Terran Times 18 - Emerald Envisage

by Viola Grace

  She showered and wrapped herself in a thick towel, humming a song while combing the tangles out of her long, golden blonde hair. She dried it until the ends curled naturally toward her face in a youthful frame. Studying her face in the mirror, she noticed how unusually wide and bright her eyes were, the dark brown spheres glowing with inner radiance. She ran her fingers over her smooth, light complexion, the delicate shape of her jaw and softly rounded chin. She pressed her full lips together briefly. Although her sister insisted Brigit had an almost perfect nose, she felt it was unremarkably straight, though not narrow, ending in a rounded tip and slightly flared nostrils. Her features reflected an even mixture of her parents’ youthful genes. At twenty-six, Brigit was often told she looked younger.

  She padded into her bedroom and stopped before the dresser, opening the top drawer as if expecting the letter to have vanished. But it was there, just as she’d left it. She sighed and got dressed in a light turtleneck sweater and corduroys before heading into the kitchen. She was about to brew coffee, but hesitated—the habitual craving was barely appealing. I must have really slept well, she thought.

  Turning on the television for background noise, Brigit picked up a box next to the stereo stand. Since the birth of her nephew, she’d purchase just about anything adorable if it caught her eye. Kate complained that she’d spoil him rotten, but Brigit couldn’t help herself. After all, he was like a son to her. She was certain the Finding Nemo bath toys would thrill two-year-old Michael. She removed the merchant stickers and carefully wrapped it in colorful paper.

  The clock on the wall behind the sofa indicated half past nine. Lunch was served early at Kate’s so she’d be there around twelve.

  Brigit spent most of the afternoon at her sister’s, enjoying Michael’s eagerness to play. She left feeling lighthearted, Kate’s highly complimentary remarks lingering in her ears.

  “Brigit, you look gorgeous today—I mean, more than your usual gorgeous—there’s this radiance about you…You’re not pregnant are you?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Well, you’re glowing from inside out.”

  “Thank you, although I don’t feel much different,” Brigit had lied and felt color stain her cheeks.

  She squeezed her car in the narrow driveway, which she shared with her neighbor, and bounded up the two flights of stairs to her apartment. She entered, hearing the swish of paper under the door. She stared down at the floor for a few seconds. It was another pink envelope. When she picked it up, she couldn’t help bringing it to her nose. Same masculine scent.

  She crossed the short corridor to the living room, dropped her purse onto the armchair and opened the envelope without removing her suede coat. There was less humor in the situation this time.

  Please take the time to answer this question, honestly and genuinely. What are the most meaningful things you have done?

  Respond on this letter, put it in the envelope and place it in your dresser with the first one.

  She forced air out of her lungs and dropped the letter onto the table. Shrugging out of her coat, she decided to speak to her neighbors downstairs. Perhaps they’d noticed something unusual. They were an elderly couple, lovely people. Making her way down the curved staircase of the old, two-story building, she rang the doorbell and waited only a short time before Francis Nolan’s voice came through the door.

  “Mrs. Nolan, it’s Brigit—do you have a minute?”

  A door chain was released and Mrs. Nolan’s moist gray eyes smiled at her. “Brigit, love, come in…we’ve lost you lately,” the seventy-six-year-old woman said with a chuckle.

  Brigit stepped into the apartment, a mirror image of her own apart from the dated, flower print furniture, antique pieces, huge fluffy rugs and an endless collection of bric-a-brac. Nonetheless, she’d known this couple for two years and felt comfortable in their home. “I apologize for my absence. This new job’s been taking a lot out of me,” she replied sincerely.

  “I always say that today’s young people work too much for their own good,” Mrs. Nolan said and headed toward the kitchen. “You’re just in time for tea…”

  “I’d love some, thank you.” Brigit made herself comfortable on the large sofa and accepted a delicate teacup from the elderly woman. “Smells wonderful.” She sipped, recognizing the popular Irish brand. A perfect hostess, Mrs. Nolan accompanied the tea with an assortment of scones, bread and jam on a silver platter. “Is Mr. Nolan away?”

  “He’s out golfing with our boys.” She paused and sighed. “I am so glad that they take time out of their busy schedules for their dad. It does him good.” Mrs. Nolan smiled.

  “Of course. I spent time with mom, Kate and Michael today…I loved every minute.”

  “Oh, that little boy must be bigger each time you see him.”

  Brigit laughed and nodded. “Just about. Kids grow so quickly these days.” She picked up a scone and bit into it. “Mmm, this is really good.”

  Mrs. Nolan’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, you know—Marty’s bakery around the corner. Closest thing to homemade.”

  Brigit looked at the dark yellow tea in her cup. “Eh, Mrs. Nolan, I was wondering if you’ve noticed anyone in the building you didn’t recognize lately?”

  The elderly woman’s teacup stilled in midair, her eyes widening in her narrow face. “Well, no…I don’t recall seeing anyone besides the postman. Why, Brigit? Have you seen a suspicious person entering the building?”

  Brigit had hoped not to frighten the woman. “No, I haven’t. It’s just an odd thing really. I received a…small parcel, which didn’t have any return address so I’ve been wondering who left it.”

  Mrs. Nolan sipped her tea pensively. Despite her age, her mind was sharp. “That is strange. Have you asked the postman about it?”

  “There was no stamp on the parcel so it wasn’t delivered by post. It was just addressed to me.”

  The woman’s lips pressed together tightly. “I see…and what was inside this parcel?”

  Brigit’s brain worked quickly. “Actually, I tossed it out since it seemed suspicious…I didn’t want to open it.” She wasn’t a good liar and felt terrible doing so.

  Mrs. Nolan considered this a moment. “Good for you. Why should you concern yourself with something that wasn’t properly delivered?”

  A breath of relief passed Brigit’s lips. “Right.”

  “However, that leaves certain questions unanswered. Who left the parcel, and how did they get into the building?”

  “True.”

  Mrs. Nolan spread some jam on her bread. “Then again, I’m certain Andrew is taken with you.”

  Brigit was well aware of the landlord’s attraction to her, although he’d never voiced anything to that effect. He was apparent in other ways. She worried her lip. “You mean he might be a secret admirer?”

  “It’s possible, although you don’t know what the parcel contained. If that’s the case, you know the poor chap is harmless.”

  Brigit silently agreed with the last point. However, it was unlikely the acutely introverted, artless landlord would pursue the matter in this fashion. She took a final sip of tea. “Perhaps. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “Not at all, dear. But I will mention it to Andrew. He should be aware whether he’s your admirer or not.”

  Brigit nodded and stood. “Thank you for everything, Mrs. Nolan.”

  Mrs. Nolan followed her to the front door. “Now, let me know if you receive any more parcels, Brigit,” she said in a serious tone.

  “I will. Have a nice evening and give my greetings to Mr. Nolan.”

  She averted her eyes from the envelope on the table and headed straight for the tall bookcase that almost filled an entire wall of the living room. There was an anthology of short stories she’d received as a Christmas gift at work, which she hadn’t gotten around to reading. She curled up on the sofa and opened to the first page. Only ten minutes later did she realize that she had read the last paragraph on that page at least twice
, and not one word had sunk in.

  Gritting her teeth, she snapped the book shut and stared at the mysterious envelope. Why did it distract her so much? Was this going to become a nuisance? And why did the messenger insist she not tell anyone about the letter? As if he—or she could read the response anyway.

  As she slid the letter toward her, she muttered under her breath, “Silly, silly, Brigit.” She suppressed a mocking laugh as her fingers twirled a lock of her hair. Of course she’d done meaningful things. Last year, she had gone on a donation spree, supporting both local and international charities and volunteering to wrap gifts for a children’s Christmas project. She wrote this on the parchment. She had also fostered about three cats and two exotic birds since she’d moved into this apartment.

  As requested, the letter joined the first one in her dresser.

  Before retiring for the night, she rang Fiona to find out how her night had gone. Fiona, as usual, did most of the talking, which suited Brigit since she was still perturbed by the letter. Fiona had met a pleasant guy who was a friend of a friend and exchanged numbers. She sounded excited and made Brigit promise to meet him next weekend.

  “Now that’s what normal young women do,” Brigit remarked once she’d ended the phone call. “They don’t sit around on the weekend answering bizarre, anonymous letters that no one will ever read.”

  Around eleven, she donned her pajamas and settled into bed, falling into a deep slumber soon after.

  A familiar, distinct aroma of gentle, earthy spice infiltrated her sleepy mind, making her nostrils flare to intake the heady blend. It was delicious and sensual at once. A soft sigh escaped her. Her hands reached out to locate the source and bring it closer, but when her subconscious wondered if the letter had come to mock her, she pulled back.

  “Brigit.”

  A man’s deep voice carried itself through the thick, shadowy veils that surrounded her. Her eyes slowly focused on the shape of a man in the near distance. Her legs felt heavy, unable to move, nor could she raise herself from the bed.

  He called to her again, this time more clearly, the velvety depth of his voice caressing her.

  She raised her arm to him. “Come here. I can’t get up,” she said.

  Brigit felt the mattress depress as he lay beside her. She gazed up at him, disappointed that the contours of his face were cloaked by the shadows. But the warmth of his hand covered hers, clasping tightly, and in that moment, she realized that he was the source of that delightful scent and could barely stop herself from pulling him down to her. “You sent me the letters,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” came the husky reply that sent a wonderful frisson through her.

  “But…why?”

  “I like you…you’re beautiful.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. She was sure that there was a handsome face behind the shadows—one to match his voice. If only she could see him. But how could he like her? He didn’t know her, did he? Panic shot through her. Could it be Andrew—was Mrs. Nolan right after all?

  “What is it Brigit? You’re tense,” he said with concern.

  It didn’t sound like Andrew at all. She expelled a long breath. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Justin.”

  Her muscles relaxed a fraction and her breath hitched as he came closer.

  “Did you answer the letters?”

  She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent, squeezing his hand. “Yes.”

  His mouth lingered above hers, their breath mingling. “Tell me, Brigit, were you troubled by them?”

  She licked her lips and squinted, trying to make out the details of his face, but couldn’t. “A little troubled…yes. I didn’t know who left them…and why do you want to know those things about me?” Her words seemed heavy to her, making it an effort to speak. How she wanted him to kiss her. His presence alone intoxicated her, sending all kinds of sensations over her skin, rousing hot tension between her legs.

  “Do you believe the letters are real?”

  His mouth was so close now, and she almost struggled to press her lips to it, though in vain as her head wouldn’t budge. A frustrated gasp broke from her throat. Then she remembered he had asked her a question. Real? She had seen them…touched them and they smelled just like him. “Yes, I—I wrote my answers on them,” she reasoned.

  Brigit sensed his smile. Then a miracle happened. His ghostly lips touched hers, tenderly at first. Surprisingly, her arms were not lifeless. She lifted her hand to his face, and her heart gave an excited leap when she felt his smooth, warm skin. The pressure of his mouth increased, making her sigh into him. His hand slipped into the hair at her temple, one long finger moving sensually over her cheek. He leaned into her side, molding himself to her curves. She felt the lean, solid muscles of his body through the material of his clothes. His erection swelled against her thigh. He moaned as he plied her lips open to flick his tongue inside the cavern of her mouth. Their tongues mingled while her fingers curled into the thickness of his hair, pressing him closer.

  He broke the link, leaving her breathless, her heart racing, and ran his mouth down her throat to linger in the tiny hollow. She felt him raise himself from her, still unable to see him clearly.

  “I enjoyed that kiss very much. You taste sweet and silky,” he said in a husky voice.

  Brigit didn’t have time to respond as his fingers started working to loosen the buttons on her pajama top. She could only hold her breath in anticipation as he pushed the material to either side, exposing her naked breasts, their tips already taut with arousal.

  He sucked in his breath. “So lovely,” he whispered.

  She wanted to arch upward as his hand caressed the rise and fall of her breasts, the valley in between and the tender area under each mound. But she couldn’t, and settled for whimpering in pleasure. His fingers squeezed her nipples before his mouth closed down over each one, sucking fervently. Brigit moaned and curled her fingers in his hair, pressing him tightly to her. His tongue darted across each peak, producing points of pleasure that teased every nerve ending in her body.

  His knee nudged her legs further apart as his hand left her breast to travel down to the soft swell of her belly. He stroked her flesh with his palm, dipping into her navel before slipping under the band of her pajama bottoms. His mouth didn’t leave her breast as he cupped the mound of her juncture through the satiny material of her panties. She managed to arch up against his hand a little, expressing her need. He went lower to her swollen lips, the sensuality of his touch heightened by the smooth fabric. Her hips bucked as a jolt of unexpected pleasure shot through her sensitive sex.

  When he finally moved under her panties to fondle her, flesh to flesh, she cried out in pleasure. She sensed her own wetness against his fingers. His mouth left her breast to nuzzle the curve of her throat. She rested a limp hand on his shoulder as she succumbed to the pleasure he offered. Grunts of pleasure rumbled in his throat as he stroked her wet cleft. Locating her clit, he circled it several times before dipping to where her outer flesh parted, exploring the slickness at the mouth of her womb.

  Brigit’s fingernails curled into his shoulder as she fought to suppress the primal sound that threatened to break free and expose her vulnerability. Her befuddled mind was torn by inexplicable yet compelling emotions that threatened to consume her.

  “You drip honey, my love.”

  The voice, thick with arousal, brought her back to him. He returned to her sensitive bud and stroked it until its heat spread like wildfire, racking her body with tremors and cries of ecstasy.

  Brigit clung to him as her body relaxed and settled. She turned her face and pressed her mouth to his weakly, her breath still coming out in tiny bursts. She made to speak, but no sound came forth.

  “Sweet little, Brigit. You’ve given me so much pleasure,” Justin whispered against her mouth.

  She couldn’t quite understand how she had pleased him since he’d generously satisfied her needs, not his own. She opened her eyes to look at him.
He seemed to be gazing at her. If only she could see his eyes. Why did these shadows persist?

  His fingers traced a line down her cheek. “Go back to sleep, love,” he said and brushed his lips over hers lightly.

  The heat of his body left her, the empty space cooling her skin. She reached out to try and stop him but the shadows darkened and enveloped him completely. Soon after, the darkness claimed her as well.

  At some point her mind registered the sound of her clock radio. Brigit faintly recalled reaching over to stop the announcer’s morning banter. A half hour later, her eyelids shot open, her heart skipping in panic. At first, she lay still, not sure if she could move. Tentatively, she wiggled her fingers and moved her legs. With her heart in her throat, she lifted the bedcover and glanced down at her body, half-expecting it to be naked. Her pajama was intact.

  Never had she experienced such a vivid dream. Sensations of lingering pleasure could be felt throughout her body, particularly her mouth, breasts and sex. She touched her lips and recalled the man’s warm breath, the fullness of his mouth against hers and that masculine, spicy scent of him that seemed to have branded her senses.

  Her brain finally clicked to reality and she jumped out of bed, rushing to her dresser. Yanking the first drawer open, she was both relieved and baffled to see the pink envelopes just as she’d left them. Did she actually expect otherwise? She propped her elbow on the dresser and rubbed her forehead. This bizarre situation was getting to her.

  She glanced over at the radio on her nightstand. A quarter to eight. Shit. She dashed into the washroom.

  Brigit barely made it to the bank on time. She threw herself into her work, even staying overtime to painstakingly organize her files and her office to prevent her thoughts from straying to the phantom lover.

  The sun was setting quickly when she got off the bus and walked the few blocks to her building, all the while wondering if she’d find another pink letter under her door. She located her keys in her deep handbag and walked into the foyer. As she turned the bend in the stairwell and walked past the Nolan’s apartment, the door creaked open.