Seeking Samiel
Catherine Jordan
Seeking Samiel
Copyright (c) 2012, by Catherine Jordan.
Cover Copyright (c) 2012 by Sunbury Press, Inc. Cover designed by Lawrence von Knorr.
NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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FIRST SUNBURY PRESS EDITION
Printed in the United States of America
July 2012
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-62006-086-5
Mobipocket format (Kindle) ISBN: 978-1- 62006-087-2
ePub format (Nook) ISBN: 978-1-62006-088-9
Published by:
Sunbury Press
Mechanicsburg, PA
www.sunburypress.com
Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania USA
Acknowledgments
Thank you to all who encouraged me as I wrote this book, especially my husband, for without his support and help, this book would still be a collection of paper on my desk. Dan, PJ, Kate, Jack and Annie gave me honest feedback every time I asked. My mom is always a great support, and read all the stories I wrote when I was a kid. My dad is a voracious reader, and that is where I got my desire to read. My mother-in-law, Mary--who passed away and did not get to see this book published, asked and offered to read and assist quite often. My sister, Julie, and brothers Dan and Dave have supported me as well. My dearest and bestest friends: Traci, and Lynnette. Susanne Conner; you're so awesome--thank you! Big thanks goes to Ann Stewart, who critiqued and encouraged me with her excellent classes. My writing friends: Susan, Marlene, Deb, Madelyn, Ramon, Laura, and Rayne. All those who read my first drafts: Martha, Cathy, Donna, and Kelly. My reading buddies and my bunco babes--thanks for putting up with my rantings and absences.
1--JEFFREY
Some people chase desire wherever it leads. Warnings won't help. Not even if you tattoo them on the forehead, or write them in a golden book and call it The Bible's Book of Wisdom. They'll still follow that disaster wherever it goes.
Desire for the Big Three--money, power, and love--had been planted inside me and well fed on daydreams, wishful thinking and wantonness. Those tangled roots burrowed deep enough that nothing could pull me free--not common sense, practical thinking, or oncoming warnings.
I loved Eva.
From the back of my throat I coughed up a thick oyster and spat it in Eva's face. She didn't blink. Her tongue, long and slim, slithered up her face. With one long sweep, she dragged the hocker into her mouth and swallowed.
I thought she'd kill me, strangle me with that tongue. But she kept it in her mouth, stepped back, and was gone. I swear, I don't remember if she turned her back and walked out the door, or if she vanished in a puff of smoke. Eva was gone.
Yet I wasn't alone. Her face was burnt in my retinas as if she was still there. I saw bile green eyes and pink sores pock marked over her white skin. A long nose pointed down to a cartoonishly wide mouth. Tight lips stretched ear to ear, hiding canines better suited for a jackal.
My crotch felt warm. The wet stain moved down my trouser thighs in tune with the swish of blood rushing through my head. No matter.
How could I have ever thought she was beautiful? How could I have left Caroline for her? That damn book. If only I'd seen then what I see now--one sees better backwards than forwards.
The night I met Eva--Caroline's half-sister--I had asked Caroline as we traveled through the false woods lined with Quiver Trees and Baobabs, and up the mountainside to her sister Eva's house, "Caroline, have you ever wanted something bad enough to say, 'I'd do anything,' and mean it--really mean it?" Even though the sun had just set in the salmon-tinged sky, the South African heat was baking me alive in my tuxedo and I squirmed on the Town Car's hot leather seats. I was having second thoughts about going to her book signing party. It was the fresh start I needed, a chance to get back what he stole, but my initial desire scared me a little.
"Yes," she whispered, nodding like a bobble head as the house slipped into view. I jerked the car to a stop.
Eva's white wooden home suddenly disappeared in a bright flash. I closed my eyes against the African sun--a trickster and master of illusions. When I opened them, there the mansion stood larger than before, rising out of the mountains behind it.
Caroline gasped, her face aglow. "Oh, Jeffrey. It's more beautiful than I thought. Wouldn't you just die to live here?"
2
A crowd gathered on her lawn. People were curious about Eva van Hollinsworth--Caroline's wealthy, mysterious half-sister, our hostess--who proclaimed in a book she had written that she could make the sky rain, turn lead into gold, and control the spirits roaming the Earth. She called herself a parapsychologist. We were there for her book signing party, but neither one of us had been invited. I obtained the invitation through my father, Eva's solicitor. He was probably on the other side of the world by now, hiding from the clients from whom he had stolen.
The mansion belonged solely to Eva, who inherited it six months ago at age twenty one from her mother--a multi-billionaire. Eva's mother died in childbirth when she was thirty five years old, and left a will. In her will, she left her fortune to Eva and stipulated that to inherit, Eva had to be raised in the house. "We don't live there," Caroline had explained to me, "because when our Daddy married my mother and Daddy brought my mother to live there, the front gates wouldn't open for them. Daddy said that Eva, who was only three at the time, stood on the other side watching her nannies, Mena and Guert, practically pull their arms from their sockets trying to open it. Mother says the house is haunted, and hasn't ever stepped foot on the property." And that was about nineteen years ago. Nineteen years old and this was the first time Caroline had been to the house. "Daddy has to spend time at both homes. He says he hates the house too, and to be honest, whenever he comes back from his visits, he's aged. His hair is greyer, his eyes have sunken and his back stoops a little more. He'd be angry if he knew I was here."
"Won't he be here?" I asked.
"Oh, crap," Caroline said, her eyes widening. "I guess he will. He never said he wouldn't, just told me I couldn't come." Caroline gave a little smirk and said, "But she's famous, now, with this book. I couldn't not come. I have to be here." She leaned in to me and said, "I mean, look at all these strange people."
Eva's book was a sensation amoungst those who talked seriously about the supernatural, including my girlfriend. Apparently, some believed the nonsense worked. Caroline was one of those who believed in such garbage. She considered herself to be "sensitive" and even counted on her superstitious housekeeper for advice. Caroline proudly owned a copy of Eva's book, though I had yet to read it.
Eva and Caroline's father stood inside the house. I saw him peeking out at Caroline and me through a parted window curtain. Caroline was too entranced by the house to see him and the house was about to steal my attention away.
That night, the exchange between Edward and Eva was unknown to me. But due to the time continuum which occurs within her gates, the whole scene, from April 1, 1999 to now--it's
September, or October, isn't it?--replays in my mind, and I am an omniscient voyeur as I recount all the past events that have led up to now.
3--EDWARD
Edward's eldest daughter kept the house sealed tighter than a crypt, and the heat settled in the dim foyer, suffocating him. He coughed, mopped his head with his sleeve's yellowed cuff and tugged at his suit's jacket collar.
"Eva," Edward called, his voice echoing up the open staircase. "People are arriving. I hear cars." Edward jumped, caught off guard by her sudden appearance from behind. Turning to face her, he raised the corner of his lip in disgust. Her face had worsened overnight. The angry blisters and spidery blood vessels on her nose and cheeks had spread, trailing down her neck. An ulcer broke out on her swollen bottom lip.
"We should be outside," Edward said, taking a step towards the front door. He had no real intention of greeting any of them and didn't want them there.
She nodded at the window in the foyer, draped ceiling to floor in heavy damask. "The sun, Edward."
Edward pulled the fabric aside, fumbling with its bulk, and aligned his frail body within the crack. Outside, the sun glared just over the horizon. The trees and grass had already changed colour and other false signs of life turned the gardens from a dead wasteland into an oasis. April's arrival to Llandudno brought longer days and so her wait for the sun to take its final bow behind the Table Top Mountains would be longer. Minutes, by his estimate.
A Bugatti, Venturi, and Mercedes trailed up the private road to their house, depositing monotonous guests on the front yard. Men handed their keys to Phred who drove the cars out of the circular drive, parking them up and over the grassy koppie. Stone-faced and dressed in black and white attire, he couldn't tell one couple from another as they gathered like zebras on the lawn. Edward and Eva hadn't seen any of these people in years and that suited Edward just fine.
Edward wasn't the only one who didn't want anyone within spitting distance of the property; Guert, Mena and Phred were as guarded as Edward. Eva had told him to mail the invitations, so he did--without postage. He knew she was aware of that fact.
Eva deciphered the slightest change in expression with ease. Her supernatural abilities allowed her to read what people unknowingly wore on their foreheads, in between their eyes and around their mouths. She knew a lie when she heard one. Voices gave away everything, she had once said, and emotions echoed behind each word.
They had spent the last fifty-six years together--Edward with Eva as both wife and daughter--living within the same walls, the same confines. He had been a good husband to his wife and a good father to his daughter, did the best he could despite his growing fear of the moment when he no longer served her purpose. Her genetic, rapid disease had been passed from mother to daughter. The disease ticked and the guests outside tocked like timepieces wound tight, anxious to deliver that moment.
"You're shaking a can of nitro with this book of yours," Edward said. "Now they know you. Trespassers. What if they try to pick the flowers?"
"We've talked about this," she said, matter of fact.
He expected no more on the subject from her. Events would play out in her favour. One hand scrunched the damask curtain. The other pressed against the dim glass, leaving a shaded impression on the UV film. The temptation to rip it all down, to expose her, pulsated in his palms as they opened and closed.
He turned to the sound of scratching sandpaper. She was at it again; dress yanked over her shoulder, fingernails ripping into the raised freckles and crusted scabs. "You're bleeding. If he's the one--and he sees you like this, he'll be disgusted."
The ends of her mouth rose into a thin smile and her stretched lip threatened to pop that ugly ulcer. "He won't see me like this," she said. "And if it is him, I'll know. I've searched my whole life for him. I'd know him anywhere, in anyone."
"You didn't see him in me?" Edward sadly asked. He had asked her this once before and she never answered. Her response this time was the same. Edward knew she did not--he could tell by the way she always looked through him.
Gravel crunched outside. Edward peered out the window once more. A young couple sat in a black Town Car, staring at the house with their mouths agape. "Damn," Edward whispered, recognizing Caroline in the passenger seat. He had told her not to come, but she came with Jeffrey, and although Edward had already met him, he had never imagined that this young man would possibly play any role in his first daughter's life. But now, looking at those two young people, Edward knew that Jeffrey was the one.
"He's here," Edward said.
4--JEFFREY
"Is this house growing?" I asked as the steep roof lengthened, black and ominous, whilst its shadow reached towards our car. Tall, darkened windows aligned on all three levels. A curved gable and a raised stoep gave the Cape Dutch house its architectural stamp.
Lights went on inside the house and all the windows were illuminated in a golden yellow. The hum in my ears settled into a dull throb in the back of my skull. I watched from where I stood in the driveway, waiting for the sides of the house to continue spreading, the rooftop to stretch more. When they didn't, I smiled and shook my wild imagination out of my head.
Her house overlooked the Atlantic, but in which direction? Listening for crashing waves, I heard only voices carrying in the foreground. We'd seen her house from the water when Caroline pointed it out one day as we sailed past, and it reminded me of the lonely boarding school I'd been shipped off to in Switzerland when I was eight, right after my mother died. That small, unattractive structure she and I had seen from the boat looked nothing like the sprawling mansion before me.
Caroline spun full circle, taking in as much as she could in one rotation. "Look at it all. Spectacular."
The stoep ran the length of the house and the yellow Proteas waving in the breeze made no attempt to hide the carvings on the stone foundation upon which it sat. Yes, I agreed with Caroline, it was beautiful.
I caught a guest's smiling, carefree face and wished that face could be mine. He was moneyed, I could tell, by the gold signet ring on his pinky and the finely stitched suit; for the first time in my life, I was living paycheck to paycheck.
None of the people gathered on the furnished stoep, their heads together in conversation, looked familiar. Counting on seeing a welcoming face or two, I felt a stirring of those old boarding school insecurities. I was jealous of those people on the stoep. They looked like they knew one another and were part of one big clique. Maybe it was a mistake, accepting the invitation on my father's behalf, since he'd stolen from Eva, too.
I rubbed my jaw line and exhaled. Gads. Why did my father screw up my life? I wanted it all back, and I wasn't about to waste another minute thinking about what I should be doing. Pushing my apprehension aside, I said, "Let's walk around and get into the party spirit."
A jewel encrusted wine glass was pushed into my hand. I only saw the back of the uniformed server's head as she walked away with her tray; a tight ponytail gathered thinning black hair and a wide part ran down the middle of her crown, exposing her scalp. Draped from neck to ankle in a black dress with a stiff white collar, she spun in a figure S around the torch lit property, sneaking drinks into guests' open hands.
I looked around to see what others were drinking, the cocktail du jour. Caroline sipped from hers, encouraging me. Better not be poison, I thought, or some funky magik potion that'll have me planted on the commode for the rest of the night. It had a hint of repugnance, yet at the same time, made my mouth water. I sipped the red cocktail, the first taste sweet, then bitter. The thick liquid clung to the insides of the glass and to the insides of my throat. Swallowing twice to get the awful stuff down, I looked for an opportunity to toss the remaining contents on the grass.
Caroline made a wry face and ditched hers on the next passing table. I tried another taste. Not so bad after all, and told Caroline so. In fact, it felt pretty good in my stomach. All of me felt good. Not drugged or loopy, just better. My jaw didn't hurt anymore and my heada
che was gone. I lapped at the insides of the empty glass.
"Do you see her?" Caroline asked. She tossed her head, scanning the yard.
"I've never met Eva," I replied.
"But I thought--"
"She never came to the office," I said, shaking my head.
"Look for a tall woman," Caroline said, "and Daddy says she's beautiful."
"But not as beautiful as you," I said, kissing the tip of her nose. "You have no reason to be jealous."
Caroline reddened and I thought it endearing that I could make her blush with a compliment. "You would be jealous, too," she said, "if you had an older, richer, sibling who was a mystery, one you had to share your father's affections with." Caroline checked her Rolex. "This can't be right," she said. "I didn't think these things ever stopped." She popped the dial screw with a fingernail. "What time do you have?"
I checked my empty wrist. "I forgot mine."
"You did? Oh," she whined, "I was going to bring Eva's new book." She sighed. "Now I can't get it signed."
Leaning into her ear, I said, "I don't see anyone else lugging that big book."
"Well," she said, "she might have copies inside. Look there." She used her small red purse as a pointer. "That bare spot with the chairs set up around it? I think that's where Eva will perform tonight. I read that she levitates during her out-of-body. C'mon," Caroline said, "I should introduce you to her. I wonder if she's going to hide from her own guests."
5
I stepped back as she neared. Head and shoulders above the tallest man there, she moved with the grace and class that would elude any woman of such stature.
"Meet my daughter, Eva," croaked an old man's voice.
Her green irises swallowed up her pupils and whites as they bled together into a bright green pool. I tried to look away. She tilted her chin and her stare went through my insides, all the way down to my falling gut. I knew her. But from where?
Eva blinked, releasing me, and I had a sudden urge to cough. Clearing my throat, I swallowed, refocusing on her eyes. The clear whites and black pupils emphasized the green. That's what I had seen--the contrast.
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