Casteel 02 Dark Angel

by V. C. Andrews

  Please."

  "I already have!" I screamed, sitting up to hurl a

  pillow at the door where he stood. "Does he know?

  Have you told him that you could be my father?" I saw the shiver that ran down Tony's body. "I

  could not bring myself to tell him. He respects me,

  admires me, loves me. He has always been the best

  thing in my life, despite all the trouble he was. I am

  begging you, on my knees, to find some other reason

  for breaking your engagement. He will hate me if he

  knows the truth. And will I be able to blame him?

  You could have saved him . . and I am responsible for

  taking you from him. I only hope and pray you can

  find the right words, for I cannot."

  An hour passed during which my tears

  evaporated. An hour in which I bathed my face and

  eyes with ice water, and very carefully I applied

  makeup. Then, with no real words stashed in my brain to help him survive without me, I slipped through the maze. I knocked on Troy's blue door. There was no response, just as Tony had warned me there would be

  none.

  It was late now, about ten. There had never

  been a more glorious evening. Birds snuggling down

  for the night chirped and cheeped sleepily. Hundreds

  of rose bushes wafted sweet perfume to tickle my

  nostrils. Primroses and pansies glimmered beside his

  blue door. Gardenia bushes waxed brightly in the

  moonlight, their blossoms huge and almost blue. The

  air was as soft as a lover's kiss, and he was inside,

  shut away.

  "Troy," I called as I opened his door and

  hesitated on the threshold. "It's Heaven. I'm back. I'm

  so sorry I fell ill and couldn't return on the day I

  promised . ."

  There was no response. There was no scent of

  bread baking in the oven, or bread that had recently

  been baked. The cottage was too still, too orderly,

  frightening.

  I ran to his bedroom, throwing open the door.

  He lay on the bed, with his head turned toward the

  open window. Soft breezes fanned out his curtains,

  almost brushing a vase full of roses from a table. "Troy," I said again, moving closer to the bed.

  "Please look-my way. Please say you forgive me for

  not keeping my word; I wanted to, desperately wanted

  to."

  Still he didn't look my way. I drew closer, then

  moved onto the bed, and gently turned his head my

  way. The moonlight through the windows showed me

  his glassy eyes, his blank stare. He was a million

  miles. away, snared in some horrible dream. I knew

  that, just knew that!

  My lips pressed down softly on his. I murmured

  his name over and over. "Come back to me, Troy,

  please, please. You are not alone. I love you. I will

  always love you."

  Over and over I called him back, until at last

  the glassiness in his eyes departed, and slowly they

  came into focus. Delirious and happy delight took

  away the stare, even as his fingers reached to trail

  over my face. "You did come back . . . oh, Heaven, I

  was so terrified you wouldn't. I had a weird feeling

  you went to that Logan Stonewall again, and

  discovered you love him, and not me."

  "You, only you!" I cried passionately, raining

  kisses all over his chilled, pale face. "I had the flu,

  darling. I ran a high fever for days and days. The telephones were down, the bridges were out, and the roads were flooded. I returned to you as soon as I

  could."

  His smile was thin and weak. "I knew I was

  being silly to allow myself to become so depressed. I

  knew you would come back, subconsciously I knew

  that . . ."

  I snuggled into his embrace and felt his hands

  slip into my hair. My face pressed down against his

  chest. I heard his heart beating slowly, so slowly--

  how fast was a normal heart supposed to beat? "I don't

  want a big wedding, Troy. I've changed my mind

  about that. We'll slip away from Farthinggale Manor

  and have a small private ceremony."

  He held me tightly against him, stroking my

  hair, putting small kisses on the top of my head. "I'm

  so tired, Heaven, so tired. I thought you wanted a

  large wedding."

  "No, I want only you."

  "Tony has to be at the wedding," he whispered

  with his lips brushing my forehead. "It wouldn't be

  real without him. He was like my father . . ." "Whatever you want," I mumbled, holding his

  frail body closer. How thin he'd become. "You are

  totally recovered from your pneumonia, aren't you?" "As recovered as I ever am from any disease." "You'll never be sick again! Not when you have

  me to take care of you!"

  All through the night he held me, and I held

  him. We talked of our dreams, our life together, and

  for the life of me it all seemed like smoke spiraling

  out the windows and fading into the night. How could

  I marry him now? How could I not marry him, no

  matter what our relationship?

  Toward dawn, I brought up the portrait doll of

  my mother again. Did he know if Tony had made the

  model? Did at one point in time Tony feel more than a

  stepfather toward her?

  His dark eyes clouded. "No! Not in a million

  years! Heaven, Tony could have any woman he

  wanted! He was madly in love with Jillian! There

  wasn't a woman around who didn't make a play for

  him . . . why since the time he grew his first beard,

  he's never had to chase any woman. They chased

  him."

  I knew as I lay in the circle of his arms that he'd

  never admit to himself that Tony used women, and

  had used Jillian in his own thoughtless way, to

  provide his younger brother with a mother and a sister

  while he went his own merry way chasing every skirt in town, and all over Europe. Tears were in my eyes as I turned to embrace him before I returned to the big house. "I'm sorry to be so suspicious. I love you, love you, love you--and I'll be back as soon as I catch up

  on some sleep. Don't go away, promise?"

  He sat up, clinging to both of my hands. "Have

  lunch with me, darling, about one."

  I thought I could return to my bed and sleep the

  sleep of the deeply justified, but I tossed and turned,

  and finally ended up at the dining table downstairs

  where Tony was already ensconced, eating one slice

  of honeydew melon after another. He began to ply me

  with questions immediately. Had I seen Troy? Had I

  broken our engagement? What had been his reaction?

  What had been my explanation? I had been kind,

  considerate, caring, hadn't I?

  "I said as little as possible about you." My

  voice was cold, hostile. I hated him every bit as much

  as I hated Pa. "Out of consideration for Troy, I

  covered for you, though if Troy wasn't so sensitive, I

  would have let him know exactly what kind of man

  his beloved brother is, and was."

  "What reason did you give him?"

  "I gave him none. We are still engaged. I don't

  know how to destroy him, Tony, I just can't do it!" "I can see you are building a tower of ha
te for

  me. Maybe you are right to wait a few weeks before

  you tell him you've found out you are still in love with

  that young man of yours. Logan, isn't that his name?

  Troy will get over you. I'll be here to support him. I'll

  see to it that he recovers. And the best way to do that

  is through work. Once Troy accepts the fact that you

  love someone else and won't be marrying him, he'll

  make substitutes for your love. I'll do what I can to

  see he finds another girl he wants to marry." It hurt so much to hear him say those things that

  I wanted to bay at the sun like a wolf did at the moon,

  like Sarah had once done when her last baby died. In

  my chest was a living pain. And beside me was the

  man who had started everything. "What a detestable

  person you are, Tony Tatterton! By God, if I knew it

  wouldn't hurt Troy, I would tell him exactly what you

  did to my mother! And he'd hate you! You would lose

  the one person who is most valuable to you!" He threw me a pitiful look. "Please . . .

  remember, you would destroy him. Troy lives on faith

  and belief. He isn't like you or me, able to survive no

  matter what the circumstances."

  "Don't ever compare me to yourself again!" I

  yelled.

  He didn't respond, only reached for another

  melon to slice.

  "Promise, Heaven, promise to say nothing to

  Jill about any of this."

  I got up and stalked by Tony's chair without

  promising anything.

  "All right!" Tony yelled, abruptly out of

  patience, jumping up and seizing my arm and

  whipping me about so I saw his usually pleasant and

  handsome face turned monstrous with anger. "Go

  back to Troy! Go on! Destroy him! And when you're

  done with him, run to Jill and destroy her! And when

  you've finished off everyone in Farthy, run to your

  father and ruin his life! Ruin Tom's and Fanny's, and

  don't leave out Our Jane and Keith! You want

  revenge, Heaven Leigh Casteel! I see it in your eyes,

  those incredible blue eyes that speak of a devil inside

  more than they speak of an angel!"

  I slung my balled fist at him blindly, striking

  nothing as he released me so suddenly I fell off

  balance to the floor. Quickly I scrambled to my feet,

  to spurt ahead so fast he wasn't able to say another

  word before I was running up the stairs to the safety

  of my bed again. My crying place.

  At one o'clock I was again in the cottage, and this time Troy was out of bed, looking a bit stronger as he smiled at me. "Come," he said, beckoning, "I want you to see this train set-up that has just been

  finished, and then we'll eat."

  What he had to show me filled one huge corner

  of his workshop. It was a tiny stage-set with soft

  lights glowing, and hidden spots lit up the sets, and

  miniature trains picked up passengers and let them

  off, only to pick them up again, repeatedly taking

  them around mountains steep and dangerous; I

  thought, as I watched the tiny Orient Express

  chuggity-chug, chuggity-chug, starting slowly,

  gaining speed, forever climbing, forever taking risks,

  daring everything only to reach the heights, only to

  descend much more quickly than it had ascended, that

  Troy was trying to tell me something through his tiny

  trains.

  What was it that Troy tried to say with these

  three little trains that wove such intricate paths

  through different territory, yet always reached the

  same destination? Didn't the whole human race ride

  trains throughout life, reaching highs, sinking to lows,

  riding the plateau between extremities more often than

  they soared or fell. I chewed thoughtfully on my

  lower lip, pressed my forehead with my fingertips . . and stared at a little girl who had been added to the passengers. A dark-haired little girl wearing a blue coat with matching blue shoes. She was enough like me to cause me to smile. For the trains that apparently led nowhere still gave the passengers thrills. The little girl didn't get off the train at the destination, only an old woman wearing another blue coat with matching blue shoes. And eagerly I went back to the train depot, and saw again the little girl in her blue coat boarding

  another train . . .

  Oh, but he was good at this toy making, giving

  it meaning, imparting without words his beliefs, and

  as I turned away from the trains, I felt the familiar

  fascination gather me into its arms. "Troy, Troy!" I

  called. "Where are you? We have a thousand plans to

  make!"

  He was seated on one of the window seats

  again, his long legs pulled up, his skilled and graceful

  hands loosely locked below his knees--and all the

  windows were wide open and the cold, damp wind

  swept through his bedroom!

  Alarmed, I ran to pull at his arm, trying to bring

  him out of the nowhere he had lost himself in. "Troy!

  Troy!" I yelled, shaking him, and still he gazed

  straight ahead without blinking. Even as I shook him, the wind gusted in so strong it blew a table lamp to the floor. I had to use all my strength to pull the windows down, and when I had them all closed, I ran to gather up blankets which I swatched about Troy's

  shoulders and legs; still he had not moved nor spoken. His face was pale and cold when I touched him,

  but soft, and that made me cry out in relief. He wasn't

  dead. Yet the pulse when I felt for it was so faint I

  hurried to his telephone and dialed Farthy. Over and

  over again the telephone rang and no one answered! I

  didn't know what kind of doctor I could call directly.

  My fingers trembling, I picked up Troy's Yellow

  Pages and was thumbing through them when I heard

  him sneeze.

  "Troy!" I cried, hurrying to his side. "What are

  you doing, trying to kill yourself?"

  His eyes were unfocused and blurry, his voice

  weak when he spoke my name. When he could see

  me, he seized me as a drowning man reaches for

  anything, and I was pulled hard against him so his

  face could bury deep into my hair. "You came back.

  Oh, God, I thought you'd never come back!" "Of course I came back." Kisses I rained on his

  face. "Troy, I stayed here with you last night, don't

  you remember?" More kisses on his face, on his hands. "Didn't I tell you I'd returned so we could marry?" I stroked his arms, his back, smoothed down his wild hair. "I'm sorry I came back late, but I'm here now. We'll marry and build our own traditions, make every day a holiday . . ." And I stopped talking

  because he wasn't really listening.

  The chilly room brought on fresh assaults of

  sneezes, from both of us, then I was drawing him to

  the bed, so we could both snuggle under mounds of

  covers and wait for our shivering to end. Even as we

  lay there, wrapped tightly in each other's arms, the

  many clocks began all those subtle grinds and movements that would tell the chimes to toll.

  Some errant wind managed to come in and

  tinkle the crystal prisms of his dinette chandelier. "It's all right, darling, darling," I crooned,

  smoothing his dark, rumpled hair. "I came upon you

  just now during one of your . . what do I c
all them?

  Trances, would that be the right word?"

  His arms tightened so much my ribs began to

  ache dully. "Heaven," he breathed; "thank God you

  are here. His voice broke and he sobbed, gently

  pushing me from him. "However much I am grateful,

  I can't pretend any longer that I can live with you. Or

  marry you. Your absence gave me the chance to think over what we were doing; your presence deludes me into thinking I'm a normal man, with normal expectations. But I'm not, I am not! I'll never be! I'm warped and unable to change. I didn't think you'd come back, once you got out into the real world and discovered you'd been asleep. This isn't a real house,

  Heaven.

  Not one lived in by real people. We're all fakes,

  Heaven, Tony, Jillian, me; even the servants learn the

  rules and play the game."

  An ache that had begun when I entered

  thickened and grew. "What rules, Troy? What game?" Laughing in a way that chilled my blood, he

  rolled over, holding me still, rolled again and again

  until we fell to the floor, and he ripped off my clothes

  wildly, and his warm kisses soon turned hot. "I hope

  we both made a baby," he cried when it was over, and

  he turned away and began to pick up the pieces of my

  torn garments. "I hope I didn't hurt you. I never want

  to hurt you. But I'd like to leave behind something

  real, made of my flesh and blood." Then, crushing me

  to him, he began to sob--deep, harsh, terrible sobs. I held him, caressed him, kissed him a thousand

  times before we both fell onto the bed and covered

  ourselves from the harsh cold.

  As I lay there beside him and heard him choke

  back his sobs and Whatever anguish he suffered, I

  realized Troy was far too complex for me ever to

  understand. I'd just love him as he was, and maybe

  one day when he woke up from a dreamless sleep he'd

  smile before dawn and throughout the day thoughts of

  dying young would be forgotten.

  And I slept. From time to time I woke up

  slightly, enough to feel air moving around me.

  Enough to feel warm arms embracing me.

  Then it was another day, and I was in my own

  room and there was a note on my night table. A short

  note from Troy.

  I didn't like notes. I'd not known one yet that

  came unposted that hadn't brought sad news. .

  My own true love,

  You found me in the wind last night, just