by Janean Worth
She shuffled to the kitchen, set the Keurig to brewing a large cup of extra bold roast, and then shuffled into the bathroom to brush her teeth and take a shower.
She realized on the way there that nothing she did really seemed to matter much to her. Her usual enthusiasm for life seemed to have been stripped away with her hopes and dreams the previous night, and she felt empty. She could easily have gone back to bed and attempted to sleep off her deep depression. She didn’t really care. About much of anything. The day ahead seemed bleak and empty of purpose. In fact, the whole week ahead—or month, or year—seemed devoid of purpose.
Why was she going to shower and get ready for work? She didn’t really care for her job—sure, she liked the work she did, but she didn’t really like dealing with some of the people—and she hadn’t for a long time. It wasn’t fulfilling. It didn’t make her feel like she was doing anything that made a difference.
So why was she doing it? To pay the rent? To buy food? Yeah, that was it; she was caught in the rat race, unable to jump off the hamster wheel and flee. But it still didn’t feel like it mattered that day. She thought about calling in sick.
Sighing, very near tears again as she thought of the bleakness of her life, she undressed and climbed into the shower anyway, the routine almost a comfort to her when the rest of her life without a husband and children loomed before her like a shadow of permanent loneliness.
She firmly reminded herself that she had to go to work because she had said she’d be there. It was an important day for her employer—though it was one that she secretly dreaded. That day was the beginning of the new buy‑one‑get‑one‑free iPhone deal at the cell phone store where she worked at the service desk. The store would be very busy. And if she weren’t at the service desk to help customers with their app questions and settings problems, then her boss would be upset. He’d said he needed all hands on deck.
Because she felt complete apathy that morning, only her moral obligation to always try to act according to God’s will kept her from taking that unplanned not‑really‑sick sick day.
Sighing again, she finished her shower and got out, wrapping a thick towel around her hair and another around her body. She padded over the plush bath mat to the mirror above the vanity, then wiped off the thin layer of accumulated steam with a fluffy hand towel and stared at her foggy reflection.
“You look terrible,” she said to herself. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were red with hectic color. “But men will still think you look fine, won’t they? More than fine, they’ll think you’re beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes at her reflection, wincing at the way the gritty after‑effects of her hard cry felt under her scratchy eyelids.
As she looked at her reflection, she realized that she hated that too. She hated the way she looked. She hated her own beauty. She’d often prayed, asking God why he’d given her such a gift. To her, it was more of a hardship. And perhaps that’s what it was supposed to be. Perhaps it wasn’t a gift but her cross to bear, something to help her build character.
She thought of Derek, and his demands for a more physical relationship, surely brought about by the appearance of her body and face, and she nearly broke out into sobs again.
Pushing all thoughts of her former fiancé from her mind, she left the calm environs of the peaches‑and‑cream bathroom to get dressed for the day.
She pushed all thoughts of work away too. She didn’t want to think about what a horror the day would be. She didn’t want to think about the oglers, the shoulder‑touchers, the elbow‑graspers. She didn’t want to think about the “what’s‑your‑phone‑number‑babe” questions, or the leers that she’d receive as she helped the male customers with their cell phones. And she didn’t want to think about the glares from their girlfriends, wives, and, sometimes even their mothers. Usually, she combated this kind of treatment by making it obvious that she was engaged. She would happily gush to anyone who would listen—and even some who didn’t want to—about how wonderful her fiancé was and their plans for their upcoming wedding. Usually, this discouraged most men. But she wouldn’t have that today, would she? No, today she would have no good way to fend them off gently. And her boss really disliked it when she had to get rude with a customer.
She looked down at her pale left hand, at the sparkling diamond and gold engagement ring on her third finger, and slowly reached to pull it off. She laid it carefully on the antique hand‑me‑down dresser and walked away, deciding not to think about it, either.
It wasn’t her fault she looked the way she did. She really did nothing to cause herself to look beautiful. She wore barely any makeup. She usually pulled her hair back in a plain ponytail. She didn’t wear suggestive clothing.
Sure, she ate healthfully and exercised to keep herself fit, but that wasn’t for beauty, it was because her body was a temple, a gift, and she tried to maintain it as such.
Grabbing a plain pair of black dress pants, a conservative purple blouse, and a plain black jacket from the closet, she dressed quickly for the day. As a concession to the chilly fall Portland weather, she added a pair of thick socks to the ensemble and slipped her feet into a pair of low‑heeled black boots, then went back to the bathroom to pull back her hair and moisturize her face.
That done, she trudged reluctantly back to the kitchen, doctored her steaming cup of coffee with just a touch of honey and some organic cream, grabbed an apple from the fridge, and her keys and capacious purse from the entryway, and headed out the door. The clock app on her phone showed she had little time left if she wanted to be on time, but she found that she really did not much care about that either.
Juggling her purse, coffee, keys , and apple outside the door, she attempted to lock the deadbolt.
“Here, let me help you with that,” a deep voice said from behind her.
Face averted, Bella barely suppressed an eye-roll. Really? Less than thirty seconds outside her apartment, and she was going to be hit on already?
Suppressing a sigh, she turned, “That’s okay, I’ve got it.”
Then, seeing who the voice belonged to, she smiled in relief.
“Oh, hello, Lucien. How are you today?”
Lucien was her new coworker at the store. She’d told him about the vacancy in her apartment building just a few days ago, and he must’ve taken her advice and rented the space.
“Fine. Just fine. I like the apartment. Nice building. Great landlords. Thanks for the tip.”
Bella grinned, happy to have been able to help him. He seemed like such a nice guy.
His expression changed just slightly as he stared down at her smile, his smile slackening a bit and his eyes drifting to her lips.
Oh no! Too much! Too much. Tone it down, she thought.
She stopped smiling, and he stopped looking at her like he was a carb addict and she was a double‑chocolate‑chunk cookie.
“So, are you ready for the big sale today?” she asked as they turned and headed for the elevator.
He gave a short bark of derisive laughter, “No, I barely know what I’m doing. I’m not looking forward to the rowdy horde of people you said we could expect.”
Trying for an upbeat tone, Bella said, “Well, maybe it won’t be so bad?”
Lucien chuckled again. “You don’t sound very convincing, Bella the Beautiful.”
She stopped walking, feeling a chill skate up her spine. “Please, Lucien, don’t call me that.”
He punched the “down” button on the elevator and turned to look at her. “Why not? It’s true.”
“Just, don’t, okay? I want us to be friends, not . . . well . . .”
Lucien’s eyes sharpened. “Not what?”
“Just friends, that’s all,” Bella said, wishing that she could somehow suddenly become invisible. Maybe just shrink into the floor and disappear. Or, perhaps somehow transform her features into those of an elderly grandmother. And, as long as she was fantasizing about impossible feats, it would be great to know exactly w
hat Lucien was thinking of her, too.
Maybe she was wrong, and he was just being friendly to a new coworker. Maybe he wasn’t like other men.
She nearly snorted to herself in derision. Sure, sure, he wasn’t like everyone else. Just like Derek hadn’t been.
To cover her upsetting thoughts, which were surely putting a sour expression upon her face, she took a long sip of her coffee. When the door to the elevator finally opened, she pasted a thin smile back on her face and tried to appear cheerful. The day would be hard enough without her reading things into her coworker’s behavior that might not be there.
Lucien gestured for her to precede him into the steel‑lined elevator, and she entered quickly, muttering a soft “thanks.”
On the way down, Lucien remained silent, and she wondered if she should say something. He was her new coworker, after all, and she didn’t want to offend him. She glanced at him.
He was looking at the shiny steel elevator door in front of him, but he caught her glance in the wavy reflection and turned toward her.
“Look, I’m . . .” Bella began at the same time that he said, “I didn’t mean . . .”
They both broke off, and Bella laughed.
The stiff tension between them broke, and in a moment of decisiveness, Bella resolved to be just blunt and honest with him. Didn’t most people like that, anyway?
“Look, I wasn’t trying to be rude. I appreciate your complement, it’s just that I’m used to guys only treating me a certain way because they think I’m attractive, and I guess I’m getting a little tired of it,” she said, ending on a sigh of real frustration.
“I get it,” Lucien said. “I do. A woman who looks like you must get lots of unwanted attention. Let’s just forget it, and try to make the best of this day, okay? We can start over, and I won’t call you that anymore.”
“Yes, let’s make the best of it. Thank you,” Bella agreed.
But, she really didn’t feel like trying to make the best of anything. Inside, under the apathy hid a morass of hurt, pain, and confusion. If she’d really tell Lucien the whole truth—that she’d been dumped by her fiancé the night before, that her emotional life was in a turmoil, that she really didn’t care about her job, or herself, or, well, much of anything other than the Lord—she wondered what he’d say.
She took another sip of her coffee and glanced at him again, intending to ask him what he thought of his new job so far. Her breath caught on an involuntary gasp as she caught a glimpse of his face. For a moment, superimposed over Lucien’s features , there appeared the snarling visage of a wolf, dark eyes looking at her hungrily, teeth bared in a snarl of predatory dominance.
She looked away hurriedly, choking on the sip of hot coffee that she’d just taken.
Lucien reached out a solicitous hand to help her, silently offering to pat her back to help with the coughing, but she leapt back in fear, unable to stop herself.
Still choking, eyes streaming, she glanced back at his face. The strange image was gone, and Lucien’s handsome face was frowning down at her in concern.
Chapter Four
From a shadowed alleyway across the street, David watched Bella Thompson as she left her apartment with Lucien Curmodene.
That was not a good development. She didn’t know what Curmodene was, and he hadn’t been able to warn her yet about the abilities that she herself was developing. He hadn’t had time to build a rapport with her yet, and without that, without some sort of connection, he knew that she would not believe what he had to tell her.
He hoped that it wasn’t too late. If one of them had already found her, he feared that it might be. He was disappointed in himself. He’d had several weeks to find her, but he’d only been able to finally locate her the day before. Portland was a big city, and looking for her tiny filament of developing spiritual energy was like looking for a candle flame inside a roaring fire.
The delay hadn’t left him much time to let her get to know him. He’d only been in the surveillance phase of the process, and hadn’t even managed to engineer their first meeting yet.
“I have failed us,” he said quietly to his fellow Invisible, the woman who shared the shadowed alleyway with him.
The short, middle‑aged woman stood behind him, hidden inside the shadows so well that he could barely see her, though he knew she was there.
“We don’t know that yet. She may yet choose the Lord,” she said, her voice soft and reassuring.
“But, she’s with Lucien Curmodene. And we both know that Lucien has already made his choice,” he said, keeping his voice pitched low.
He knew that the people who passed by their alley could not see them, and would not notice them, but if the pedestrians heard voices, that could change. Their camouflage only lasted as long as the people passing by remained oblivious to their surroundings. If the meandering pedestrians looked too closely inside the concealing shadows, if they really focused their mind on what might be lurking in the deep alley, they’d be able to see him and the other Invisible who lingered there.
“Has he?” she said. “It does seem that he is associating with them, and perhaps has already been indoctrinated, but his thoughts about them seem unsure. He is learning to shield his thoughts, though, so I cannot be completely certain. Still, the Lord has performed far greater miracles before. We should not dismiss Lucien quite yet.”
“I’ve seen him talking with three of them, just since I arrived yesterday. How can he not be one of them? You know their methods! They do not permit those with budding abilities any chance of escape.”
“Have you seen any of the others around Miss Thompson, yet?” she asked, a hint of alarm in her voice.
“No, they’ve only been watching her, as we are,” he said. “Look, across the street. There is one of them now.”
His companion hissed in displeasure when she sighted the burly black‑clad man loitering in the adjacent doorway. “Such evil. I can almost feel it from here.”
“We have little time left, if any,” he reiterated. “As I said, I fear that I may have failed this time.”
“The choice is hers,” his companion said. “Always remember that the choice is hers to make. We cannot force her.”
“No, we can’t,” David said, feeling deep fear for Bella pierce his heart, “But they will try to force her.”
Chapter Five
The six‑block walk to work through the early autumn chill had been very awkward. Lucien had kept pace with her, remaining silent, but casting questioning glances of unconcealed concern at her every few steps.
Bella had remained silent too, still deeply shaken by the frightening hallucination she’d had in the elevator. She had never experienced a hallucination before, and wasn’t sure why she’d had one then. Was she losing her mind? Was the stress of standing firm for her morals and bearing the repercussions of those choices in the loss of her fiancé starting to get to her? Or was it a cumulative effect, starting months and months ago when she’d lost both of her frail, elderly parents to unexpected complications from the flu?
She didn’t know. She just hoped that the rest of the day got better.
But, of course, it didn’t.
Hours later, she was heartily wishing for the end of the sale, and that perhaps they’d just miraculously run out of stock.
The day was a horror, just as she’d thought it would be. With only one hour left in her shift, Bella stood behind the service desk counter and tried to mentally tame her raging headache.
It wasn’t working, but it would be another whole 59 agonizing minutes before she could leave her station, clock out, and grab some aspirin out of her purse.
Though she’d been expecting a miserable day, she’d been unpleasantly surprised when it had exceeded her prediction of wretchedness. The iPhone sale had drawn in quite a few customers, and it had been an extremely busy day. There had been a line for over three hours at the service desk after lunch, and she’d just finished dealing with the last, lingering man, barely man
aging to gracefully fend off his requests that she have dinner with him.
The bell over the door chimed shrilly, signaling another customer, and Bella nearly groaned when she saw who entered.
Mr. Eckles had been there before. He came in nearly every week, in fact. She thought that he came in just to harass her. She’d even told her boss about it, but he’d told her to handle it and get over herself.
Headache pounding, stomach lurching in nausea from the pain, Bella watched Mr. Eckles approach and thought again how wonderful it would be to be invisible. If he couldn’t see her, he couldn’t hit on her. If only, somehow, she could avoid being seen.
She contemplated hiding behind the desk, but the bottom half was open, and she’d easily be seen if she crouched behind it.
To amuse herself, she imagined that he couldn’t see her and would just skip his visit to the service desk and go talk to Lucien instead.
She knew it was wishful thinking, fanciful behavior, even, but, with her defenses down, she had nothing else to do except hope for the impossible. The whimsical idea had probably only occurred to her because she read too many fiction books. And really, she knew deep down that he would continue to her desk whether she wanted him to or not, but imagining herself becoming suddenly invisible to his eyes gave her a bit of amusement. Which she badly needed at that point in the day.
Smiling wistfully at her own foolishness, she watched as he meandered into the store, wondering if he knew how cheesy his appearance was.
Middle aged, with a heavy paunch, Mr. Eckles had chosen perhaps the least flattering clothing that he possibly could have. Today, he wore a bright green‑and‑orange striped Polo shirt tucked into sixties‑style polyester pants in a sickly shade of pea green. The leather loafers on his feet were perhaps the only stylish things that he owned, and Bella fleetingly thought that they’d probably been a gift.
