“What are you? He proclaimed. Your worst nightmare.” I said. Then he passed out. I checked on him years later to be exact and found out he had been put into a mental institution for claiming the existence of a mythical creature that would not die and bled blue blood. He drove himself mad trying to discover what I was. Poor guy, I still feel awful about it today. But he shot me and I can’t play dead because what difference would it make. He’d know something was different about me when my blood came out blue and not red.”
“How awful,” I said.
“I drove him mad, Kylie. I am so ashamed of myself but there was little I could do. When we’re seen by humans like that we’re supposed to kill them but I couldn’t. I wasn’t strong enough,” He said hanging his head his voice sad.
When he looked back up I could see all the pain in his eyes. He was tearing himself up over something that happened over fifty years ago. “Things happen. You couldn’t stop it,” I said.
“I didn’t have to go to war and I didn’t have to try to sneak onto the concentration camp.”
I didn’t say anything further for I could see it would do no good.
I decided to try and sway the conversation to lighter things.
“What’s your favorite color?” I asked trying to distract him. He looked up confused.
“Um . . . black?” He framed it like a question.
“Black isn’t a color.” I said.
“Navy any shade of blue really but mostly navy. What’s your favorite color?”
“Purple any shade of purple but mostly dark purple.” I said framing my answer like his.
“Favorite flower?” He asked. I finished taking a sip of my coffee.
“Iris,” I said.
“Good choice. That’s my mom’s favorite flower. Or was her favorite flower. Anyway what’s your favorite car?”
“Car? Definitely a Corvette,” I said.
“I should’ve known,” He said laughing.
That’s how the rest of our afternoon went Jonathon asking the questions and me answering. It was perfect. He was perfect.
Chapter Fifteen: Together
I got out of Jonathon’s car onto a busy street. I looked up at the building that the art show was held in. It was old with crumbling brick. It was a three story building with dark blue shutters on every window. The building looked nothing like how I’d picture a building looking in Rome. There was even graffiti on it. The building looked like something that should be in Brooklyn and not in Rome.
An intoxicating glow reverberated from the windows out into the street. It was like a beacon.
Jonathon took my hand and held the door open for me. I went inside with him following behind me; ever the gentleman.
“So, everything here is done by local artists’?” I asked to clarify what I already assumed.
“Yes,” He said simply.
There was no lobby to walk into; you just walked immediately into the art exhibit.
In this room all the walls, the floor, and the furniture were white but splattered with all kinds of different colors of paint.
“This is awesome!” I declared.
“I’m glad you like it,” came a male voice from behind me. I whipped around. Jonathon moved somewhat in front of me like he was protecting me from some unknown threat.
The guy was young probably about twenty – four. He was kind of short but skinny. He had black hair that was messy like he hadn’t brushed it in years. He also had some serious stubble. He wore glasses with a thick black frame.
“I’m Jack, the artist,” He said extending his hand to Jonathon and then to me.
“I’m Jonathon and this is Kylie,” He said.
“It pleases me to hear you like my work. It’s not often I get a complement, mostly I’m just criticized and that criticism is usually bad,” Jack said.
“This is amazing, very original,” I said looking around.
“Are you an artist?” Jack asked me.
“I like drawing and painting but I’m no artist,” I said.
“Oh, I’m sure you’re better than you think.”
“Trust me, I’m not that good,” I said.
“Kylie, we should continue. We can’t spend all our time in just one place,” Jonathon said.
“You’re right,” I said.
“Nice to meet you two,” Jack said.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, “I hope to see more of your work,” I finished.
Jonathon and I began to walk away.
“What the hell was that?” I demanded.
“What?” Jonathon asked the picture of innocence.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“I believe I do not.”
“You are unbelievable. What was that with Jack?”
“Oh, that?” He mumbled.
“Yes, that,” I snapped my patience waning.
“He didn’t look at you like you were a person. He looked like he wanted to devour you or that you were a toy; that is not the way to look or treat a woman. You should be respected,” He said.
I suddenly felt bad for being so harsh.
“I’m sorry Jonathon. You may be right but that’s just how guys are these days. Not everyone was born in the 1300s.”
“Shhh. Someone may hear.”
“Right! Sorry, but people probably wouldn’t believe me anyway,” I said as we went into the next room.
In this room everything was teal, purple, and navy. There was a hand sculpted vase, hand painted with all three colors, inside the vase were hand sculpted flowers. The flowers were painted white. A crystal chandelier hung above the vase, it had teal, white, purple, and navy polka dots.
“This has to be the coolest art show ever,” I exclaimed.
“I’m glad you like it,” He said his stance and facial expression brooding.
“What’s wrong Jonathon?” I asked.
“Nothing, I just thought I saw someone I knew.”
“Oh, okay,” I said.
But I couldn’t shake from my mind the pained, scared look on his face. Like he’d just saw death coming.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked again.
“Yes, I’m sure,” He replied smoothly.
But the brooding, scared look on his face didn’t leave.
I decided not to push the subject further because I’d get nowhere.
The next room stunned me. It was the most beautiful paintings I had ever seen. This room was a showing of paintings by one artist, that much was obvious, and there were no weird geometric designs. These paintings were true art. I had never seen anything so beautiful. All I could do was gawk at them.
I don’t know how I will even begin to describe them all. Some were pale colors others bold, bright colors but all so beautiful. I was drawn to a black and white one.
The two paint colors seemed to swirl around endlessly to form the image of . . . Me?
I stared at the picture. “There’s no way,” I whispered. The girl in the picture looked so much like me.
“Way,” murmured Jonathon.
“But how . . . who . . . who’s the artist?” I managed to choke out.
“I am,” He said simply.
“But when did you paint this? I don’t see how you would’ve had time to paint this, this week.”
“I didn’t paint it this week. I painted that particular picture in 1872. Don’t tell anyone, they may wonder how I was able to paint it in 1872 if I’m standing here today,” He said in a stage whisper in my ear a slight smile to his voice.
“How did you see this? I wasn’t even alive.”
“It came to me in a dream . . . I felt that the image held some sort of significance but at the time I did not know that the girl in the picture would turn out to be my soul mate.”
I kept replaying the phrase ‘It came to me in a dream’ in my head.
Suddenly I said, “You came to me in a dream.”
“What?”
“On the plane,” I said.
“Kylie
, I’m lost.”
“I fell asleep on the plane and I saw you and your house. It’s all coming back to me now . . .” I trailed off.
“That isn’t possible,” He said.
“Well, it was you. Trust me.”
“That’s weird. Usually the . . . human . . .,” He said hesitant, unsure if him referring to me as human would offend me. I communicated to him with my eyes that it was okay. “Doesn’t see us in their dreams. And usually our ‘dreams’ are more like ‘visions’,” He said.
“Well, maybe I’m special,” He laughed.
“Maybe we’re special.”
“I think we are,” I said.
“I’ll let you look at the paintings now,” Jonathon said all traces of his bad mood gone.
“Alright.”
I continued to stare at the picture of myself. So, unlike a painting, it seemed so real, like a photograph. My hair was blowing in the wind. My eyes looked alarmed. There were trees in the background. It looked like the Pulmer’s backyard. I just couldn’t keep my eyes away from the picture. But finally I moved on to another one.
This one was Katherine’s garden. There Jonathon sat on the bench with me, my hands in his. We were looking deeply into one another’s eyes. The moment looked so personal, so life changing. We both looked frightened. But from what, I didn’t know. The flowers were painted in bold bright colors. While Jonathon and I were in lighter colors, it appeared as if a glow surrounded us.
It was nerve racking looking at myself captured in Jonathon’s art especially when he didn’t even know me when he painted these.
I moved from the garden picture, but our tortured, emotional, expressions, didn’t leave my mind.
This painting was simple. Just the Pulmer house. But what made it so spectacular were the brush strokes. Jonathon had managed to make the old beauty even more prominent. The Pulmer house had to be the most beautiful house in the entire world. Every detail was shown, it was shocking. Even the cracks in the rocks, were an exact replica. I could see every detail in the ivy.
I felt a presence at my side.
“What do you think?” asked Jonathon, his voice like silk in my ear.
“I think you are the greatest artist in the entire world and you’re all mine.”
“Thank you and I’ll always be yours and no matter what I say you’ll always be mine and I will always love you,” Jonathon said. It sounded like he was saying goodbye. He had a faraway look in his eyes.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked again.
“I don’t know.” He said his eyes scanning the room. I grabbed his hand.
“We should probably get going. The poetry reading starts soon,” I looked at a clock on the wall. I’d spent an hour in just this room looking at Jonathon’s art.
“I don’t want to, I haven’t gotten to see everything yet,” I said jokingly.
“We can come back another time if you want or just not go to the poetry reading. It’s up to you,” He said kindly, but he still seemed distracted, like he was ready to flee at a moment’s notice.
“Let’s go to the poetry reading, as long as you promise to bring me back here,” I said.
“I promessa,” He said huskily.
“Good. Now let’s go,” I said.
As we left the building I saw something long and black swish around the corner. If possible Jonathon’s eyes grew darker.
The drive was quiet. I just looked out the window at the blurring scene.
The building was ordinary not nearly unique as the building the art show as held in.
Inside I could tell it was a cafe. There were tables where couples already sat. All the lamps had red sheets draped over them casting a romantic glow while candles set the mood. Jonathon and I chose a seat in the back corner where we could be hidden from the other patrons.
Many people spoke their own compositions. Not one read something written by someone else. I sat dazed listening to their dreamy voices. They lulled me into another world. A girl spoke about a tragic past. A guy spoke about a new found love. Everything they said was so beautiful.
When we left I was so exhausted. The cold air made me shiver.
“Here love,” said Jonathon removing his coat in one lithe movement.
“Thanks,” I said putting it on. The sleeves were too long for me so I rolled them up. The coat was a dark brown leather and cold from his skin. But it would do. The coat smelled heavenly, just like his skin and breath. Such a sweet unique smell. It was intoxicating.
He opened the car door for me and I got in. As soon as the car started moving I fell asleep.
“Kylie,” came his sweet buttery voice. I knew I should open my eyes but I couldn’t. “Kylie,” His angel voice sounded again.
“What?” I managed to say groggily.
“We’re home,” He said. I wiped my eyes trying to trace away any signs of sleep. I put my hand on the door to get out. “I’ll get that,” Jonathon said.
Before I could process what he had said my door was open and I was falling out. He caught me in his arms. “Sorry,” He said.
“It’s fine,” I replied. I stepped out of the car into his waiting arms.
“My purse,” I declared swinging back around to get it out of the car.
“I already got it,” He said. Sure enough swinging from his long, pale, slender fingers was my purse.
“Thanks,” I mumbled taking it from him. “Show off,” I added under my breath.
He laughed his quiet, musical laugh. I tromped up the stairs to the front of the house my legs like lead. I was so exhausted. But on the bright side we would race Ferrari’s tomorrow. I looked up and Jonathon was already unlocking the door. He stood waiting for me the door held open for my passage. No one was in the living room and I couldn’t hear the noises of anyone.
Jonathon had already closed and locked the door and was at my side.
“I’m going to bed. I’m so tired.”
“You look tired. I’m just waiting for you to fall over,” He said jokingly.
“Ha ha, very funny make fun of the tired human. Great game, we should play this more often,” I said sarcastically.
I started up the stairs dragging my feet. “Sleep well, principessa. I love you.”
“I love you,” I grumbled my patience already diminished and in my tired state I couldn’t decipher whether he was being kind or sarcastic. I turned back around.
“Dream only of me,” I said.
“Forever,” He smiled back at me his bright teeth blinding me momentarily.
“Promise to dream only of me,” Jonathon said.
“Always,” I replied back to him smiling. Then I finished the climb up to my room.
I dressed in my pajamas quickly. I went to get under the covers of my bed when I saw a note on my pillow. Excited I reached for it thinking Jonathon must have left it for me.
But in unfamiliar handwriting it read:
I’m watching.
Those two words sent shivers down my spine. They seemed so threatening. No name accompanied the words and that scared me even more. I stared at the piece of paper one more long second then walked over to the fireplace and watched it burn till it was a blackened crisp.
Whoever had done this was female, I was certain from the writing. Whoever they were was targeting me specifically. Whoever this was either didn’t know the Pulmer’s are vampires or was brazen enough not to care and is vampire them self. I was positive it was the later. I looked out my window. I was scared. Someone had been in my room. Could she be watching me now? Wait the window! That’s how she must’ve gotten in without her scent being all over the house. Being a vampire she could probably just climb up the wall and then come in. She’d only been in my room. She seemed to know me but who could she be? And what would a vampire I’ve never met want with me? If this person was even a vampire?
I felt my chest begin to constrict. I put my hand to my chest trying to breathe. One thing was for certain I was not telling Jonathon. At least not yet because
I could already tell he was stressed and this note might not be anything. For all I knew Mason wrote this in a different hand to freak me out. But something told me this was serious and I needed to look out.
I climbed in bed but I did not sleep the entire night. I was too scared that whoever wrote that note was going to come back.
Chapter Sixteen: The Painting
I woke up in a cold sweat. The sheets drenched. I wiped my forehead. I had had a restless night. I was so worried that whoever had left that horrible note would return. But she never did. I marveled at how sure I was that the intruder was female.
I quickly stripped the bed of the wet sheets. I was zipping around my room so fast I probably looked like a vampire. I was so worried Jonathon or one of the other Pulmer’s would walk in and see me all sweaty and then the sheets and ask what was wrong and that would not be good. I’ve never been a good liar. I hate lying so when I have to I can’t. I usually start laughing like I’m a raging lunatic. Try explaining that. I hurried into the bathroom to wash up.
I couldn’t enjoy the soothing power of the shower. Once again, I was still worried that whoever wrote that note was coming to get me or even watching me. I would never be the same and that was a sad thought. The words ‘I’m watching’ echoed in my mind like a never ending chant. Over and over again.
I put my hands to my head, trying to stop the flow of thoughts. I took a deep breath.
I’m going crazy. This can’t be happening now. It has to be some kind of practical joke. But my gut was telling me it wasn’t and I need to look out. I should tell Jonathon but I don’t want to worry him or have him involve his family. I have to take care of this on my own. This is my problem not Jonathon’s.
Suddenly the water ran cold and jolted me back to life. I squeezed as much of the water out of my hair as possible. I got out and wrapped a towel around my damp body.
Fallen (Fallen Series Book 1) Page 14
