by Dara Girard
However, Robbie and Faye were clever enough to shy away from too much publicity. They didn’t want too many questions about who ‘Epic’ was or where she came from. They made sure most of their clients were from the immigrant communities and kept their business mostly underground and by word of mouth.
They didn’t let her be with anyone alone. Although they weren’t in the room when she did a reading, they watched her on camera from another room. Even when she was outside they weren’t far away; she could always feel their eagle eyes on her. Once they’d treated her to a strawberry ice lolly and as she sat on a bench and finished it, she saw a chocolate Labrador on a lead wearing a sparkly hat and bandanna. She smiled at the sight, until she saw her own reflection in a shop mirror and saw the clothes they’d chosen for her to wear. She was their pet— their goose that laid the golden egg, their cash cow.
But deep down she still felt that one day she would be free. The dream from when she was young still came to her every few years. The dream of being powerful, richer than her father, and her sisters trembling in awe. It seemed impossible…but the dream wouldn’t die and she lived in quiet isolation under the control of Robbie and Faye for four years until she met a customer who would unsettle them all.
22
Something about him scared her. Brooding, dark energy radiated from him.
He was a strong presence, with a lot of dormant power. He couldn’t be called a handsome man, he had skin the color of maple with eyes that were too penetrating, and a jaw so angular it looked as if it could cut steel. He was the kind of man who looked like he’d never been young, although she knew he couldn’t be more than thirty. He moved in a restless manner that made it clear he didn’t want to be there in the dimly lit room, surrounded by velvet drapes that covered the large windows and multi-colored candles placed at various heights around the room. He looked as if he’d just come from a business meeting, wearing dark trousers, a crisp blue shirt, a darker blue tie and black jacket.
Catherine sat across the circular table from him and wondered how anyone had been able to convince him to come. He looked like a man of his own mind and not easily persuaded to do what he didn’t want to. Perhaps he was doing this for the sake of his friend’s mother; she knew he was a referral. Or he was desperate enough to seek help wherever he could. She dared to meet his eyes again, briefly, and saw the light flare of anger and despair in his dark brown eyes. Yes, this was a man haunted by dreams.
He held out his palms. She blinked at their size. Although he was a tall man, somehow she hadn’t expected his hands to be so large.
“What are you doing?” she asked, resisting the urge to lean back, although his large hands somehow called her to touch them.
“Isn’t this what you do?” he asked.
Even his voice was dark with a raw gritty quality. “No,” she said. “I don’t read palms. I read dreams. Just tell me about it.”
He sighed, resting his hands on the table with classic American impatience, which matched his tone. “Is there really a need? I don’t believe in visions or dreams or...”
“Den why are you here?”
He lifted a brow, bored. “Does it matter? You’ll get your payment whether I believe in you or not.”
“I want to help you.”
“No one can help me.” He sighed again. “I’m disappointed.”
“Disappointed?”
“I’d always wanted my palms read.”
She wasn’t sure if he was teasing or not. He didn’t look like the kind of man to have a sense of humor. “How about dis? I pretend to read your palm, you tell me your dream.”
“I have more than one.”
“Tell me de most recent.”
“Okay.” He held out his hand.
Catherine took a deep breath then pulled his hand towards her, letting it rest in hers, his palm facing up. A shock of awareness coursed through her. His palm was so hot, she’d never felt this before and had to steel herself so that she would not pull away. Perhaps because she hadn’t touched someone else in so long she’d become extra sensitive. She swallowed and took a deep breath, then lifted her gaze, ready for him to speak. Her words died on her lips when she found him studying her.
“What?” she asked, her heart starting to race.
He blinked then lowered his gaze. “Nothing.”
“Go on,” she said trailing a finger along a line in his palm with her other hand.
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. Take your time.”
A shadow of a smile touched his mouth. “Because time is money?”
He was in the mood for a fight and she didn’t plan to give him one. She was used to those clients who were skeptical. She’d learned not to be provoked. Her past years had taught her a lot about how to handle people. “Close your eyes and relax and let the memory of the dream come to you.”
A shadow of a smile touched his mouth. “Do I have to close my eyes?”
“Yes.”
“Even though you’re supposed to be reading my palm?”
“I’ll read your palm, if you close your eyes.”
He held her gaze for a long moment before he nodded and shut them.
Catherine swallowed, relieved to no longer be locked under his scrutinizing gaze, feeling as if she’d been released from a spell. “Now what do you remember?” she asked tracing a line in his palm.
“I’m climbing a white mountain.”
“What is it made of?”
“How did you—?”
“Just tell me.”
“It’s made of sugar.”
“Is it a steep climb?”
“Yes, very and I never reach the top.”
“How do you know it’s sugar?”
“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “I just do and it’s not a cold place. I need to get to the top, but no matter what I try, I can’t...”
“You’re not meant to reach the top. You’re resisting a change dat is about to happen. You will keep climbing mountains until you accept this change. But it is hard for you. You’re not a man who adapts to change well. You like permanency.”
“Why sugar?”
“I don’t know, what does sugar mean to you? It’s your own private message.”
“Hmm…”
“You don’t believe me.”
“No, that’s what bothers me.” He opened his eyes and studied her. “I do.”
She didn’t expect to see him again. Part of her didn’t want to, was afraid to. He was such an oddly compelling man. But she’d learned not to trust people. Everyone had a hidden agenda. At twenty she was annoyed that she’d even noticed his looks, or the confident swagger of his gait. He was just another customer—or punter as Robbie liked to call them—that paid the bills and kept her bound to them.
She hadn’t told him anything special and imagined him flying back to the States with a novelty tale to tell his friends.
But to her surprise, he returned a week later, this time casually dressed in jeans and a yellow T-shirt that had the word ‘Aruba’ in red printed across it.
“Why do you wear a mask?” he asked, after she’d interpreted another dream.
“Because I don’t wish to be known.”
He closed his hand over hers. “Tell me your name.”
She froze. “Epic.”
“Your real name. You know what my name is.”
Yes, she did. Tytus Carter. He’d been insistent in letting her know his name as if it was to mean something to her. She quickly surveyed his size, assessing what she would need to do in case he decided not to let her hand go. “You didn’t have to tell me. Most customers prefer not to.”
“I wanted you to know.” He rested his chin in his other hand and looked at her as if they were at a pub and she was a pretty girl he planned to get to know better. “So tell me yours.”
She didn’t know what to do, his manner wasn’t aggressive so she didn’t feel frightened, but she knew his behavior wasn’t acceptable. �
��I don’t have a name,” Catherine said, careful not to glance at one of the hidden cameras. She knew Robbie and Faye could see her, but there was no sound so they couldn’t hear what they were saying.
“You must have a name.”
“There’s no reason for you to know it,” Catherine said, wondering the best way to handle the situation. She’d had other male customers hint at wanting more, but they were more to the point. His interest disappointed her, she’d thought he was different. “Let me go.”
He glanced down surprised. “I’m sorry,” he said, quickly releasing her hand. “I don’t usually act this way. I’m not…I mean…” He sighed, then shook his head. “Is it so strange for me to want to know more about you?”
Yes. “Dere’s nothing to know. I am here to serve you, dat is all.”
“A slave to my wishes?”
She inwardly winced at his choice of words. “If you like.”
“Then I wish—”
“This is not a game—”
“I know,” he said, his gritty voice deepening with feeling, his eyes boring into hers. “There’s something about you that’s…I don’t know…amazing.”
He sounded sincere, which startled her and kept her spellbound. She knew she should make a sign to the camera to end the session. “There’s nothing amazing about me.”
“I slept through the night. The first time in weeks because of you.”
Yes, he did look brighter than he had last time. I’m glad. “I did nothing.”
“Do you like doing this?”
I don’t have a choice. “Yes.”
“I want to see you again.”
“You can make an appointment.”
“Outside of this,” he said, glancing around the room.
“Dat is not possible.”
“Why not?”
Robbie came into the room. “Your time is up.”
Tytus reached for his wallet. “I don’t mind paying for another session.”
“We’ll schedule it for another time.”
He slowly stood, when he did he was nearly a foot taller than Robbie. “What if I want to extend my time now?”
“We have other customers.”
“The waiting room is empty. I made sure to be the last one.”
“She’s tired.”
Catherine watched the two men with growing concern. Tytus was going to cause trouble and she couldn’t afford that. “Another time,” she said.
He shot her a look. “I just want five more minutes.” He handed Robbie a wad of notes then pushed him out the door and held it closed.
Catherine shot to her feet. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
He leaned against the door. “Are you afraid of him?”
Not afraid, just trapped. I have nowhere else to go and I can’t trust you yet. I can’t trust anyone. There are so many people with nice faces hiding cold hearts. “No, I told you. I like it.”
“Just give me a name.”
Why did Americans have to be so pushy? “No.”
He folded his arms, widening his shoulders and making the room feel small. “Something doesn’t feel right about all this.”
She took a step towards him then halted. “You should go.”
“You’re frightened of something.”
“I’m frightened of you.”
He stared at her for a long moment then lowered his gaze and said, “Fair enough. I’ll try to be less frightening next time.” He opened the door and Robbie stumbled inside. “Bye,” Tytus said before he left.
Faye came into the room. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” It was a silly question considering they monitored and watched every interaction she had with costumers.
“We have to move,” Robbie said later than night after they’d eaten leftover Chinese, the cartons still scattered on the table. “We can’t have him asking questions.” They hastily packed their belongs and ushered her into their car.
Catherine’s heart raced. Part of her was glad to leave Tytus’s penetrating, keen gaze, but he’d also been a chance of escape. He was American and Robbie and Faye had mentioned that his referral also had a lot of money. But she’d only met him twice and couldn’t trust him. He could trick her as Robbie had. If he knew she was helpless, he could use it to his advantage.
She’d never see him again. The one person she’d been allowed to touch in a long time, the one person who’d made her feel human again, if only briefly.
23
“What do you mean they’re gone?” Tytus said unable to believe the words of the building manager, a woman who looked like she could hide the Titanic in her cleavage.
She looked at him bored as she sat behind her desk, chewing gum. “Just up and left, they did.”
“And they didn’t say where they were going?”
“Nope, left a lot of unhappy people, and they always paid on time, pity.”
“They didn’t say why?”
“It’s not my place to ask, love, but they must have had their reasons.”
Tytus felt as if someone had punched him. He’d finally met someone interesting, someone who seemed to understand him like no one else and she was gone. He didn’t even have a name. Hell, he didn’t know anything about her except her eyes and the shape of her fingers and the soothing voice she had. He swore. She was right. He hated change. He hated thinking that he’d never see her again, but he had to realize that was a distinct possibility.
“Just forget her,” his friend Arthur said when Tytus returned to the car. He blew into a tissue, his eyes and nose red—from allergies, he liked to say, but Tytus knew his friend was still trying to get over a bad breakup and the sight of garden window boxes always reminded him of his ex-girlfriend. Unfortunately the building had several.
Tytus jumped into the passenger seat and slammed the door. “You think I haven’t tried?” If only it could be that easy. From the first day she’d haunted his thoughts and he didn’t know why. Female company had never been a problem, but just as she helped him, he felt that he could help her. Help her? Why did he think that? Her eyes spoke volumes, answering questions he hadn’t asked. She had an accent he couldn’t quite place. Not that he had much chance to listen. She didn’t talk more than she needed to. Most women he knew could hold a conversation on their own. He didn’t think she was happy. He didn’t feel she was safe, but he didn’t know why. Maybe that was her con. But the interpreted dreams were real. Or did he just want them to be real? It was a stupid infatuation. He’d allowed himself to be suckered.
“I need a drink.”
“That’s the ticket, mate. You’re paying, right?”
Tytus put on his seatbelt. “Don’t I always?”
“Just making sure,” Arthur said putting the car into gear.
Tytus rested his head back and closed his eyes. He’d forget her with a nice pint or two.
A month passed before Catherine felt she could forget the touch of Tytus’s hand and his insistent questions. It was two months before she pushed his face from her mind. After four months Catherine felt confident that a customer would never rattle her again as much as Tytus Carter had, but that was before her past walked into the room.
24
The young black woman in the expensive suede jacket and pixie hair cut offered her a shy smile as she sat. She spoke, but Catherine could hardly hear her over the sound of her pounding heart. She had the advantage because she wore a mask, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t sure she could get over the shock of seeing Marie again.
What was she doing in England? What was she doing here in this nondescript side street building? Did anyone else know she was here? Catherine didn’t know if she should rip off her mask and say, ‘It’s me!’ and embrace her or stay still and wait to hear what she had to say. She didn’t want to put her stepsister in danger since she knew they were being monitored. If Robbie and Faye saw Marie as a threat, as a way they may lose their cash cow, there was no way to know how they would react.
Catherine swallowed, begging her heart to return to normal. She would proceed with caution. She would hear what Marie had to say and then find a way to give her a message or a signal. Once she made her decision, she took the time to give her stepsister a more assessing look. Marie didn’t appear as Catherine would have imagined her. Although she was only twenty-five, she had dark circles under her eyes and a miserable countenance. The faint smell of smoke and liquor clung to her coat. There were so many things Catherine wanted to ask her, but she would wait. Captivity had taught her to be patient.
“How can I help?” Catherine asked, hardly recognizing her own voice when she finally managed to speak.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Marie said, flashing another shy grin. “I haven’t believed in this stuff since…”
“Since…” Catherine repeated, urging her to continue when she fell silent.
She shook her head. “A long time ago.”
“You’re not British.”
“No.”
“Are you here on holiday?” With your family she wanted to add, but knew she’d already asked enough questions.
“An internship, but I have been to England before. My stepfather had a place in the city.”
“Had?”
“Yes, sadly he passed away.”
Catherine’s heart constricted with such force she feared it would stop. She couldn’t breathe as misery so acute gripped her, causing her to think she was going to suffocate and pass out right there. The world grew hazy—expanding and constricting as if she’d inhaled a drug. Daddy was dead? Dead? She’d never see him again?
She fought back tears. “I’m sorry,” she said in a near whisper, afraid if she spoke any louder Marie would hear the pain in her voice.
