Vision

by Beth Elisa Harris

  I curbed my enthusiasm then changed subjects. “Not a clue. And I only brought one dress, so that will have to do. Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you, what do you know about Colonsay?”

  “It’s an island off Scotland. I’ve never been, but I think Stuart has…why?”

  “Oh, no reason really. Just, curious. I – someone mentioned it the other day…”

  Suddenly I felt extremely anxious and off balance. Dizzy, my stomach ached with something I couldn’t identify. Almost instinctively I burrowed in her head, violating my own rules for mind-reading friends.

  But she just shook her head. Stupid American girl, she thought, and walked away.

  I was loosing friends by the minute.

  To keep from going insane, I thought about the letter, and how I should have probably showed it to Liz since she received honorable mention, but talking to her was impossible, and the less we talked the less I wanted to talk.

  It was a conscious choice to never engage her or seek her advice or opinion about anything. Even when announcing the exchange opportunity to Dad and Liz one rare night we were all home, her concerns about me 20 raveling alone and being gone for a year were met with a blank stare from me. I had ignored her, and then turned back to Dad, continuing the discussion without acknowledging her presence.

  She had heaved a frustrated, exaggerated sigh and stomped from the room.

  Later in bed I tossed and flipped like a captured fish until sleep snuck up from behind.

  Layla, I need to show you what happened, who I am, who you are. I won’t let them hurt you like they did me, like they did Jonathan. Come, please.

  Then the bad men chased us, and she was on fire, running to the cliffs while I dodged long sweeps of the sword blade, working feverishly to slice me in to pieces.

  Help, please! I can’t fight. I can’t fight!

  My eyes opened, and it was clear. The answer was in the letter. But whether I had the courage to face it was another matter.

  The dull morning glow tempered by the colorless sky woke me gently, my head once again struggling to comprehend where I really was, and what had happened. Sitting up, I wanted to scream – so instead the sobs came. And in the familiar state of my loneliness, the tears streaked my face surrounded by the stillness of nothing and the realization...

  I was completely and utterly alone.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Andre picked me up in a brand new black Jaguar XK, wearing expensive designer threads and a silver scarf that kicked his eye color up a few notches. His smile was broad, his assessment of me approving. “Hhmm. Even better than I imagined.”

  My hair was pinned up, with a few loose curls falling randomly for glam affect. The only black dress I owned was thankfully long sleeved, albeit it short with an exposed back, so a long coat was necessary. I had worn it one time to a Seahawks party with Dad. There was no way to wear my preferred tights with the pumps, so I was relived when Andre turned the car heater on.

  “Where are you taking me?” I smiled, noticing the subtle eye scan up and down the length of my body, sending my heart into flutters.

  “My goal is to be alone with you and simply stare.” He grinned. “You’ll see.” He started the car, heading down the M11 into London. We made small talk, mostly about school. I was nervous while he seemed confident, so I chatted more than usual to come off relaxed.

  Andre reserved a private dining area in the penthouse of The Promenade at The Dorchester, usually for larger parties, but tonight there was just the two of us with a team of servers who all seemed to know him well.

  “Wow. This is…amazing,” was all I could muster as he pulled my chair out.

  His sideways grin made me swoon. “You are amazing, pretty girl.”

  He arranged for a string quartet to play quietly on the other side of the room, allowing us to talk together softly without our voices carrying. This was like a real, live date – and the first of its kind I had been on. There was no courting in Portland. Guys there never left home without wearing ragged jeans and a date meant “hanging out” with the goal of “hooking up” for sex. If more than minimum effort was required, it just wasn’t happening. Andre, on the other hand, was a well-coutoured gentleman, treating me like a true lady. Corny, but refreshing.

  Layla, where hath your senses retreated?

  Turns out we had a private chef who worked with Andre to plan the entire menu. The meal was exquisite. Roast duck with chutney sauce and roasted basil, potatoes Roesti, sautéed vegetables and dark chocolate mousse – a culinary orgasm.

  Afterwards we walked around the area, ducking between two buildings when the clouds burst open. We laughed hard, breathless, until he used the length of his body to gently press me against the cool stone exterior. “Let’s do this now instead of waiting.” His mouth was cool and taunting, causing a forbidden ache to travel south from my lips. He started soft and slow, but the pressure and intensity increased until I could barely breathe.

  Mine.

  What was that? Did he say something?

  Delicious.

  Egad! Andre was telegraphing while we kissed.

  Mine, like a drug.

  Yes, that was definitely a read.

  But instead of feeling relief about the breakthrough, an alarm chimed being referred to as a drug. I was officially confused, possibly stupid.

  I gently pushed him off me and told him it was getting late, and requested we head home, which he did reluctantly, with the promise of another date. His words, not mine.

  Later while engaging in a staring contest with the ceiling, the mixed signals he had sent ricocheted between my left and right brain like a ping-pong match, conflicting emotions between his smooth skills folding into his possessive thoughts. What did I know? Maybe guys thought like that when they kissed. With little experience in these matters, I felt clueless.

  Maybe Stuart was right…I really didn’t know Andre all that well.

  The phone woke me at two in the morning. Someone forgot the time difference and would pay dearly for waking me. When my eyes gained a semblance of focus, the caller ID showed HOME. Portland.

  It was about, what six in the evening there? Probably Dad. I tried in vain to clear the rasp from my throat. “Hello?”

  “Don’t date that boy.”

  “Liz?”

  “No, it’s your mother.” She detested me calling her by her first name, but she didn’t deserve the title of Mom generally reserved for actual, well, mothers.

  “What is it?” My response was frozen. “It’s two here…Mom.” I tagged on her desired name with sleepy sarcasm.

  “Don’t date the boy you were with tonight.” Her tone was matter of fact, aloof. The usual.

  “How in the hell did you know? Did the Brown’s call you? Stuart?” Now I was awake.

  “No one called, just trust me, please. This one time, listen to me.” Her voice shifted, assuming a pleading edge - not her usual style.

  “Liz, you better explain what is going on or I’ll hang up.” My heart was lively beneath the chest wall. Everyone was acting so bloody cryptic and giving me orders. I hated it.

  “Layla, I promise I’ll explain soon. Just stay away from – Andre.”

  “Mom!” But she hung up. Like that, she disconnected another conversation, leaving unfinished business lingering between us.

  Such an infuriating woman – she didn’t even ask me how I was doing.

  But that wasn’t the real elephant in the room. How in holy hell did she know about Andre? She pretended like the information materialized in thin air, but I knew better.

  Fairchild.

  “Layla, for god’s sake it’s just past two.” He didn’t appreciate the call, but too bad.

  “Why did you tell her, Stuart? It’s none of your business.” My feet dangled from the edge of the tall bed, ankles vibrating side to side with nervous energy.

  “Tell who what? What are you prattling about?” His sleepy voice was super sexy, and I ignored the urge to pull him through
the phone.

  And then my heart sank. Ah, jeez.

  He wouldn’t need to explain himself further, because he hadn’t said anything to anyone – the innocent tone was unhidden, truthful. He called no one.

  He wouldn’t even have access to my family phone numbers. Like an idiot the only words left in my limited vocabulary were “Never mind” as I snapped the phone shut.

  The next morning I casually asked Patrice if she had called my mom for any reason, to which she replied, “Of course not, dear.”

  While dressing I contemplated recent events. England. Stuart. Andre. Date. Stuart’s warning. I go anyway. Great night, except for the creepy narcotic reference. Liz calls. Forbids me to see Andre. She knows his name. She knows we were together. Stuart didn’t call her. The Brown’s didn’t call her.

  That only left two possibilities.

  Someone was lying, or…someone was spying on me.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The rain poured relentlessly all day Sunday. Sienna and I embraced pajama attire, hibernating with homework in her much larger bedroom, drinking gallons of coffee and hot chocolate, sometimes in combination while alternating salty snack runs downstairs. My phone was completely shut off, reflecting my anti-social mood and determination to stay focused on school.

  And – no more boys.

  At some point we both spaced out, likely from information overload, lying back on our respective pillows while munching from the pretzel and chip bowls balanced on the bed.

  “So,” Sienna broke the silence, “you never told me about your date.” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down a la Groucho Marx, trying to seem enthused.

  Listening with interest I gave her a standard run down, reducing the mind-reading part to intuition.

  Sienna nodded. “Yes! There is something about him. He’s hot I guess, but I don’t know.” She told me about Natalie, her crush from Sixth, who was flirting without mercy but making no moves.

  We were giggling when there was a knock at the front door. We paused to listen and heard Henry shuffle across the wood entryway to answer. A few seconds later, the stairs creaked and there was a light tap on the bedroom door.

  “Come in.” Sienna answered without looking up. “Oh, hey Stuart!”

  Stuart? God I looked like crap!

  “Hey.” He stood in the doorway, increasing my heart rate. “Can you two use a break?”

  His long sleeve mock turtleneck hugged his torso, mocking me, and just that quick my no boys theory was a smack down. The soft, sensuous effortless smile and eyes warm with affection could not be denied.

  All I wanted was for things to be okay between us.

  “Hey, Fairchild. What are you doing out in the rain?” It was impossible not to respond with sheer delight that we shared the same space, and I vowed to drop the defensive diva act forever.

  With his focus to me, I swooned like the girlie-girl I had never been, the evil nemesis of Layla, the Feminist. “I came to see you actually. Can we talk? Maybe… across the hall? No offense, Sienna.” He winked at his friend.

  “None taken. Go.” She shooed us with her hand, already reabsorbed in her psychology textbook.

  We both sat on the edge of the bed about a foot apart. “I would have dressed had I known…”

  “Layla,” he stopped me, “you look…spectacular,” he whispered, causing the hairs on my arms to perk up. “I just…want us to be okay.”

  That was all I wanted to hear. “We’re fine, Fairchild. Water under the bridge as they say. And sorry for the…call.”

  My fingers fidgeted nervously. His hand reached over to cover mine igniting fire to my skin while administering an instant muscle relaxer. “No worries. And for the record,” he continued, “my entire family, females included, are tall. We are not pygmies by any means.”

  His delivery made me laugh – hard. I gained composure, watching him grin at me, and he began again. “Sienna showed me your school picture, and when I saw you I was – taken aback.”

  Curious boy.

  “How so?” I asked.

  He looked down, thinking, perhaps searching for words, and when his eyes returned to me it was clear he knew what to say. “Because I thought you were the most extraordinarily beautiful creature I had ever seen.”

  Something caved in my chest, and a queasy sensation formed in the pit of my stomach. The compliment was overwhelming, and there was nothing to do but be gracious after swallowing dry air. “Thank you.”

  You’re beautiful too, Fairchild.

  As if he heard my thoughts, a fiery smile consumed his face, melting my pounding heart.

  We sat in oddly comfortable silence. Speaking for myself, I was temporarily mute from the repeating phrase ‘extraordinarily beautiful’ running through my head like a scratched record.

  “Layla, I meant what I said about Andre, but there’s something else.” His direct delivery had my full attention. “I want a shot. Let’s spend a day together, anywhere you want.”

  In that moment, I resigned to the fact that I had made a huge mistake dating Andre. Two people in my life issued warnings, and I had heard his forceful, disturbing thoughts come at me like bullets.

  This was not a drill.

  And in that moment, I was happy to be sitting. Stuart Fairchild, the guy any girl would want, asked me on a date.

  Still, I decided to play a little longer.

  “Jeez, Andre and I had one date, Fairchild,” I grinned. “It’s not like we’re engaged. Besides, the more people tell me no, the more I want to do something. I’m a rebel that way.” My mouth involuntarily twitched, wanting to smile and let him in.

  His hand still rested on mine sending ripples of warmth up my arm. He leaned in close enough that I smelled his fragrant breath and his woody rain-scented skin. “You are not a rebel, love. You are lonely in ways others don’t understand. I want to spend time with you. Let me know if you feel the same.” He raised my hand to his lips, kissing the top and then palm with his soft mouth.

  My heart fluttered hard enough to form wings.

  Who is this guy and why did I feel transparent and naked around him?

  Before another word was uttered, he had somehow vanished, as if to remind me how fleeting life is, how fragile his offer.

  Sienna finally bounced in, asking what he wanted as I sat catatonic.

  “Me. He wants me…I think.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The next day a box arrived addressed to me, c/o the Brown’s. There was no return address, no note, nothing. Inside was a silver charm – part lion, part dragon. A symbol of guardianship, Sienna announced after searching the web.

  Guardianship.

  The sender would likely know I have a bracelet – a near empty bracelet with room for charms. Since I wear it constantly, many people had seen it, I supposed, depending on their observation level. “Someone’s watching over you,” Sienna said in a romantic, sentimental tone that made me squirm.

  “Yay me.”

  Stuart seemed especially happy when he picked us up. The happiness would have been contagious, had I not been obsessing about who sent the charm. Of course, Sienna made sure he knew about the morning delivery, causing him to carefully examine the creature now dangling near the heart from Dad. “Hhmm. Interesting.” He casually responded.

  I would call Dad later and ask if he sent it.

  His scent reached me just as he spoke – musk. Andre waited for me inside the building, extending a café au lait in my direction. “Hey. Miss me?” He winked before continuing. “You’re all I thought about yesterday. Very distracting.” He smelled really good, but suddenly my instinct was on high alert, and pulling away from him seemed like the sane thing to do. “What are you doing later?” He asked.

  I paused then looked him in the eye. “Andre…thanks for the coffee. I need to go. And thanks again for a great time Saturday…really.” He easily kept pace with my warp speed propelling me down the hall. I stopped outside my class, noticing his drawn up brows creasing his forehea
d into a frown.

  “Are you brushing me off?” He was trying to mask irritation with teasing, making me wonder why I didn’t pick up on more signals. They seemed so obvious now.

  I faked a smile. “Not at all. Just need to get to class. Let’s talk later, okay?” Something told me to steer him away from suspicion and into a comfort zone. To really sell it, I sprinkled a little flirtation into my smile.

  Jeez, he made me nervous now.

  I noticed his facial muscles relax, and I released a discreet sigh of relief. His clenched jaw transitioned to a wry grin. Contention averted.

  “You got it!” He winked.

  He finally walked away, and I dropped the coffee in the rubbish can.

  Somehow I avoided him the rest of the day, heading to the library after my last class to finish an assignment, partly to avoid him and partly to finish the assignment. Earlier I had sent Sienna a text, telling her I would see her at home. The house wasn’t too far to walk, and my umbrella was attached to my hip these days. Like Portland, the fall season meant rain in England and lots of it.

  Nearly two hours after classes ended, I left the campus having completed a good deal of homework. Feeling lighter, I headed back to the Brown’s grateful for the time alone to think and process recent events. The clouds were dark and threatening, ready to dump rain. I quickened my pace hoping to reach the Brown’s before the sky opened up.

  I thought about how everything had changed since my move to Cambridge. Change was good, but I had never felt so – confused. The night visions had shifted to a beckoning from the great beyond – more personal, and inviting, and persistent, and horrifying.

  Two boys were giving me attention. One, apparently on a forbidden list known to everyone but me, and one who seemed to – know me already, who was totally irresistible. Life had indeed shifted to stranger than fiction.

  The black car approached slowly, and I contemplated between waiting or dashing across the street.

  It was the Jaguar.