The Mark of Chaos

by Susan D. Kalior

Cattycorner from me, he slouched in the black leather armchair, knees spread wide, boots firm on the floor. He looked . . . depressed. I was relieved because this was the first time he seemed, well, human.

  He pulled out a cigarette from a pack lying on the square black end table, between the phone and a round digital table clock. He cupped his palm on the end of the cigarette, and then a curious thing: when he removed his palm, the cigarette was lit.

  He took a puff and rested his hands on the chair arms. “I feel dead inside. Challenges are nigh. I’m bored.” He took another puff on the cigarette, giving me a sidelong look. “Take a bite.”

  I lifted the slab of pink meat. Juice dripped down my wrist. I wanted to wipe it with a napkin, but eager to hear his explanation, I took a little bite, crumpling my face disdainfully as I chewed. I put the meat down, wiped my wrist with the napkin, and stared at him intently.

  When I swallowed, he continued, “I’ve done everything, seen everything, and taken everything I desired. There’s only one thing, and one thing only that I haven’t done, and it took me quite some time to realize it.”

  “What?”

  “I have never put another’s needs before my own.”

  “Ever?” I asked.

  “Never,” he said.

  “Go on.”

  “And there is only one thing I’ve not seen.”

  “Yes?”

  “I have never seen another human being grateful for my presence.”

  “Your parents must have been.”

  “I never knew my parents.”

  “Oh. Me neither . . . hardly. Go on.”

  “And there is only one thing I’ve never had.”

  “What?”

  “Unconditional love. The challenge is that the giver must know the true me.”

  “So, you have chosen me to fulfill these things?”

  “I have.” He leaned forward as if assessing how I’d assimilated the news.

  I lowered my head shyly, feeling special, feeling scared. Staring at my lap, I said, “I very much like that you want to do something good,” I looked at him, “to see what it would feel like. Your actions make sense now.”

  He leaned back, taking the cigarette to his lips.

  I said, “So, helping me, helps you?”

  He exhaled smoke. “We’ll see.”

  “Are you trying to mend your evil ways?”

  “No.”

  My face fell. “No?”

  “Take another bite,” he said.

  I bit off a shred of ham and chewed, nauseated by the strong smell.

  As I wiped my fingers on the napkin, he added, “However, I’m committed to help you fully actualize your potential.”

  I swallowed the meat. “My potential? Haven’t I already done that, or most of that—with my art?”

  “No. There is more in you, much, much more. But according to your astrological chart, you are too pious to get beyond the barriers that cage it.”

  “Cage what?”

  “Take another bite.” He sucked in another dose of nicotine.

  I consumed another piece of ham quickly, wanting to hear the answer.

  He exhaled. Smoke hazed his face. “Your potential is brilliant, comparable to . . . your idols.” He said idols a little too tersely for my comfort.

  “My idols?”

  Instead of explaining, he took such a deep drag from his cigarette, I thought the whole thing might burn to cinders.

  I knew he was alluding to my religious idols. Anyway, I, in no way on God’s green earth, compared to them.

  After a drawn out exhale of smoke, he flicked his ashes into a black glass ashtray on the end table. I hadn’t noticed it there before. He said, “Your potential is trapped behind obstacles too great to overcome without assistance from a creature like me.” He took another puff, exhaling more smoke.

  I cocked my head waiting for the smoke to clear. Then my eyes narrowed curiously. “What do you mean . . . a creature like you?” My next thought shocked me a little, but I had to ask, “You are human, aren’t you?”

  He snuffed his cigarette in the ashtray, then stood. “Finish eating.”

  I eyed him suspiciously as he stepped up to me. I asked, “How come you’re not eating?”

  He squatted before me. “I already ate.”

  “Let me see you do it.” I held the plate of ham up to him.

  He stared hypnotically into my eyes as he lifted the ham to his teeth. He bit into the meat slowly, chewing with sensual deliberation, licking his lips as if he were licking me. I started breathing hard and gulped to hide the fact.

  He was still chewing when he put the ham to my lips for me to take a bite. I sank my teeth into the meat. He pulled it away from my mouth, leaving me with quite a hunk to chew. I watched him intensely until he swallowed. Then I swallowed, the glob almost catching in my throat, and hurting as it went down. He raised his hand and licked the juice off his finger like a slow motion dream, gazing at me so warmly, I felt like I was melting.

  I handed him my napkin. He ignored it, taking my hand instead. “You’re a beautiful woman, Jenséa, but I won’t take advantage of you. I am your guardian. If you want more, it will be your decision.”

  Did I hear him right? Was he truly guarding me, even from his own urges? Tears glossed my eyes. He wanted to protect me without forcing me to ‘owe’ him. But I was mostly touched by the fact that he found me beautiful.

  “Tears . . .” he declared. “You don’t think men find you attractive, do you?”

  Embarrassed, I lowered my head and shook it.

  His grip on my hand tightened, not with dominance, but affection. “The spirit shines through the body and makes it glow with who one is. You are an intensely loyal and sincere human being. Although you’ve been grossly misguided, you are the purest spirit I’ve ever known. And that’s saying a lot.”

  I trembled, succumbing to his charm.

  “You look so . . . innocent, the way children do before the world wrecks them. You don’t wreck, Jenséa, even when you’re wrecked. Your caring heart never dies. Your spirit is strong.” He took the plate of half-eaten ham and set it down on the floor. He moved his face forward and touched his lips to mine, lingering there, motionless. I loved it, but it frightened me too.

  I was twenty-four but I had never been kissed. Raped yes. But never kissed. I feared kissing would lead to more. I know, I know. More was taken anyway. Besides, normal men weren’t interested in me. They stared, but never approached. The bad guys did though, thus my caution with kissing. johnny was bad, but good, right? I hoped so, because I never wanted his lips to go away. The feel of them thrilled me so.

  But alas, he withdrew those warm wonderful lips and said, “Benign men don’t avoid you because you have no appeal. They stay away because your heart shines so bright. What is it you do when the sun blares in your eyes?” He demonstrated by lifting his arm over his face and turning his head away.

  “I thought you said I was repressed or something.”

  “You can see light through a cage, even if you can’t touch its source. This is why predators gravitate to you. They see the light and they want it.”

  “I thought harm had come to me because I was weak.”

  “Harm has come to you because your light is strong.”

  I stared at him hard, laboring to understand, wondering if he was right. The very prospect made me visibly quiver. No one had ever discovered the true me before, including myself. It was as if he were peeling away my outer layers, unraveling me to find the prize deep down inside—a prize I never even knew was there. I didn’t know what that treasure might be. Did he?

  “Yes,” he said, in his mind reading way. “I do know what that treasure might be.” He licked his bottom lip, as if he were going to eat me.

  He must have seen the fear flash across my face because his next words fell over me like a warm coat. “I am your guardian.”

  Was he? On the other hand, was this all a game that even I couldn’t resist playin
g? Even if that was true, worse, was my willingness to become a ward of evil. If this was the case, I’d go to hell for sure. Yet, I craved him so much, I almost didn’t care.

  I raised my trembling fingers to my temple. “I’m ashamed of my feelings for you.”

  “Trust me,” he said.

  I shook my head. “You’re making me fall in love with you, and I mustn’t.”

  “I’m not making you fall in love with me, Jenséa. I could. But whatever you feel, it’s from you. It’s important you know that.”

  “But the kiss—” I cleared my throat.

  “You liked it,” he said. “It doesn’t take magic to enjoy a kiss.”

  He took my hands and drew me up to stand . . . too fast. I fell against his chest, light-headed. His hands pressed against my back. I sighed with joy. I couldn’t stop it.

  He said softly, “I’ll take care of you.”

  After a moment, the blood came back to my head. He eased me away. “I’ll get your clothes. There is a place I want to take you. Finish eating.”

  I nodded, unable to resist his wishes. Was his commanding power part of his malevolence? Just what atrocities had he committed? I wanted to know, but then again, if I did, would I die from shock?

  He turned away, heading for the kitchen to exit the apartment.

  I blurted, “johnny?”

  He turned around.

  “It is important that you don’t answer the call for pain in my presence.”

  “I know,” he said. Then he turned, and went for my clothes.

  I had an urge to lock the door after him to guard against unwelcome visitors, but I could hear his voice in my head, It’s not necessary. I’m watching over you.

  I wondered who he really was—what he really was. He seemed wise in an evil way, intelligent in a clever way, and manipulative in a positive way. If he’d never helped another before me, surely his talents had been wasted. How did he manage to keep me afloat in yesterday’s violence, yet force me to experience it? How did he know just how far to push me in, and when to pull me out? How could he make me feel so horrible, and yet so wonderful in a moment’s span?

  Well, no matter. Now that I knew he wanted to do something good for someone, and that I was that someone, I decided to comply—at least for now. Maybe I had some long lost father need, searching for the protection my father was never there to give. Maybe I could convert him. Oh, I knew religion had betrayed me and all, or so it seemed, but my faith had not waned. It merely expanded. There was something wonderfully divine out there. I knew there was. Somehow—I just knew.

  However, I doubted that johnny did.

  Chapter Six

  I gobbled down the ham, wanting to heave with each bite. I took the plate into the kitchen, washed it, and then dried it with the softest black hand towel I’d ever touched. Where did he store plates? I opened the glossy black cabinets, one by one. Of course, I wasn’t as interested in finding the plate cabinet as I was a clue that would reveal more about him. His way of thinking, knowing, and making things happen was most disturbing. He was either a master of the occult, as Randa had said, or—inhuman. The occult frightened me, so I opted for the latter, even though the thought seemed ridiculous. But at least if he was inhuman, Satan excluded, his way of being made more sense. A girl can hope.

  I scanned the shelves. Except for their bareness, I found nothing odd. Okay, so I was snooping. Sinful? Yes. But less sinful than my infatuation with a man who caused people pain. Perhaps I’d discover something that would repulse me so gravely, my desire for him would fade. I put the plate on an empty shelf. Apparently, it was the only plate he had.

  I needed to explore some more, so I opened the pantry. The shelves were stocked with cartons of cigarettes and bottles of scotch. Hmm, alcohol and nicotine. At the very least, addiction was on his menu of problems. I doubted other worldly demons had such addictions. He had to be human. Then I was a bit embarrassed that I’d suspected he wasn’t. But even as I decided he wasn’t, I again wondered if he was. Perhaps he was a monster. I wanted to check in the refrigerator to be sure. Blood you know. Vampires drink it. Right?

  I wrapped my fingers around the handle of the shiny black refrigerator and opened it. The light was out, so I pushed my face in close to carefully examine the contents. The chill air embraced my skin. No blood, unless you count the hunks of saran-wrapped, red raw meat strategically placed on one rack. I couldn’t help wincing. Other than that, the fridge was bare and sparkling clean. Apparently, to him, man lived on meat alone. My next thought chilled me. My stomach clenched into a rock-hard knot. What if he was a werewolf?

  “Prying, are you?” johnny stood in the doorway, my clothes in hand.

  My face blushed several coats of red. I had been caught. Good girls don’t snoop. Suddenly, I didn’t care that he’d caught me. I swung the refrigerator door shut with moxy. If I was to put myself in his keeping to help me solve my ‘dark problem,’ then I was entitled to know more about him. The urge to grow up and defend my position surfaced with no less tact than a biting mosquito. “Are you a werewolf?”

  He laughed a little and tossed his head back. “No, Jenséa, I’m not a werewolf—not in the legendary sense.”

  “Are you a vampire?”

  “No, Jenséa, I’m not a vampire—not in the legendary sense.”

  “Then what are you?”

  “I’m a man.”

  “But in a legendary sense?”

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  I sighed and shook my head. “johnny, I don’t think you’re human.”

  “Does it matter?”

  I raised a brow. “Are you admitting you’re not?”

  He handed me the clothes. “The important question is . . . will I harm you?”

  I clutched the clothes to my chest.

  He said, “And that answer I’ve given already.” He jerked his head toward the bathroom. “Get dressed.”

  He still wore his gloves. Could that be a clue? “Why do you always wear gloves?”

  His eye held whimsy. “They make me look tough.”

  I squinted, analyzing. “Well, a man who is tough doesn’t need to look tough.”

  The whimsy in his eye faded. “Go on, get dressed.”

  I just stared at him, expecting him to reveal what I wanted to know.

  He fell into a silence that made me feel awkward. Silence—his forté. Come to think of it, he had many fortés.

  I was frustrated that I couldn’t solve the mystery of him, but what could I do? He wasn’t the kind that you could emotionally manipulate. I turned and headed into the bathroom, feeling the weight of his gaze upon my back. I closed the door, but I didn’t experience the release of tension one usually does when at last privacy is had. No. I felt like he was inside me.

  I changed into my clothes, and then noticed my shoes, belt, and fanny pack stacked in the corner by the shower. How did he get them here without entering the bathroom? And how did he get my scuffed up indigo pumps—so clean. He definitely utilized some kind of magic, even if only by a slight of hand.

  I slipped on my shoes, belt and fanny pack, rallied my courage and emerged from the bathroom. There he was, sliding a chain necklace over my head, around my neck. I wondered if it was the one he’d worn, for his own was missing. I scrunched down my chin to view the medallion that rested against the indigo cloth between my breasts. The chalky black metal was shaped into a full-bodied dragon. The demure of it was war-like, the head full front with red eyes. The thing seemed alive, moving, though it was still. The eyes seemed to pulse, though they were solid, and smoke seemed to steam from its nostrils, though there was no smoke to be seen.

  I rolled my eyes up to him. “I don’t think I want this.”

  “That’s irrelevant,” he said.

  I swallowed hard. “What’s it for?”

  “Protection. It will do for you what your crucifix could not.”

  I narrowed an eye. “Bye-the-way, where is my crucifix?”

  He eyed the m
edallion. “You have what you need.”

  I touched the ominous medallion. “Well . . . how can this protect me?”

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  “But—”

  “We need to go.”

  “Go where?”

  He took my hand. “Come, and you’ll find out.” He towed me past the main room.

  “Wait, please, wait,” I said, hesitant to walk out onto the very streets that just yesterday gave me a beating. “I need a minute.” I dug my feet into the carpet. They did not stay.

  “Why?” he asked impatiently, towing me onward.

  I glanced at the phone on the end table. “I should call Randa.”

  We entered the kitchen. “I called her last night. She knows I’m going to work with you longer.”

  “How much longer?” I asked, pretending I hadn’t earlier asked the question.

  He didn’t answer. He just gripped my hand tighter and opened the door to the outside world.

  I pulled against him, twisting my body back toward his plush abode. “Please wait!”

  He turned and faced me. “I am not patient.”

  “I know you’ll,” I gulped, “watch over me, but after what happened yesterday, I . . . I just can’t face the streets that easily. I need a minute to prepare myself.”

  “You’ll be fine,” he said, towing me out the door.

  We emerged into the yellow humid hall under the thick drone of flies smothering the florescent lights in the ceiling. They seemed to be increasingly multiplying.

  I cried out, “I hate it when you ignore my feelings! I just wanted one minute.”

  “You’ve already waited your whole life.” His apartment door closed behind us, all by itself.

  I gaped at the closed door, jaw hanging. Until now, his magical abilities had been implied. This was outright—magic. What was he?

  Enmeshed in my stupor, I hadn’t realized that he’d been dragging me down the hall, and that I’d been walking sideways.

  He said, “Remember, this is for you, to help you deal with your problem.”

  I faced forward and stepped up alongside him. The graffiti, bugs, and questionable floor stains soaked into my being. Scenes of violence flashed in my mind. “Oh Saint Jude,” I whimpered.