by Tanith Morse
Mum rolled her eyes theatrically. We both knew how Cliff could talk once he got started. I stood up and began pacing the room. Knowing Mum was involved made me feel a little better. I listened as she outlined the situation and then asked Cliff if he could do some checking.
Mum set the phone back on the table. “Cliff says he hasn’t heard anything, but he’ll keep his ear to ground.”
“Well, that leaves us right back where we started,” I sighed.
“Darling, are you sure the car was actually following you?” Mum asked carefully.
“Of course I’m sure!” I said firmly. “It followed us halfway across London.”
“Did you manage to get the license plate number?”
“No,” I replied glumly. “I wish I had.”
“Well, try not to worry too much. There has to be a logical explanation. Let’s wait to hear back from Cliff, okay? In the meantime, if you see it again, call the police.”
I nodded as I ran my fingers through my hair.
Mum had a way of making everything sound so simple. It was a quality I admired.
“I think we could both use a strong cup of tea,” she said, getting up and heading toward the kitchen while I sat and thought about the events of the day.
When she returned she was carrying two mugs of tea. For a while we sat in silence, then Mum smiled and asked matter-of-factly, “So, apart from the stalking, how was your day?”
“Okay, I guess,” I said, smiling for the first time that night. “How was work?”
“Fine,” she replied, then hesitated before adding, “Darling, what are you doing on the twenty-fifth?”
“That’s a Saturday, isn’t it?” I frowned, thinking for a second. “I’m not doing anything, as far as I know. Why?”
“I’ve invited Greg for dinner. I’m going to make a roast, nothing too fancy, and I’d love it if you could be here.”
I shook my head. “Oh, Mum, I don’t know.”
“Sam, it’s been a month now. I think it’s time the two of you met. I’ve told him so much about you.”
“Does Dad know about this?” I asked.
Mum’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Why on earth should that make a difference? We’re divorced. Your father has no say over how I live my life, and it’s time you accepted that.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, taking a sip of tea. “You’re right. I guess if you really want me to meet this Greg, I can do the twenty-fifth.”
“Excellent!” she said, leaning over and kissing my cheek.
Then I asked, “Oh, and by the way, did you say you’re going to cook?”
“Yes. Why?”
“You’re really going to cook?” I asked again. “You mean, like actually making something that doesn’t involve a microwave?”
“Yes!” she insisted, playfully throwing a couch pillow at me.
I caught the pillow and laughed, “Wow! You are getting brave—especially with a new man.”
Mum joined in the fun. “Don’t worry, if it all falls apart, we can always call for a pizza.”
“Good idea,” I grinned. “In fact, I think I’d better put that number into my speed dial.”
SEVEN
Transformation
Two weeks passed and life returned to comparative normality. I went to school, exercised, did my homework, and slept. I laughed when people told jokes in class, nodded at the appropriate times in the cafeteria, and became an even more conscientious student. I even paid back Becky’s tenner. In short, I did everything to emulate the daily routine of a typical seventeen-year-old.
And it worked. For a while.
I kidded myself that everything was back to normal, but deep down inside, I knew that Lee and I had unfinished business. He was all I could think about. No matter which way I turned it, no matter what I did to blot out the memories, I just couldn’t shake him off.
I hated myself for being so weak. I hated myself for letting a guy get to me like this, but it was impossible. I’d be sitting in class listening to a lecture, and suddenly his face would pop up, and I’d start fantasizing about our brief time together: the intensity of his gaze, the gorgeous way his lips curled when he smiled. I’d replay our conversations over and over again in my head, silently tormenting myself.
Why did he cut me off after our first date? What did I do wrong? I obsessed over what I’d say to him if we ever met again—which, at the moment, seemed highly unlikely.
No one had seen or heard from Lee since Taffin’s party, and we had no way of contacting him. Even Becky became uncharacteristically quiet on the subject. Lee was an enigma, a distant dream we’d all conjured up. It was almost like he’d never existed—and in some ways, I wished I’d never met him. This terrible longing inside me, this unquenchable thirst for something I couldn’t have, was destroying my soul.
Then something mind-blowing happened.
It was a Tuesday afternoon and I was eating lunch in the cafeteria with Becky and some girls from my photography class, when Frasier walked in. Something about him instantly made me do a double take. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, but the change was more than just that. As he got closer, it hit me: his skin was completely clear. Those torrid red acne blemishes that had been the bane of Frasier’s life had miraculously disappeared, and his skin was now as smooth and supple as a baby’s.
I was stunned.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked, pulling up a chair.
Becky’s mouth hung open. “What on earth have you done to your face?”
“Nothing. Why, what’s wrong with it?”
She licked her lips and glanced furtively at me. I didn’t say anything. I was too awestruck.
“I don’t believe this,” she said, faltering. “How did you …? We were both completely lost for words. When his skin had been covered with blemishes, it had been like looking at him through a dirty lens. Now the glass was clean and his true attractiveness could shine through.
Wow, Frasier, you’re actually quite cute. And from the admiring expression on the other girls’ faces, it would seem they thought so, too.
“I don’t know why you’re all making such a fuss,” he said, laughing as he reached into his bag and pulled out a plastic lunch container. He flipped open the lid and proceeded to unpack an array of healthy looking snacks.
Becky continued to gape. “I don’t get it. This is just too weird. How did you get your skin to look like that? Are you wearing make-up or something?”
One of the other girls giggled.
“Don’t be stupid,” Frasier snapped. “I started using a new herbal cleanser last week. I guess it does what it says on the tin.”
“Well, whatever you’ve done, it looks fantastic,” I said.
He smiled and gave me a quick wink, and I intuitively knew there was more to the story.
“So who’s up for going to the cinema next week?” someone asked. “That new Tim Burton movie’s out.”
“Oh, I love Tim Burton!”
The conversation switched to our favorite Tim Burton films and Frasier started cutting an orange into tiny little pieces, laying each chunk out symmetrically on a napkin. Throughout the rest of lunch, we made inane chit-chat, gossiping about our teachers and the holidays, carrying on as if nothing had happened. But Becky clearly saw Frasier in a new light.
Every so often, I’d catch her stealing glances at him, an expression of disbelief in her eyes. Her voice had softened toward him and she now hung on his every word like a faithful little puppy. If ever there was a time for him to make a move on her, it was now. Yet he seemed to enjoy teasing her, making a point of avoiding eye contact and directing all his questions at me.
I smiled inwardly. Every dog has its day.
When the bell sounded, Frasier placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Meet me at our usual place at three-thirty. I need to talk to you.”
A ripple of excitement shimmied through me. I knew this was coming.
When three-thirty came, I rushed to the benches behind the Scie
nce department and found him waiting patiently for me. His expression was placid, unreadable.
“What’s going on, Frasier?” I asked eagerly.
“This morning, I woke up with twenty-twenty vision.”
“Come again?”
He turned and looked me full in the face. His skin had an almost translucent glow.
“Since the age of ten, I’ve been as blind as a bat without my glasses. That is—until that night at Taffin’s party. The next day, I woke up and noticed a small improvement. The furniture in my room seemed clearer somehow: the bed, the table, everything. Then when I put on my glasses, I found that the lenses weren’t helping me to see—they were making things more blurry, like I’d been given the wrong prescription. Over the next week, my vision kept improving until I didn’t need to wear glasses at all. Then I decided to go see my optician to get a professional opinion. He said he’d never seen anything like it. My sight was reverting back to how it was when I was a child.”
I shook my head incredulously. “Go on.”
“On Monday night, I noticed that my skin was improving, too. It started getting smoother, clearer, and firmer. Believe me when I say that I’ve tried everything under the sun to cure this acne. Clearasil, tea tree oil, a vegan diet, even acupuncture. But nothing’s ever made even the slightest bit of difference. Until now.”
“So what are you saying?” I asked, knowing all too well the answer.
“Lee did this. He did it with his hands. When he fixed my broken leg, he must have released some sort of healing energy into my system that’s cured all my ailments. My bad skin, my dodgy eyesight—he’s cured it all.”
“I don’t buy that,” I snapped. “There has to be another explanation. You know I don’t believe in all that magic crap.”
“Open your mind, Sam. It’s time to start believing. When you really think about it, this isn’t as crazy as it sounds. Lee has some kind of healing power. The sooner you accept it, the sooner we can find out what else he can do.”
I fell silent, not knowing what to make of it all. My friend seemed sincere enough, and the proof was certainly there for all to see. But somehow, I just couldn’t get my head around the idea of Lee being some kind of holy man. I’d never been particularly religious, and my mind-set was more scientifically inclined. There had to be another explanation—there just had to be. But right now I can’t think of one.
Frasier shoved a piece of paper in my face.
“What’s this?”
“Just read it.”
Hesitantly, I unfolded the crinkled paper and saw a list written in his scratchy handwriting.
“I’ve compiled a directory of websites for you to check out tonight,” he said. “Look them up and then tell me I’m crazy. People all over the world have experienced stuff like this, but it hasn’t been publicized because the media don’t want us to believe in miracles.”
Dubiously, I tucked the list inside my breast pocket. “Okay, I’ll look into it.”
“You promise?”
“Yes!” My voice was tinged with exasperation.
Frasier grinned broadly. “Don’t worry, you’ll soon come round to my way of thinking. It’s only a matter of time.”
I wasn’t so sure about that.
***
Dark shadows were falling as I mounted the steps and pushed through the central revolving doors of Elmfield library. After checking in at reception and paying the librarian a small fee to use the computers, I ambled through the labyrinth of antique desks and dusty bookshelves to the study area, where I quickly found a free cubicle.
It was forty-five minutes before closing time, and I was glad to see that there weren’t too many people in the library—just an elderly lady and two cherub-faced school boys fooling around a couple of desks away.
Hastily, I booted up my computer, typed in the password the librarian had given me, and launched the Internet. The connection was so slow that I almost slapped the side of the monitor to encourage it to get a move on. Eventually, the Google homepage came up and, running my finger down the list of websites Frasier had given me, I tapped in one of the addresses.
The first was called speaktoangels.com, and contained dozens of stories from people claiming to have been cured by faith healers: men and women who used their spiritual beliefs as a form of alternative medicine. A man from Australia claimed his snake bite was healed by an Aborigine in the outback; a woman from Mexico hit by a car alleged her husband brought her back from the dead. And so on and so forth.
After briefly glancing through, I had to admit that some of the tales sounded pretty convincing, but they weren’t rooted in anything concrete. They were all anecdotal and ambiguous. Clicking my mouse, I continued scrolling through each of the websites till I’d exhausted Frasier’s list. When I was done, I came away no more convinced of Lee’s powers than I had been when I’d started.
Yawning deeply, I leaned back in the chair and stretched out my stiff legs. The night before, I’d had a particularly intense workout (fifty leg squats), and now I was paying the price.
I glanced at my watch. Five to seven. My, how the time had flown.
A rumble of thunder shook the building and heavy rain hammered against the window like a shrieking banshee. I shivered, thankful to be safe and warm inside. I wasn’t looking forward to the dark bus journey home.
It was only then that I noticed how eerily quiet everything was. Everyone else had gone and the place was now deserted as a graveyard. Logging out of my computer, I headed briskly through the study area toward the reference library, which was a shortcut to the front door.
As I walked through the shadowy aisles, I heard someone calling my name very softly—so softly, in fact, that it sounded like it was being whispered in my head. I turned and saw Lee standing near a bookcase. He smiled and beckoned me to come to him. I froze, startled, but then summoned the courage to walk over to him.
“I thought it was you. How have you been?” His tone was warm and velvety.
“Fine,” I said, stuffing my hands in my pockets. His face was so beautiful, I couldn’t bear to look at him. “What are you doing here?”
He lifted up a book about Gauguin. “I’ve been doing some research for an art project. And you?”
“Huh?” My mouth hung open.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh, right. I was just …” I glanced toward the exit doors. “I was just reading up some stuff on the Internet for Frasier. We’re sort of working on a project, too.”
“That sounds interesting. How is he?”
“He’s good, thanks.”
“Tell him I said hello.”
“I will.”
There was an awkward pause as both of us ran out of things to say. Fleetingly, our eyes met and a wave of heat crept up my neck. Absence had made the heart grow fonder, and my attraction to him was stronger than ever, like an invisible cord being pulled tighter and tighter.
Lee took a step closer, towering over me, making my five foot-four frame feel very intimidated. His sweet cologne teased my nostrils mercilessly, and for a second, I forgot entirely where I was. There was only him, and me, and the sound of our breathing.
“You know, it’s funny,” he whispered. “Just last night, I was thinking about you,”
“Really?” The strength evaporated from my legs, forcing me to lean against the bookcase to keep myself steady.
He licked his lips. “I was thinking about what a great time we had.” He paused. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to play it cool. “What is it?”
The librarian stuck her head round the door and called, “Hello over there. We’re closing, so if there are any books you want, you need to check them out now.”
“I guess that’s our cue,” he murmured.
I nodded, furious that we’d been interrupted. What does he want to ask me?
The two of us headed toward the reception desk and he placed the
Gauguin book back on the returns trolley.
“Aren’t you going to borrow that?” I frowned.
“No, it wasn’t that insightful. And anyway, I can always come back tomorrow.”
Pursing her lips together, the gray-haired librarian hurriedly showed us out and seemed relieved when she locked the door behind us. I guess we’d overstayed our welcome.
A flash of lightening tore through the black sky. “Come on!” Lee shouted. “My car’s just around the corner.”
I followed him through a maze of rain-swept streets to his Lotus, which was in a secluded car park. Quickly, he unlocked the doors and I jumped in the passenger side. Then, for a moment, I just sat there, incredulous that I was really here, sitting beside him again. Only yesterday, this would have seemed like an unattainable dream. Yet somehow, here we were. Together again.
Lee turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking space. We drove for a couple of minutes in silence as I stared out the window at the sheeting rain. I tried to think of something profound to say, but couldn’t. My mind had gone blank. All I could imagine was how soft his lips had looked back at the library.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he said.
I kept my eyes on the road, my arms folded across my chest defensively. How could I tell him that every time I looked at him I wanted to devour him? How could I tell him that he caused such an emotional need in me that I found it hard to breathe?
Then, for some reason, I found the severity of my musings suddenly hilarious, and burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Oh nothing. Just something Frasier said.”
“Would you mind sharing the joke?”
“No, forget it. It’s silly.”
“No fair! You’ve got me all curious now.” He glanced over and I couldn’t resist the smouldering gleam in his eyes.
“Okay, it’s like this. You’re gonna think this is really crazy, but, well, Frasier thinks you’re some sort of holy man.”
“What?”
“I know, I know, it sounds so silly, doesn’t it?”
