmet and gently patted my knee.

  I swung down from the bike, my legs stiff and sore after the long drive. I slipped off my helmet, adjusted my flattened hair, and raised my eyes to a gate of iron scrollwork. Atop the gate was an arch with one word inscribed in curling metal. Cemetery. We stood at the entrance to a graveyard.

  I glanced questioningly at Trent. He looked pensive, his jaw clenched and his mouth turned downward in a thoughtful frown. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his chest visibly rising and falling.

  “Come on.”

  He grasped my hand and towed me along the choppy cobblestone path and onto the rolling grass. He aimed like a laser toward a point in the distance. His legs moved in long, purposeful strides. I struggled to keep pace, stubbing the toe of my sneaker here and there on a hillock of unmown grass or swerving to avoid a collision with a teetering headstone.

  Some of the stones were faded and rubbed raw by decades spent exposed to the harsh northeastern winters. Others had the fresh sharpness of recent burials. Tiny rounded stones marked the graves of children. Elaborate monuments of weeping angels memorialized entire generations. Towering elms rose and spread like a cathedral ceiling, their leaves shaking in the breeze with a whispering hush like the voices of the dead.

  Trent stopped so abruptly that I ran into his back. I apologized softly, but he didn’t seem to notice. His gaze was fixed on a slab of shining pink marble set into the earth. He crouched before it, swiping it gently with his fingertips to remove a few leaves and particles of dirt.

  Rosalind Pauline Dover. Daughter. Friend. We love you forever. 1982-2001. Underneath the text was a carved circle. I knelt beside Trent to get a closer look at the detail. The circle was divided by a cross into four spaces. Within each space was a picture. A tree, a gust of wind, a flame, and a drop of water. The four elements.

  Reluctant to intrude on Trent’s thoughts, I waited and wondered. I knew that he was thirty-three, so the dates on the headstone would have made Rosalind Pauline Dover his contemporary in age. The four elements, of course, reminded me of our conversation on the rooftop. His body was covered in tattoos of the four elements. He had said that the meaning of those tattoos involved a girl who was now gone. Rosalind was clearly that girl.

  The sadness of the discovery hit me with a blow that was almost physical in its violence. Trent’s body was a monument to a ghost.

  “I suppose you’ve pieced together part of it,” he said as if reading my mind. His voice was gruff and raw. He immediately cleared his throat, attempting to disguise his emotions, and rose to his feet. “Want to hear the rest of it?”

  I nodded. The wind kicked up, stirring the elms and sending a chill along my naked arms. The gray, swollen clouds moved quickly across the leaden sky.

  “Rosie.” He spoke the name with a deep sigh. “We were in college together, here in Leidensburg. We met as freshman and formed an instant bond. I first became friends with Kill at around the same time. The three of us were pretty much inseparable. Kill was actually the journalism star in those days, kind of a big man on campus. Rosie was very bohemian. She wore long patchwork skirts and crystal necklaces. I was a bit of a hippie too.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “You? A hippie?”

  He smiled sheepishly. “I looked great with long hair. I think I even wore it in a braid at one point.”

  This made me laugh even harder.

  “I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t be laughing.”

  “It’s alright,” he said softly. “Rosie would have appreciated the humor in it.”

  “So, she was your girlfriend?”

  He paused and gazed up at the billowing clouds.

  “No. Things never went in that direction between us. She was my best friend, even more so than Kill. We told each other everything, all of our secrets, our dreams and plans, our deepest thoughts. We’d talk for hours on end and never get bored. I guess that’s what true love is, but you don’t always realize that when you’re a nineteen-year-old kid. You expect constant fireworks, not a slow and steady burn. Maybe real love needs both.”

  He glanced meaningfully at me from the corner of his eye.

  “I suppose that I was in love with her without ever admitting it to myself. We might have eventually ended up as a couple. I don’t know. Suddenly, it was too late to find out. She was gone.”

  “What happened to her?” I asked quietly.

  “Rosie was thoroughly good. She had a purity of spirit. I felt like I needed to protect her. She was too trusting. She trusted the wrong person. I wasn’t there to save her.”

  I thought about Miklos’s warning of a few days prior. Be careful that you do not trust the wrong person too.

  “She met this new guy in her English Literature class,” he continued, still staring down at the mute headstone. “Peter Haverford. I didn’t like him right away. Rosie said that I was jealous because he was taking up more of her time. I was jealous, but that wasn’t the problem. I didn’t like the way he treated her, like he owned her. She started to retreat within herself. Suddenly, we were barely speaking. I saw her on campus. She looked thin and worried. That wasn’t like Rosie. She was always a bundle of energy, with a smile that could light up the darkest day.”

  As if on cue, thunder rumbled from afar. A few tiny raindrops sprinkled my shoulders. I felt that I knew where the story was headed. Trent’s pain radiated from him in waves that shook my heart. The temperature dropped. I rubbed my arms to keep warm. The raindrops grew heavier, landing and sliding down the sides of the pink marble and soaking into the grass.

  “One day, I noticed that she had bruises on her arm. They looked like fingermarks, from being grabbed. Right around here.” He reached out a hand and gently caressed the top half of my arm. My skin tingled with goosebumps. “I tried to talk to her about it, but she refused. She said that it was none of my business and that I should leave her alone. So I did. And it was the worst mistake of my life, one for which I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “He murdered her, didn’t he? Her boyfriend, Peter Haverford?”

  The booming thunder grew closer. The rain left large wet splatters on Trent’s t-shirt, but he didn’t appear to care. He nodded slowly.

  “She disappeared. First it was just a few days, but then that stretched into a week, and then a few weeks. I knew Peter had done something to her. When they found her body---”

  He paused and kicked the ground with his shoe. His fists clenched, the muscles and tendons visibly shifting under the skin.

  “She was in the woods just off the highway,” he continued. “She’d been beaten, strangled, and dumped in a trash bag. I knew Peter had killed her. Everyone knew Peter had killed her. But Peter’s father happened to be a very powerful state senator, and his political machine made sure that Peter got off scot-free. A lack of evidence, the police said. They concocted some story about a traveling vagrant coming through town, killing Rosie, and then disappearing into the mist. It was completely ridiculous. There was no justice. I blamed myself. I still do. If I had intervened, I could have saved her.”

  “You can’t blame yourself, Trent.”

  I took one of his fists in my hand and smoothed the curled fingers, twining them around my own. He looked searchingly at me, the rain sopping a lick of hair that had flopped over his forehead.

  “There’s more,” he said in a low, solemn voice. “Months later, after Rosie had been buried and Peter had been cleared of any respons
ibility for murdering her, I decided to confront him. I wanted the truth. One night, Kill and I were out drinking at one of the local bars. Peter was there. He left alone. It was the middle of the night. We followed him. I knocked him down and dragged him through the dirt. I grabbed his throat and demanded that he confess. The bastard laughed in my face. He told me that Rosie had gotten what she deserved. That’s when I totally lost my mind. I beat him to within an inch of his life. Kill stopped me. He pulled me off of Peter while the shithead was still breathing. Then he told me to go home and wait. I did. The cops never came. Kill took care of it.”

  “That’s why you say that you owe him. He covered for you.”

  “Exactly. Peter spent weeks in a coma. He eventually woke up, but he had no memory of what happened. He was never quite the same mentally. He dropped out of school. He didn’t know that I was the one who’d attacked him. Kill was the only one who knew. He still is the only one who knows. Well, until now.” He squeezed my hand, his blue eyes trained on mine. “If it wasn’t for him, I would have been a murderer too. Regardless, if Kill had told the truth, Peter’s family would have ruined me. I’d have gone to jail. My whole life would have been over before it even started. That’s why I owe Kill. In a way, he saved my life too.”

  “I understand,” I said softly. “And the four elements – the tattoos – are because of Rosie?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not what you think. It’s not just a memorial. It’s a warning. Rosie was into all of this New Age stuff. She was always talking about balance in the universe and balance in the body and soul. When I was pummeling Peter on the cold ground, I completely lost control of myself. Afterwards, I realized what lurked within me. I had a capacity for rage that had almost led me to take another man’s life. One more punch, and I would have done it.”

  He paused, as if uncertain whether to say everything that came next. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply in and out, and nodded, more to himself than to me.

  “It was a rage born of love. I needed to control it. I started getting the tattoos as a tribute to Rosie’s spirit. But it was also a reminder to maintain balance within myself, to never again let my rage take over so completely. I can work out some of my aggression in the ring, where there are rules to stop me if I go too far. But mostly, I maintain balance by keeping my feelings in check, by avoiding love. When I find myself caring too much about a person, I have to step away.”

  He bowed his head. The rain pattered on the marble and granite in soft splashes.

  “That’s what I did last week,” he said, lifting his eyes to mine. “After I kissed you on the rooftop, I needed to step away, for both of us.”

  The thunder crashed close overhead. The rain soaked into my hair and dress. It ran down Trent’s temples and chiseled cheekbones as he watched me with a searing intensity. I swallowed hard. My heart nearly beat out of my chest.

  “Do you think that’s what Rosie would have wanted for you?” I ventured. “She was your friend. She cared about you. Would she have wanted you to spend your life avoiding love?” My voice cracked on the word love, betraying my surging emotions.

  “No, I don’t think that she would.”

  The daytime sky had turned as dark as dusk. Huge thunderheads blocked out any trace of sun. Peals of thunder crashed in close succession, one after another. The rain pelted our bodies in great slanting sheets. The lightning crackled with alarming nearness.

  Trent faced me and stepped forward, one strong hand gripping the sodden fabric around my waist. Another peal of thunder reverberated in my bones. A flash of lightning split the heavens.

  “I know where we can go,” he said. He pulled me after him, our shoes slapping through puddles. The wind tore at my dress, pasting the wet hem around my thighs. We soon found ourselves on the edges of a pond with a gazebo at one end. We hurriedly skirted the pond and climbed the gazebo steps, taking shelter from the rain that thumped on the small roof with the steady rhythm of a drumbeat.

  Trent still held onto my hand. A charged magnetic force flowed between our two bodies. I was elated and scared at the same time. He ran one hand through his wet hair and stared out onto the storm-ravaged cemetery. The blackened sky, slashing winds, and chilled rain falling on cold gravestones made for a poignant scene.

  “Why do people always think graveyards are so romantic?” Trent said, as if musing to himself. “What is romantic about death?” He turned to me, his eyes luminous in the shadows of our temporary shelter.

  “It’s the thought of what lies sleeping beneath the grass, I guess.” I paused and searched my brain for the best way to express what I was thinking. “The dead were once flesh and blood. They loved and lost. They experienced great joy and impossible sadness. Those passions never disappear. They hover like a cloud.” My voice was quiet beneath the pattering rain. “It’s also a reminder to the living. You only get one chance. You need to take it.”

  I turned toward him. Our eyes locked.

  “You should walk away,” he said. “I’m damaged.”

  “Aren’t we all damaged, at least a little?”

  He took one step closer.

  “I’m dangerous, Kat Raney.” His voice was low and sultry.

  “Danger is not necessarily a reason to avoid doing something,” I whispered.

  He pressed his palm against the side of my face. He grasped my waist and hauled me roughly to him with the other hand. He kissed me hard and ravenously. I drank in the taste of his hot and succulent lips. His tongue played in my mouth, twisting and winding and licking.

  In an instant, all of the barriers that we had erected between us came crashing down into a heap. I craved his body like a sickness that would never be cured, like a drug that I would never quit. I needed him more than I needed the breath in my lungs, more than the blood that surged through my veins.

  He pushed me up against a wooden post, grinding his pelvis against me, his erection strong and thick through the fabric of his jeans. The rain poured in a solid wall of water just behind us, blocking out the world beyond. He feverishly pulled at the hem of my dress, lifting it up over my naked thighs, and ripping my delicate panties over my hips. They slid loosely down to my ankles. I was wet and throbbing. His fingers rubbed and stroked and massaged me and then slipped inside, slick and tight. I moaned with urgent lust.

  He kissed and sucked the side of my neck, ran his tongue along the tops of my breasts that rose round and smooth. He plucked open the buttons of my bodice one by one with his teeth until my breasts were naked in the cool air. He sucked forcefully on my hard and yearning nipples, sending waves of otherworldly pleasure coursing through every part of my body.

  I unzipped his jeans and wrapped my fingers around his enormous erection. I stroked him rhythmically as he licked and bit my nipples. He gripped my waist with both hands and pushed me up higher against the post. I lifted my leg, winding it around his hip.

  With a full-throated groan, he plunged into me, deep and long and thick. The sensation was almost more than I could bear. He thrust into me again and again. The rain pounded on the roof. The thunder crashed and rumbled overhead. I coiled my arms around his shoulders, my fingernails digging into the flesh of his back as he pushed into me harder and faster. I panted and gasped, my hot breath covering his ear and neck. He groaned with each powerful thrust, the force of his body holding me up and his rough hands grasping and kneading my bare flesh. Our bodies moved together with an animal ferocity, rocking and grinding and surging with an uncontrolled abandon.

  I whimpered and moaned in the throes of erotic delight. I tightened around him as a spine-tingling wave of orgasmic frenzy burst through my entire body, arching my back and sending a cry of ecstatic pleasure from my open mouth. He followed my writhing and quaking rush with a full, deep, and mighty plunge and a pulsing thrust of release.

  He kissed me and grazed his lips along my neck, over my collarbone, and onto my naked and heaving breasts. I wrapped my arms tighter around his shoulders and rested my cheek against the curve o
f his neck.

  The rain continued to fall, a soft and steady rhythm that matched the beating of our intertwined hearts.

  We had crossed a line. Whatever happened from now on, there would be no turning back.

  Chapter 10

  “You had sex.”

  “What?”

  Marcie peered at me through squinted eyes, lifting onto her tiptoes to get a better look. I had just emerged from the shower, my hair bound in a towel atop my head. I cinched the tie of my bathrobe tighter as Marcie peered closer. The effect of her scrutiny was somewhere between an FBI interrogation and an eye exam at the optometrist.

  “I can see it in your face! You did the dirty deed!” Her eyes bugged out wide. Her lips opened into a long “O” as she pressed her fingertips against them.

  “Oh stop, Marcie.” I waved her aside. The corners of my mouth twitched upwards in a telltale grin.

  “You silly bitch! I can’t believe you weren’t going to tell me. With Trent? You had sex with Trent Montaine? Holy fuckballs, Kat! How was it? Why am I even asking? It was amazing, right? He’s got a dick the size of Texas? You came seventeen times? Eighteen?”

  She flopped onto her bedspread and eagerly patted the space beside her. I released my hair from the towel, shaking it out in the Sunday afternoon sunshine that streamed through the parted curtains. Trent had dropped me off in the pre-dawn hours after a leisurely ride back to the city. I’d slept late, my mind still hazy with memories of our encounter, my thighs pleasurably aching from the bruising force of our passion.

  “I’m not going to tell you anything.” I tried with difficulty to stifle another grin and settled onto the bed next to Marcie. “It’s personal.”

  “Personal, my asshole! I’m your best friend. You just fucked the King of All Hotties. You owe me details. That’s the law.”

  I blotted my hair with the towel, stalling for time.