Love is Strange: A Taboo Anthology

by Yolanda Olson

  Grabbing my hand, he tugs me across the street to my dorm, seems as if he wants to play. Too bad he doesn’t know I only play to win. Opening the door to our dorm room, I push him ahead of me and I make my way to the small bathroom. I mentally thank my best friend from high school for being slightly deranged; Ari told me that you can order Chloroform online in minutes. It’s true. Pouring the liquid on a washcloth, I tuck it into the back of my shorts. Taking a deep breath, I open the door to see Connor already lying on my bed waiting for me.

  Straddling his thighs, I pin his arms under my legs, “No touching.”

  Pulling my shirt over my head, I throw it next to his head while I reach for the cloth. His eyes go wide with panic when he realizes what I’m doing. Cocking my head to the side, I lean down until I’m less than an inch from his. Connor’s limbs are going slack as he begins to lose consciousness. I know if it wasn’t for my constant running and workouts this would have never worked the way I wanted.

  The last thing he hears is my voice. “I am his ex. Game over.”

  I’m glad that everyone is out of the dorm tonight, either at the party or off in town. Otherwise, me dragging a man to my car would be suspicious. Driving out to the woods near the cabin I’ve had Natalia at, I calculate the days since I last went by to see her. It’s been a long time and I really should stop by to check on her. I’ll bring her food in the morning as I don’t think there is any reason to stop right now anyway. Parking the car, I pull Connor’s still form into the woods near the cliff I found my first day here. Putting him near the edge, I head back to the car to find a rope so I can tie him to a tree nearby. If he can find his way back then he can live.

  On my way back to him, I hear someone moaning and grunting. Connor must be waking up. Rushing to the clearing, I still as his body rolls off the patch of grass. Well then, it’s not my fault he died, he was safe when I left him and it’s not like I pushed him. Peering over the edge, I take in his form, his body contorted in the strangest way. Turning away, I walk back to my car, rope in hand, my stomach is uneasy but I don’t know if it’s from the way his body looked or if it’s something else.

  Chapter Eleven

  Driving back to campus, my phone dings over and over, messages from Isabel and Luke coming in. Parking my car, I unlock my phone and read over the texts.

  Luke: What the fuck did you do?! Why did you send her that picture?!

  Isabel: Luke cheated! I need someone to talk to.

  Humming to myself, I make my way up the three flights of stairs to our room. The only good thing about being on the third floor is that my ass will look great combined with the time I spend at the gym. Before I even have the door open wide enough to walk inside, Isabel throws her arms around my neck sobbing. Patting her back, I walk her backward as I attempt to soothe her. I should feel bad about what I have done, you know women standing together and all that crap, but I don’t.

  “What exactly happened?” I question, running my hand through her brown hair.

  Hiccupping from crying so hard, she answers, “Someone sent a picture to my email. I would have never even got it before… you know… but my mom called me. That’s when I saw the notification.”

  Faking sadness, I squeeze her hand. “Thank goodness your mom called then! I just can’t imagine how you feel.”

  A phone ringing breaks the silence, her phone. The person calling is Luke and I want to scream. He didn’t make that much of an effort when we broke up. Of course, that was probably because his mother hated me on sight. Mama Ryan told me I would never be good enough for him, I wonder what she will say when I’m wearing his wedding band.

  “Thanks, Natalia. I think I’m just going to sleep now.”

  Nodding, I give her hand one last squeeze and lay down on my own bed. My dreams are filled with Luke, our wedding, and our children. Sleeping soundly, I wake early and head to buy Natalia more food and water. I’m sure she is hungry for a hot meal so I even pick up a breakfast sandwich from the coffee shop, I’m that good of a person.

  Parking outside of the cabin, I walk up to the door and announce myself since I know she gets paranoid. Natalia doesn’t answer though. Walking into the small cabin, I turn until I find what looks to be the lock from her chain. She somehow smashed it to pieces. Crunching tire tracks sound outside halting my exit. Someone just showed up but it isn’t the cops. Trying my hardest to make out the people, I listen to the car doors close, coming around the black car is Natalia but with her is Isabel.

  Walking up to the door, Isabel shoves it open catching me off guard. Bitch. Landing on my ass, I feel something hit me in the head before I see black. I don’t know how long I was unconscious but when I wake up I’m tied to a damn chair with both of them staring at me as if I’ll bite.

  I should have known that Natalia would get loose. I didn’t plan on her running straight to campus in search of Isabel, I let too much slip when I was with her it seems. I wonder what these two will do. They haven’t called the police yet, mostly because they are dumb, but there’s something about the wild look in Isabel’s eyes that makes me uneasy. Bitch must be psychotic or something. I would know that look anywhere, I have seen it before. My mother had that same look.

  “Oh my god, oh my god! What are we going to do?!” Natalia whisper-yells, as if I’m not sitting right in front of them.

  Cocking my head, I look to Isabel and wait for her to answer. I want to know what she is thinking of. Was it the way I rode Luke’s cock all night while she cried herself to sleep, or is it even more nefarious? Will goody-two-shoes Isabel off me in an effort to hold onto her man?

  Wringing her hands together, she starts to let loose the tears she’s been holding back for… less than 24 hours. Rolling my eyes, I pull against the ties holding my hands together. Scoffing to myself, I feel the cloth give just a bit before it loosens completely. Come on! Say it with me, electrical ties, hell even duct tape would have worked better.

  “We'll call Lukas. He’ll know what to do,” Princess Isabel commands.

  I should have known if someone was going to deal with me, it wouldn’t be her. She wouldn’t dare get her hands dirty. What kind of person keeps someone tied up while they talk about offing her? Monsters, that’s who. The idiots don’t even check my binds before they walk out to call Luke. I know this is my chance, it might be the only one they give me. I didn’t get this far by letting someone else handle things for me. Picking up the little notebook on the table, I write a little note before I all but skip away and out of the window. I have more important things to worry about than those two.

  Rubbing my stomach, I hike into the woods and away from those psychos. I finally saw the test this morning when Isabel was sleeping. I could barely contain my excitement. I just know Luke will feel the same way when he finds out. I’ve walked further than I realized when I come to a clearing and a road. Flagging down a driver on the road leading away from town, I hop into his truck without a second thought.

  Tipping his hat to me, he asks the obvious questions, “What’s your name and where are you headed?”

  Grinning, I lay on my true southern drawl, “Pleased to meet you, sir, I’m Ashley Ryan. I’m headed out to New York. My husband, Luke, is meeting me at the bus stop in the next town over. My car broke down a little ways back.”

  Epilogue

  LUKE

  Isabel called me to let me know Natalia wasn’t really Natalia. I admit I was so fucking confused by all that she told me. My ex-girlfriend from high school was pretending to be her roommate or something. I just couldn’t see Ashley doing that. She had her issues, sure. But the Natalia I know doesn’t have Ashley’s purple eyes. Besides when I left she was fine, well not fine as in she was happy but not crazy.

  Parking my Jeep, I shake my head and walk up to the cabin door. It just can’t be true. Following the other woman and Isabel into a room, I freeze when I see an empty chair with only a notebook resting on top of the wooden seat. The ladies are panicking but I’m more concerned about the me
ssage Natalia, I mean “Ashley” left. Right there is all the answer I need. Scrawled onto an old yellowing page are the words I always told her. Until we see you in our dreams. But there’s more, she signed it with two names, Ashley and Mari. My world tips on its axis at the thought.

  She’s pregnant, again.

  We were young and dumb the first time it happened. She lost the baby right after I left for college. We didn’t even know she was pregnant until she had the miscarriage. Hell, we weren’t even together anymore. I was a wreck, and apparently, it made her break.

  “What does it say? Is she gone?” Isabel asks, hope in her voice.

  Nodding, I throw the notebook across the room, “Yeah she’s gone. Her and my baby.”

  Until I see you in my dreams, Ashley…

  Absolution

  MICHELLE PACE

  “O my God, I am heartily sorry,” I huff, my breath visible in the dusk. Lifting the burlap sack out of the back of the wagon, I sling it over my shoulder.

  Steadying my load, I reach up with my free hand to adjust my collar. It’s only then that I remember I left it on my dressing table when I set out on tonight’s mission. Just as well. My task is righteous, but I’d prefer to not be recognized.

  “…for having offended Thee…” Cool wind whips my hair, and white flakes melt on my beard. I look toward the sky in wonder. I’ve been smelling snow all day, and its arrival is a well-timed blessing. My soul is on fire, and his Heavenly Father has mercifully sent means to ease my fever. He has not forsaken me, though I very much would deserve it if he had.

  My weary eyes take in my surroundings, and seeing not a soul to bear witness, I proceed down the cobblestones toward the back entrance of the cathedral. Gargoyles scowl down at me, their menacing visages doubly disturbing in the long shadows of the evening. Under the thin veil of newly fallen snow, all of nature is either hibernating or in its final death throes. Slumbering so that all may be reborn. This notion sends a chill up my spine, or perhaps it’s just the night air against my sweltering skin.

  For everything there is a season, just as it is written in Ecclesiastes. A time to be born…

  From inside the burlap sack comes a moan, and I shudder, my steps faltering. I breathe in deeply, desperate for a whiff of winter to cool my insides. Instead, I get a nose full of her fragrant hair, perfumed with orange blossoms and bergamot. I feel a rush of blood to my loins, and a familiar heaviness settles in my aching chest.

  “…and I detest all my sins.” My throat closes around those familiar words. I must atone, and the price for my sins is high…and messy. God’s work often is, and it is Him I answer to. A sudden swirl of wind surrounds me, and I pause in my slow processional. The recollection of my first encounter with the object of my downfall makes my hair stand on end. My righteous path was forever altered when I first laid eyes on my fallen angel.

  One night last summer, I’d been writing a letter to my mother about how chilly Galway was in July. Mum gets testy when she doesn’t receive weekly correspondence from her baby boy, which is what she still calls me even though I’m turning 30 in the spring. I’d just promised to make the journey home for Christmas and was capping my inkwell when a young street urchin appeared on my doorstep. Through the window, I recognized him immediately. His cleft lip made it impossible not to. Around town, it was common knowledge that this boy ran errands for the local house of ill repute. Hat in hand, the miniature man bore a somber expression, appearing haggard beyond his years.

  “Father, please. You must come. She’s…dying. And she’s asking for last rights.” His words were emphatic and easy to understand in spite of his facial deformity, and his tired eyes were exceptionally grim.

  “Who?” I cast my eyes around the street, which was empty except for the sweeper, scooping horse manure off of the weathered red bricks. The sweeper seemed unimpressed with his career path, but otherwise healthy enough.

  “Come with me, quickly,” the boy responded, and as he rushed back down the steps and around the building, I was forced to trot just to keep up with him. Zigging and zagging down countless narrow alleyways, we finally arrived at the notorious spot occupied by his employer. Blazing red lanterns seemed to attract morally weak men like moths. The sound of so many horse hooves and carriage wheels was practically deafening, and I felt my cheeks heat to a similar color of the lanterns at the sight of so many lost sheep.

  My guide waved me around to the back side of the building, which I’ll admit was a bit of a relief. Entering through the delivery door, we passed between two stoic-looking fellows who seemed to be operating in tandem as gatekeepers. I was ushered through dimly lit halls, passing scantily clad tarts murmuring their welcome and lascivious invitations and several unsuspecting fellows who abruptly tipped their hats so I wouldn’t recognize them in the pews on Sunday morning. Amidst the sounds of jovial laughter, squeaking bedsprings, and other more torrid outcries, I heard distant screams of agony. The screams grew louder the farther we traveled into the den of debauchery, and as we approached the source, the door slammed open and we were both nearly plowed over by the local midwife as she beat a hasty retreat. Hot on her heels came the Madame, a handsome and statuesque redhead with a temper to match her fiery locks.

  “Fine! Run away, Phyllis! See if I ever send for you again!” the Madame bellowed after the midwife, her painted eyes ablaze. Her gaze shifted to me, and to my astonishment she reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me into the room.

  Inside, I saw two aged whores tending to a pale, svelte figure writhing on the bed. I drew nearer, and by the light of the nearby oil lamp, I saw that the ailing woman was an undisputable goddess. She could have been chiseled out of marble, she was such perfection. Her flawless ivory flesh was an elegant contrast to her dark mass of shiny ringlets. I stared in breathless silence when her pink lips parted and she unleashed an earsplitting scream. A second later, my eyes dropped lower and I noticed why.

  She’d partially delivered a baby.

  And the infant appeared to be stuck.

  “Padre.”

  Had I not been smitten with her at first sight, her accent alone would have captured my heart. I’d been fortunate enough to travel to Rome as a young lad, and my passionate affection for all things Italian had largely influenced my decision to join the priesthood.

  Drawn to the sound of her rich and tremulous plea, I looked up from the bloody catastrophe between her legs and into her eyes, the darkest pools of indigo I’d ever seen. Her eyes begged me before she could. “Pray with me, Padre. Please. Give us last rights.”

  Gooseflesh rapidly spread over the entirety of my body.

  “I don’t think we are ready for all that just yet,” I managed. I’d spent enough time in sick houses as a transitional deacon to know that she and the babe would indeed both die if no one took action, but I’ve always been a doer. His Heavenly Father had placed me in this dingy room tonight for a reason, and that reason was to save them, not usher their souls into the hereafter.

  “Take a deep breath and hold it, my child,” I instructed, and she nodded, then did as I asked. Making the sign of the cross, I reached down and forcefully turned the baby. Both the beauty and her child cried out in pain and surprise, and I felt an expected give in the infant’s shoulder. The newborn promptly slipped out onto the sheets, amidst a mess of blood and heaven knows what else, wailing and flailing its tiny fists.

  “Bloody hell!” The Madame’s palpable relief relaxed her attractive features. One of the older women produced a sharp knife and made quick work separating the mother and child.

  “You saved them!” The boy handed me a blessedly clean blanket which I promptly wrapped around the squalling baby girl.

  I shook my head dismissively, but I barely registered his words. I was otherwise occupied, searching the young mother’s face for some flaw I could cling onto. I was unfortunately left wanting. “I had to dislocate her shoulder. It’ll probably give her trouble for the rest of her life.”

  “You’
re our savior,” the beauty professed tiredly as she came up on her elbows. Her radiant smile illuminated the otherwise gloomy place. As I passed the babe to her, her attention shifted from me to her child. Perhaps I was caught up in the moment, but it seemed as if the glow behind her haloed them much like artist renditions of The Madonna and Christ child.

  “I’m no savior…just one of His loyal servants,” I deflected, and she turned those luminous eyes my way once more. Joy, gratitude, and also something much sadder reflected back at me. My heart galloped like a stampede, and I tugged at my collar, thoughtlessly coating it in her blood.

  “Much appreciated, Father O’Neil. Come again and we’ll all give you the loyal servant discount,” one of the old crones mocked, and her companion cackled.

  “That’s quite enough out of the two of you. Show some respect,” the Madame snapped, and both woman immediately clammed up, making themselves busy. As the boy ushered me out, I glanced back at the woman on the bed. This enchantress, covered in sweat and other unsavory fluids, had cast her spell on me. As I washed my hands of her blood, I looked at myself in the mirror, expecting the sign of the beast to be etched on my forehead. I was completely and utterly smitten. Dazed, I wandered the streets for several hours, sleep long forgotten. This nameless lady of the evening had evoked something I’d never experienced in all of my 30 years on this earth.

  Thereafter, I walked by morning and evening, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. I prayed day and night for God to erase her from my thoughts, impure and otherwise. My mind wandered as I prepared my sermons, and in the confessional, as men young and old regaled me with stories from inside the walls of that wretched place she inhabited. I questioned at length where this obsessive streak came from and was reminded of my father’s assertions that I had a pathological weakness for an underdog.