Gabriel's Inferno Trilogy

by Sylvain Reynard

  “Does Scott have a girlfriend?”

  “He was dating a woman in his office, but they broke up right before Mom got sick.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Rachel sighed. “My family is like a Dickensian novel, Julia. No, it’s worse. We’re a twisted mix of Arthur Miller and John Steinbeck, with a bit of Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy thrown in.”

  “Is it really that bad?”

  “Yes, because I have the feeling there are elements of Thomas Hardy lurking below the surface. And you know how much I hate him. Mind-fucking bastard.”

  Julia thought about this and hoped for her friend’s sake that the Hardy novel approximating the Rachel Clark experience was more Mayor of Casterbridge than Tess of the D’Urbervilles or, God forbid, Jude the Obscure.

  (Unfortunately, Julia did not pause to consider which Hardy novel best described her own experiences…)

  “With Mom gone, everything is in upheaval. Dad is talking about retiring and selling the house. He wants to move to Philadelphia to be closer to me and to Scott. When he asked Gabriel if he minded if he sold the house, Gabriel flipped out and wandered off into the woods. We didn’t see him again for hours.”

  Julia inhaled sharply and began to fidget with her messenger bag.

  Rachel was too busy placing her teacup on the card table and walking to the bathroom to notice, but something she said had upset Julia deeply. By the time Rachel returned, Julia had calmed herself through no little effort and was adding hot water to the teapot.

  Rachel fixed her friend with a concerned look. “What did Gabriel say that bothered you so much when you were dancing with him? And by the way, my Spanish is rusty but Besame Mucho is a pretty hot song! Did you even listen to the lyrics?”

  Julia focused her attention on her tea and tried very hard not to hyperventilate. She knew she was going to have to lie to Rachel, and it was not a decision she took lightly. “All we talked about is the fact that he knew I was a virgin.”

  “Bastard! Why the hell does he do things like that?” Rachel shook her head. “You just wait, I’ll get him. He has these photos in his bedroom, and I’m going to…”

  “Don’t bother. It’s true. Why should I try to hide it?” She bit her lip. “I just can’t figure out how he knew. It’s not as if I bring it up in polite conversation: Good afternoon, Professor Emerson. My name is Miss Mitchell, and I’m a virgin from Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania. Pleased to meet you.”

  Rachel waved her hand dismissively. “Think about it. He’s never exactly been in want of female companionship. I’m sure you seem different to him; you were probably the only girl at the club, apart from me, who wasn’t in heat.”

  Julia looked disgusted, and rightly so, but didn’t comment.

  “When you came off the dance floor you looked as if you’d seen a ghost. Like how I imagined you would have looked the night you saw Si—”

  “Please, Rachel. Don’t. I can’t talk about that night. I can’t even think about it.”

  “I could run him over with my car for what he did to you. I still might do that. Is he in Philadelphia? Give me his address.”

  “Please,” Julia begged, hugging her arms protectively across her chest.

  Rachel pulled her friend into a warm embrace. “Don’t you worry. You’re going to be happy someday. You’re going to fall in love with a beautiful boy, and he’s going to love you back so much it will hurt. And you’re going to get married and have a baby girl and live happily ever after. In New England, I think. At least, that’s the story I’d write for you, if I could.”

  “I hope your story comes true. I’d like to believe something like that is possible, even for me. Otherwise, I just don’t know…”

  Rachel smiled. “You, of all people, deserve a happy ending. Despite everything that happened to you, you aren’t bitter. You aren’t cold. You’ve just retreated a little and been shy, and that’s okay. If I were a fairy godmother, I would give you your heart’s desire in an instant. And I would wipe away your tears and tell you not to cry. I wish Gabriel had taken a page from your book, Miss Julia. He could have learned a thing or two from you about how to deal with heartbreak.”

  Rachel released her friend, looking at her closely before she spoke again. “I know that it’s a lot to ask, but will you look out for Gabriel?”

  Julia leaned over the teapot on purpose, refilling their cups so that Rachel couldn’t see her face. “Gabriel has nothing but contempt for me. He’s merely tolerating me for your sake.”

  “That’s not true. Believe me, that is simply not true. I’ve seen how he looks at you. He can be…cold. But apart from his biological parents, I don’t think he’s ever hated anyone, other than himself. Not even Scott during their worst fight.”

  Julia shrugged. “There’s nothing I can do.”

  “I’m not asking you to do anything, really. Just keep your eyes open. And if you see him…starting to act strangely, or if he’s in trouble, I want you to call me. Day or night.”

  Julia wore an incredulous expression.

  “I’m serious, Julia. With Mom gone, I’m worried that his darkness is going to return. And I can’t lose him again. Sometimes I feel as if he’s standing on the edge of a very high cliff, and the slightest movement, the slightest breath of wind, will push him over the edge. I can’t let that happen.”

  Julia’s eyebrows knitted together, and she nodded. “All I can do, I will do.”

  Rachel closed her eyes and exhaled. “I feel so much better knowing that you’re around. You can be his guardian angel.” She laughed softly. “Maybe some of your good luck will rub off on him.”

  “I have nothing but bad luck, and you, of all people, should know it.”

  “You’ve met Paul. He sounds nice.”

  Julia smiled.

  Rachel was pleased by her friend’s smile. “Paul doesn’t seem to be the type who’d mind if you were a—you know. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  Julia laughed. “You can say it, Rachel—it’s not a curse word. And no, I don’t think Paul would mind that I’m a virgin. But we don’t talk about such things.”

  Shortly thereafter, Rachel hugged Julia good-bye and climbed into a cab so that she could return to her brother’s apartment.

  “When I finally work through the monumental pile of issues that I have to deal with, I’m planning a wedding. And I’m expecting you to be my maid of honor.”

  Julia felt tears form at the corners of her eyes. “Of course. Just name the date. And I’ll help you plan it too, if you need some help.”

  Rachel blew her a kiss out the open window. “I was dreading this trip, but I’m so happy I came. At least two broken pieces of my life are coming back together. And if Gabriel gives you any shit, any shit at all, you call me, and I’ll hop a plane!”

  With Rachel’s departure, Julia and Gabriel were forced to part company with their solid and secure St. Lucy. But in true saint-like fashion, she had accomplished all of her tasks before she returned home, and she had planted seeds that would soon blossom, in unexpected ways.

  Chapter 11

  Late Tuesday afternoon, Julia and Paul sat in the Bloor Street Starbucks enjoying their respective coffee drinks, curled up together on a purple velvet loveseat and talking. They were sitting close but not too close. Close enough that Paul could admire her beauty, far enough away that Julia could watch his large, kind eyes and not feel overly-nervous. Or crowded.

  “Do you like Nine Inch Nails?” she asked, cupping her coffee in two hands.

  Paul was taken aback by her question. “Uh, no. No, I don’t.” He shrugged. “Trent Reznor twists my head around. Unless he’s singing backup for Tori Amos. Why, do you?”

  Julia shivered. “Absolutely not.”

  He pulled a CD out of his briefcase and handed it to her. “I like this kind of stuff. Music I can write my dissertation to.”

  “I’ve never heard of Hem before,” she mused, turning the jewel case over in her hand.

  “The
y have a song I think you’ll like. It’s called Half Acre. They used to play it on an insurance ad on television, so you might have heard it before. It’s beautiful. And no one yells at you or screams or tells you he wants to fu—” Paul stopped suddenly and reddened. He was trying very hard to watch his language around her but having only marginal success.

  She tried to hand the CD back to him, but he refused. “I bought it for you. Rabbit Songs for the Rabbit.”

  “Thanks, but I can’t.”

  He seemed offended. And hurt. “Why not?”

  “I just can’t. But thank you anyway.”

  Paul looked down at Julia’s new messenger bag, resting at her feet. He squinted.

  “You accepted a nice briefcase from someone. Early Christmas present from a boyfriend?”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she admitted uncomfortably. “My best friend’s mother wanted me to have the briefcase. She passed away recently.”

  “I’m so sorry, Rabbit. I didn’t know.”

  Paul reached over and patted Julia’s hand, placing the CD on the loveseat between them. He noticed that she didn’t move away. In fact, she rummaged in her bag to find Professor Emerson’s CD and returned it to Paul with her other hand, while still allowing him to cradle her fingers in his own.

  “What can I do to persuade you to accept my gift?” He hid his face from her as he placed Emerson’s Mozart in his book bag.

  “Nothing. I’ve received too many gifts in the last little while. I’m all stocked up.”

  Paul straightened up and smiled. “Let me try to convince you, then. You have such small, small hands. Smaller than the rain’s.” He moved their hands together, back and forth, holding her hand up toward the halogen light. It looked diminutive encased in his.

  Julia looked at him curiously. “That’s pretty. Did you just make it up?”

  Paul leaned his head back against the loveseat and held her hand more closely, his thumb fingering her lifeline, almost as if he were trying to read her palm with the tips of his fingers.

  “No. I’m paraphrasing from somewhere i have never travelled, by E. E. Cummings. You haven’t heard it before?”

  “No, but I’d like to.” Julia sounded very shy all of a sudden.

  “Then I’ll have to read it to you some time.” Paul gazed into her dark eyes with a hopeful smile.

  “I’d like that.”

  “It isn’t Dante, but it’s beautiful.” His thumb found the center of her lifeline and pressed it ever so gently. “The poem reminds me of you. You are where I’ve never traveled: your fragility and your small, small hands.”

  Julia leaned forward to hide her sudden flush of color and sipped her coffee. But she allowed him to continue caressing her palm, sweetly. The movement of her coffee to her lips caused her ancient purple sweater to slip off her shoulder somewhat provocatively, revealing about two inches of a white-cotton bra strap and a rounded curve of alabaster skin.

  Paul immediately released her hand and gently pulled the sweater to cover the innocent-looking strap, averting his eyes as he did so and pressing his hand to her shoulder in order to make the sweater stay.

  “There,” he said softly. “All better now.” Then he retreated ever so quickly so as not to overstay his welcome, tentatively curling his fingers over hers again, still worried she might withdraw at any moment.

  Julia watched what he was doing breathlessly, as if it occurred in slow motion. Something about his movement touched her deeply. It was an intimate act but very chaste; he covered her. He covered the smallest most innocent part of her, away from prying and possibly lecherous eyes, and in so doing telegraphed his regard and his respect. Virgil was honoring her.

  In that one act, that one gallant and chivalrous act, Paul had made his way into her heart. Not all the way, but to the Vestibule, so to speak. If his movement represented the contents of his soul, then Julia believed that he would not mind that she was a virgin, and that upon knowing, his acceptance would cover her gently.

  He would not ridicule or expose her. He would keep whatever secrets she held between the two of them alone. He would not treat her like an animal to be fucked and violated. He would not wish to share her.

  So she did something impetuous—she leaned over and kissed him, but shyly and chastely. There was no rush of blood, no humming, no explosion of fire across her skin. His lips were soft, and he responded hesitantly. Julia felt his surprise in the quick clenching of his jaw. He tensed beneath her lips, no doubt in shock at her boldness. She was sorry for that.

  She was sorry his lips were not Gabriel’s. And this kiss was not like those.

  In almost half a heartbeat, a great wave of sadness washed over her as she cursed herself for having tasted of something long ago that she could never have after or again. For in partaking of that first taste, she was absolutely ruined. The tasting of the apple was knowledge itself, and now she knew.

  Julia pulled back before Paul had a chance to reject her, wondering how she’d managed to be so forward. Wondering what he would think of her now. I’ve just kissed my only Toronto friend good-bye, she thought. Damn it.

  “Little Rabbit.” Paul gave her a tender look and immediately brought his fingertips up to caress her cheek. His touch wasn’t electric, but it was light and soothing. Even his skin was kind.

  He put his arms around her and drew her against his chest so he could stroke her hair and whisper something sweet in her ear…something to reassure her…something to remove the mixture of confusion and pain he read on her face. His soft whisperings were interrupted by the arrival of a great-winged harpy, wearing four-inch heels and crimson lipstick and carrying two paper cups.

  “Well, isn’t this cozy.” A voice, cold and steely, interrupted the couple’s soft moment, and Julia looked up into the harsh brown eyes of Christa Peterson.

  Julia sat up quickly and tried to move away from Paul, but he held her fast. “Christa,” he greeted her flatly.

  “Slumming with MA students, Paul? How very democratic of you,” she said, ignoring Julia pointedly.

  “Be careful, Christa.” His tone held a warning. “Two fisted, today? That’s a bit much. Pulling an all-nighter?” He pointed to the cups she was holding, one in each hand.

  “You have no idea,” she purred. “One is for me and one for Gabriel, of course. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there, Julianne. I guess he’s still Professor Emerson to you.” Christa cackled like an old chicken.

  Julia raised an eyebrow but resisted the urge to set Christa straight or to smack that smug smile off her face. For Julia was a lady. And she liked how Paul’s arm felt about her shoulders and was unwilling to move. At least, not yet.

  “You’ve never called him Gabriel to his face, Christa. I dare you to do it the next time you see him.”

  Christa’s eyes hardened, and she glared at Paul. Then she smiled. “You dare me? That’s funny. Is that a Vermont thing? Something farmers say to one another when they’re shoveling manure? After my meeting with Gabriel, we’ll probably head over to Lobby for drinks. He likes to go there after work. I’m sure we’ll be exchanging more than, ah…names this evening.” Her tongue peeked out from between her lips, and she began licking the curve of one of them languorously.

  Julia heaved.

  “And he’ll take you there?” Paul appeared skeptical.

  “He will. Oh, he will.”

  Julia gagged and silently swallowed back her stomach contents. For the thought of Gabriel with this…Emerson whore was nauseating in the extreme. Even the waitress at Lobby would be better for him than Christa.

  “You’re not his type,” Julia muttered.

  “Pardon?”

  She looked up into narrowed and suspicious eyes, and she weighed her options for the slimmest of seconds. And decided caution was the better part of valor.

  “I said—don’t believe the hype.”

  “About what?”

  “About Lobby. It’s not that great.”

  Christa shot Juli
a a frosty smile. “As if the doorman would let you in. Lobby is an exclusive club.”

  She looked Julia up and down as if she were a less-than-prized animal. As if she were an old, half-blind, forgotten pony at a petting zoo. Julia suddenly felt very self-conscious and ugly. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she fought them back bravely.

  Paul noticed exactly what Miss Peterson was doing in measuring Julia and finding her wanting. He felt her shiver in reaction to Christa’s feline claw sharpening. So although it pained him to do so, he released Julia’s shoulders and sat forward on the loveseat, flexing his arms.

  Don’t make me stand up, bitch, he thought.

  “Why wouldn’t they let Julia in, Christa? They only admit working girls now?”

  Christa turned very red. “What would you know about it, Paul? You’re practically a monk! Or perhaps that’s what monks do—they pay for it.” She shot a meaningful glance at Julia’s precious new messenger bag.

  “Christa, you’re going to shut your mouth right now, or I’m going to stand up. And then all chivalry goes out the window.” Paul glared at her and silently reminded himself that he could not strike a woman. And that Christa was, in fact, a woman, and not an anorexic sow in heat. Paul would never have compared Christa to a cow, for he thought cows were noble creatures. (Especially Holsteins.)

  “Don’t get your panties in a twist,” she snapped. “I’m sure there are multiple explanations. Maybe Lobby wouldn’t let her in because of her iq. Gabriel says you’re not that bright, Julianne.”

  Christa smiled triumphantly as Julia ducked her head, feeling very small indeed. Paul shifted his weight to the soles of his feet. He wasn’t going to hit Christa; he was simply going to shut her up. And maybe drag her to the exit or something. He needn’t have bothered.

  “Oh, really? And what else does Gabriel say?”

  The three graduate students turned slowly en masse to look up at the blue-eyed Dante specialist who had sidled up to them silently. None of them were exactly sure how much he’d heard or how long he’d been standing there. But his eyes sparked, and Julia could feel his anger radiating toward Christa. It billowed like a cloud. But thankfully, it did not billow in her direction. This time.