Beautiful Beast

by Cindy C. Bennett

  Hartland walked over to one of the side doors and waved her forward. “Mr. Stratford wishes to speak to you before I show you to your room.”

  This startled her. “Mr. Stratford is home?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Calli’s nerves were as taut as they’d been when she’d approached him at the bank. She took a breath and strode forward, stepping in as Hartland swung the door open. He closed it softly behind her, but in her mind it clanged as loud as a jail cell door.

  Mr. Stratford sat behind a mammoth desk that dwarfed the one at the bank. Other than the desk, the room felt entirely modern. He clicked away on a keyboard, which he only glanced up momentarily from as she came in, one finger lifted to ask her to give him a minute. The walls were lined with clearly expensive artwork, a bar to the side lined with several bottle of some kind of liquid that she guessed cost more per bottle than even her dad managed to drink all together in a year.

  “Come forward, Callidora.” She twitched at his voice, but moved toward his desk. She was surprised that he called her by her first name—by her entire horrible first name. “Sit,” he said, pointing to one of the chairs in front of his desk. These chairs were larger and by far plusher than those that sat in his office at the bank.

  “Meredith will get you settled in soon, but I wanted the chance to speak to you first.”

  “Meredith?” she asked.

  “The housekeeper. How was the ride here?”

  “Pretentious,” she answered honestly.

  One sharp sound of laughter came from him. “I apologize,” he said sarcastically. “Next time I’ll send a cab.”

  “Thank you, I’d appreciate that.”

  He grunted at her response. “After you’re settled in you can have some free time. You’ll meet Alexander tonight, after dinner.”

  “Oh.” She wasn’t sure what to say. She thought she’d be meeting him right away. Now she had longer to dread the meeting.

  “Dinner is at six o’clock sharp in the dining room. Meredith will show you where that is. Now. Do you have any questions for me?”

  “Uh, I guess. I mean, what am I supposed to do all day?”

  “You’ll be taking your lessons with Alexander, of course.”

  “You mean school?”

  His jaw clenched and he rolled his eyes skyward. “Yes, I mean school.”

  “What about the rest of the time? Am I supposed to . . . play with him, or take him for walks, or what?”

  Mr. Stratford’s jaw dropped at her words, and incredulous look crossing his face. “Tell me, Callidora—”

  “Calli,” she corrected. He completely ignored her, talking over top.

  “Just how old do you think Alexander is?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t really know.”

  “He’s seventeen.”

  “Oh.” She was surprised. “But he’s not normal, right?”

  Mr. Stratford’s jaw clenched tightly as he glanced down at his desk. His hands clamped together tight enough to cause them to turn white. Just about the time the awkwardness became alarming, he looked at her.

  “My son is normal in every way that counts. His mind is sharper than other young people his age.”

  Calli lifted one hand with her palm up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I thought . . .”

  “I know full well what you thought.” He took a deep breath, visibly relaxing. “Listen, Callidora, there isn’t anything wrong with his mental capacity. But he’s . . . scarred. His face is . . .” He pushed backward from the desk, striding around, angry again. “Just don’t stare at him, okay?”

  He opened the door and bellowed for Meredith.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Stratford,” she murmured as she passed him. He placed a hand on her arm.

  “Call me Winston. If we’re going to be living under the same roof, there’s no need for formalities.”

  “I’ll call you Winston when you call me Calli,” she said as she walked into the hall. He closed the door behind her with no response just as a woman came hurrying in from the doorway at the back of the entry.

  “You must be Callidora,” she said, taking Calli’s hands in her own.

  “Calli,” she corrected, smiling at this genuine woman. She was short, probably barely reaching five feet. Her gray hair piled on top of her head in a neat bun. She was round, her cheeks nearly smothering her eyes with her big, welcoming smile.

  “Calli, then,” she easily agreed. “My name is Meredith.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Calli said. “I think the whole town knows after Mr. Stratford just yelled it from the top of his lungs.”

  Meredith laughed. “I think I’m going to like you, Calli.”

  She led Calli up the stairs and down a long hallway to her room. She knew it was her room because her bag sat in the middle of a bed that was larger than three of Calli’s, and so tall she’d need to jump to get on it. It was covered with some kind of silky, white comforter that glimmered in the sunlight. The carpeting was also white, and squished beneath her feet. She quickly slipped her shoes off, not wanting to mar the pure color—and also because she wanted to feel the softness directly on her feet. Thank heavens she’d brought slippers.

  A large L-shaped desk in the corner served two purposes. One side was clearly set up for homework, with a lamp, writing implements, a computer, and plenty of desk space for books or writing. The other portion was backed by a large mirror. A brush, comb, and hand mirror sat in the center of the desk. The back of the desk held a set of makeup brushes. Calli grinned in pleasure. She’d never been able to afford real makeup brushes. She’d always had to use the little ineffective ones which were included.

  “This room is mine?” she asked, wanting to make sure before she made assumptions.

  “Of course,” Meredith said. She pointed across the room. “Over there is your bathroom.”

  “Wait.” She placed a hand on Meredith’s arm. “Are you saying I get my own bathroom? I don’t have to share with anyone?”

  “No, Calli. It’s all yours.”

  Calli tried to picture not having to drop the toilet seat each time she went in, not having to rinse someone else’s toothpaste out of the sink or brush their whiskers off the counter. She wondered if she’d died and gone to heaven. It was certainly white enough in here to be heaven, and Meredith seemed sweet enough to be an angel.

  “Can I do anything for you? Get you anything?” Meredith asked.

  “No, I’m good.”

  Meredith pointed to a small table near the window. “There’s water there if you’re thirsty,” she said. “I’ll be back just before six to get you for dinner.”

  “Okay.” She turned as Meredith approached the door. “Thanks, Meredith. I appreciate everything.”

  Meredith simply smiled as she closed the door. Calli looked around again, then spun in a circle, hugging herself. She dropped onto the bed which was softer than anything she’d felt, the silken cover cool and smooth beneath her cheek. She sat up and walked into the bathroom.

  It was as purely white as her room, with only powder blue towels and a vase of blue flowers on the counter to break up the monotony. A large tub sat in the center of the bathroom directly in front of her with a marble wall at the back of it. She hadn’t ever taken a bath. They only had a shower at home. It seemed like a waste of water judging by the size of it. She looked around, wondering where the shower was. Maybe rich people didn’t shower, only bathed.

  Seeing an opening next to the tub, she followed it and discovered the shower. It was crescent shaped, following the back of the tub, with an opening at both ends. Two shower heads above her came directly out of the ceiling. Three more stuck out of the wall at varying heights. There were no handles that she could see that would turn the water on.

  She exited on the opposite side that she entered, and saw a small hallway on the other side of the room. She went in and discovered a closet. No, that wasn’t right. It was a room for clothes. She could put all the clothes from her closet and from Betsy’s B
outique in town in there and still have room to spare. It even had two dressers within, and a couch to sit on in the center. She walked back and got her small bag, returning to the closet.

  It took her five minutes to empty the bag, hanging her shirts and folding the rest into one drawer. Her clothes looked pitiful and out of place in the closet. She lay down on the couch, longing for her tiny, ragged home, staring up at the ceiling of the closet, and for the first time since she’d discovered her fate for her ill-advised trip to the Monster house, Calli cried.

  * * * * *

  The beast raged within. He attempted to calm it, but knowing there was a stranger under their roof was too much. He knew her, knew she was the beautiful girl he’d chased and then carried to the house. Now she was back.

  He pushed the heavy weights up from his chest then lowered them again. Up. Down. Up. Down. His right arm burned, flames threatening to consume him.

  His father told him he’d had no choice but to bring her, that her family threatened to sue for the harm done to her if they didn’t allow her to move in for private tutoring alongside him. The beast reared its head again and he dropped the bar onto the weight rests. He stood and moved to the treadmill, turning it up to high as he ran.

  Well, she might have gotten the upper hand on his father, but he’d be damned if he’d let her do the same to him. He might have to tolerate her presence for lessons, but that’s where it would end. Maybe if he made her miserable enough, she’d leave.

  Suddenly, he shut the machine off, his chest heaving. That was it. He could make her completely miserable so that leaving was her idea. They couldn’t bribe his father if it were her choice to leave. The new focus gave him some peace, a course of action. The beast quieted and he headed to the shower.

  * * * * *

  Calli had never seen so much food in her life. Some kind of appetizer made of small rolls stuffed with ham, which were divine. This followed by a small salad, and then a potato soup. Calli was stuffed. She didn’t usually eat so much in one sitting. But apparently they hadn’t even gotten to the main course yet as the kitchen cook, Javier, came in bearing a platter of chicken, potatoes, and carrots.

  Calli might have refused to eat any more except that sitting in the awkward silence with Mr. Stratford with nothing to do was unbearable. Eating gave her something to do with her hands at least. When they were finished with the main course, Mr. Stratford asked her if she wanted dessert. Not only was it completely undesirable to eat another bite, she also couldn’t wait to escape the dining room.

  “Then shall we?” he asked upon her refusal, standing and holding a hand toward the door, indicating she should proceed him.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Why, to meet Alexander, of course.”

  Oh, fabulous. Well, she supposed now was as good a time as any to get it over with, since she probably wouldn’t be able to avoid the meeting forever. Better to face her fear than to keep dreading. She stood and reluctantly exited the room.

  Mr. Stratford led the way down a hallway before descending a wide set of stairs. Calli was made more nervous by the fact that Mr. Stratford felt the need to keep his son in the basement. How horrible must he be?

  The lower floor was large and open. A big screen projection TV covered one wall, looking more like a theater than a room for watching television. Behind the couch that sat in front of the TV was a pool table, and behind that a wet bar. Darkened glass doors led out to the patio, and Calli realized those were the doors they’d seen the monster exit. A shiver ran through her as she remembered his plaintive cry.

  He led her down a hall, past an expansive exercise room that shamed the local gym, stopping in front of a wooden door. He knocked, calling, “Alexander?” Without waiting for an answer he opened the door and entered. Calli took a bracing breath and followed.

  Within the large room a figure hunched over a desk. Calli’s eyes went unerringly to him, and she couldn’t have looked away if she wanted. Fear trilled up her belly.

  He wore sweatshirt, but it couldn’t hide the width of his shoulders beneath. His blond hair curled up around the bottom of the knit cap he had on. He didn’t look up, continued to concentrate on the paper he wrote on. His jaw was clenched—his very normal, square jaw. His clear cheek rose high on his cheekbone, long lashes visible in the shadows thrown across his face by the only light in the room, the lamp on his desk. He wasn’t a monster at all. From this angle, he appeared to be incredibly good looking. A smile lifted the corners of Calli’s mouth. These six months suddenly looked like they were going to be rather enjoyable.

  “Alexander, this is Callidora. As you know, she’s going to be staying with us for a while. She’ll be taking lessons with you.”

  Alexander continued to ignore them. His jaw ticked, his pen scratched.

  “Hey,” Calli managed, her voice wavering in the face of his complete and utter wall of silence.

  “Alexander.” Mr. Stratford’s loud, chiding voice cut the silence. “Please stand and greet our guest.”

  Alexander clenched both fists, Calli fearing for the safety of the pen—and maybe even herself a little. Then his shoulders dropped the smallest amount in capitulation. He threw the pen down, pushing his chair away from the table. He slowly stood, and even more slowly turned to face her, lifting his face to the scant light.

  * * * * *

  Alex tensed as his father came into the room. He was aware that the girl was with his father. In spite of his determination to make her miserable, he still found that he dreaded facing her, seeing the look on her face that was inevitable.

  He might have continued to ignore her had his father not demanded his attention. As he stood, turning her way, he saw just what he’d anticipated.

  The expectant smile on her face froze as she caught sight of him. Her mouth dropped open as her eyes widened. Horror filled her entire countenance. It was only seconds before the disgust would come, so he moved.

  “Did you get a good look?” he growled. He pushed past her, ignoring his father’s demand to stop.

  * * * * *

  “Alexander, come back here!”

  Calli continued to stare at the spot where he’d stood. She felt frozen. The entire right side of his face was . . . melted was the best word she could settle on. Lumpy, heavy skin pulled down the bottom lid on his eye. Ridges of thick, angry red skin covered his cheek and dripped from his jaw. Shiny, tight pink skin patched that side of his forehead. It seemed the cruelest joke of nature to give him half a perfect face, and half the most hideous.

  “I’m sorry,” Mr. Stratford said gruffly. “I’ll go bring him back.”

  He took one stride before the door before Calli unfroze.

  “No,” she said quickly, placing a hand on his arm. “Let me go.”

  He lifted one brow. “Are you sure?” She could hear the doubt in his voice. She didn’t feel too sure herself.

  “I’m sure,” she said. She walked to the door, stepped out and stopped. “Any hints?” she said turning back.

  “Try the rose garden.” He gave her directions, offering once again to go himself. She shook her head and followed the directions he’d given her, her nerves tingling with apprehension.

  * * * * *

  Alex paced within the walled confines of this section of the garden. It was his sanctuary, a place he could hide from the world while outside. It usually calmed him. Not tonight. Tonight the beast raged because of her.

  “Hey.”

  Alex jerked at the sound of her voice. Unthinkingly, he turned fully her way, shocked at the intrusion. She smiled unsurely at him, her hands shoved into her front pockets of her jeans, her face reflecting her unease. He was astounded once again by her beauty. Her dark hair gleamed in the moonlight. Her skin seemed almost translucent.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded. She jumped at his harsh tone, and he turned away.

  “Your dad told me where to find you.”

  He grunted in response, teeth clenched. />
  “Listen, Alexander, I—”

  “Alex!”

  She stood silently long enough for him to turn her way once again to see if she was still there.

  “Are you trying to tell me, in your polite way, that you prefer to be called Alex?” she finally said, her voice barely trembling.

  Her comment surprised him, and he almost smiled. Instead, he jerked his head once in the affirmative.

  “Okay, cool.” She leaned casually against the trellis, crossing one foot over the other. “I go by Calli. Your dad insists on calling me Callidora.” She shrugged. “Obviously he insists on calling you Alexander. He have some OCD thing about calling people by their full names?”

  He bit the inside of his cheek to hold back another almost-smile. “I guess so,” he said, sitting down on the bench in the middle of the garden area.

  Calli straightened and hesitated, then moved toward him. When he stiffened, she held a hand toward the bench and said, “May I?”

  He shrugged, but moved to the right so she could sit. She sat, only a little hesitation evident in her movements. She placed both hands on the edge of the bench, leaning forward a little, crossing her ankles and swinging her feet back and forth a few inches.