Alex watched her walk away, shaking his head at her strange behavior. "Women." he muttered as he turned and entered the house.
He surveyed his new house, for a split second wondering if he should heed Lorna's advice about the motel. But there was only one in the tiny community, and from what he'd heard, it wasn't much better than Wellesley Manor- with or without utilities.
A chill hung in the air, and he moved near the fireplace, glad he had lit it earlier. He set the suitcases on the floor and extracted the goose down sleeping bag, unrolling it in the front of the hearth. Then he rummaged through the smaller bag and found a bottle of Cognac, the only luxury he'd packed besides his cell.
He sat on the sleeping bag, staring into the dancing flames, sipping the amber liquid and exhaling as its smooth heat trickled down his throat. As old memories rushed in, he wondered just how safe he would be here from the past. It seemed no matter where he ran, it always caught up to him. Always pulled him down the same dark, dangerous road. Always left the same crimson trail in its wake. He shook off the morbid images flashing through his brain like a surreal slide-show, telling himself things would be different... better somehow... here.
He decided to check in with Jinx. They hadn't been in contact since he left London, and she might have new information for him. God, he hoped she did. He felt as if he were flying blind, with no parachute... and no soft place to land. Alex flipped open the cell, punching the speed dial. His heart beat wildly in his chest.
He heard her throaty voice on the other end, and he could tell she wasn't happy. "What have you got for me?" he asked, half afraid of the answer, "Good news, I hope?"
Jinx hesitated, "Depends what you call good news, Cardaul. I have a lead on our boy..."
Alex took a deep breath, "And?"
"I'd rather meet with you in person about this." She said, her voice heavy, as if she had devastating news she'd rather not deliver, "Tell me where you are and I'll catch a flight ASAP."
Alex shook his head as if she could see him, "No. You know that's not possible. Rules, Jinx. Just tell me and have done with it."
Jinx sighed. His mystery-man routine was getting old, and it was pissing her off. "Fine. It's your money. Our boy was last seen in New Orleans. Seems to be making his way deeper into the South. It's weird. From the info you gave me, he doesn't strike me as the type. Sophisticated and all. In any case, he's fucked up- whether he knows it or not. He's on my turf now."
Alex closed his eyes, "Keep me posted." He dropped the phone, taking a swig of the Cognac. He should have known it wouldn't be this easy. "Well come on then.." he thought, "I'm tired of running."
Lorna stared absently at the television. It had been almost 2 days since her argument with Helen, and she hadn't been able to reach her by phone. It wasn't unusual really, but for some reason it made her uneasy. Helen always pouted like this, knowing it drove Lorna crazy. Well, this time, she wouldn't get her way. Lorna could wait it out just as long as Helen could. She was sick of being her doormat.
Still, that uneasy tension clawed at her insides, making knots in her stomach that said something was wrong. Damn! Why couldn't she be more like Helen? She felt like a skittish child, weak and powerless. She supposed she had too much of a conscience to be cold-hearted.
It would probably be her downfall. She glanced over her shoulder as the door bell rang insistently. Maybe it was Helen?
She walked anxiously to the door in spite of herself, ready to put the whole stupid mess behind her.
But when she opened it, it was not Helen who greeted her. It was Sheriff Ames.
Her heart nearly stopped at the look on his face. The last time she'd seen him... he delivered the news that her father had died... had suffered a heart attack behind the wheel and slammed into Willow Lake Bridge. Sheriff Ames began to speak, and as he did, everything seemed to fall silent. No television, no cars leisurely passing by, just his voice... strained and saddened. "Lorna, I don't know how to tell you this..." he hesitated for a second, "It's about Helen Latham."
A sledgehammer seemed to slam into her gut. "Lorna... Helen is... dead. Her body was found over by Willow Lake earlier. I didn't want to come by until I had all the facts."
His face began to blur... "H...how...?" Lorna stammered, gripping the door to steady herself as Helen's face raced into her mind. "Heart attack." he answered, still in shock himself. He knew all the families in the tiny community, and he played golf with Victor Latham every Saturday. Damn shame. He continued, "It's not official yet, but that's what Joe told me. We won't know for sure until he does the autopsy."
At the sound of that word, the finality of it... the thought of what it entailed... Lorna felt the darkness seep into her. She fell, unconscious.
It was cold the day of Helen Latham's funeral. A biting wind blew mercilessly, as if heralding her departure. Droplets of rain could be felt here and there, and those gathered to pay their last respects huddled down into their coats and jackets as the pastor read from Psalm 23.
Lorna stared blankly at the silver-colored casket poised above the freshly dug grave. Soon, the mourners would begin leaving, and it would be lowered into the darkness, covered over with earth... an eternal barricade. Was Helen really in there, she wondered, was she really gone? It didn't seem possible. After all, that would be unfair... and how could unfairness exist in a world created by a merciful God? He wouldn't allow that, would he? Or was it simply that he had no control over it? And if that were true, what hope was there to cling to?
Lorna's thoughts continued in that vein until she felt she would go mad. There were no more tears. She had cried them dry, and now she felt numb. That same dull feeling she'd had after her father's funeral. People forming a line, each one hugging the bereft in turn like some kind of programmed robots, repeating how sorry they were and what a shame it was. Were they sorry? Most of them would go home and turn on the television, slip back into everyday life as easily as they would a pair of cozy slippers.
Lorna's hands gripped her chair as the hydraulics beneath the casket moaned into action, sounding like some unearthly demon descending the depths with her friend forever in its clutches.
The casket slowly sank into the earth, and with the final squeal and thud of the hydraulics, mourners walked past the grave.. each one in turn grabbing handfuls of dirt and dropping them onto the silver box where Helen lay. Didn't seem much of a tribute...
She sat alone for quite a while after the others had gone, unsure what to do or where to go. She couldn't go home yet. Kate was there, and Lorna wasn't sure how to deal with her own grief and her mother's. Besides, Kate would still be asleep, thanks to the pills her doctor had given her.
"I'm so sorry for your loss." The familiar voice startled her from her thoughts, and Lorna looked up to find Alex Cardaul gazing down at her. She stared silently into his dark eyes, and a feeling of longing settled over her. She couldn't explain it, but she wanted him to embrace her as the other mourners had. It didn't make sense and it unsettled her.
She felt tears rushing to the surface, and though she fought them with all the strength she had left, the tears came. They flowed so freely that she could not speak, could barely make out his face. She sobbed helplessly, powerless against whatever force had been cruel enough to decide it was Helen's time.
The memory of that last night with her, in Alex's house... the way Helen had looked at her before speeding away to meet Mike. To meet her death. It permeated every corner of Lorna's heart and mind, telling her that this was it. It was too late for apologies. She continued to stare up at Alex, as if pleading with him to say it wasn't true, to do something- anything -to make it untrue.
He took a seat beside her and pulled her into his arms, speaking soothingly against her hair. For some reason, it didn't feel odd or wrong to Alex, to be holding this young woman he'd only just met. The pain in her green eyes broke his heart... for he knew such pain well.
She clung to him as if she were drowning, racked by a consuming grief that he could almost feel. He struggled for words... any words that might calm her, but found none. So he continued to hold her, stroking her tawny hair until the trembling subsided and she grew silent.
She was so quiet that he leaned back to look at her, concern lining his face. She was gazing at him strangely... her eyes red and unblinking. She made no move to extricate herself from his embrace, and a strange feeling nestled into his stomach as he looked into those deep green eyes. He suddenly had the urge to kiss her, to drive away all the pain she felt. A warmth crept over his body that he knew all too well, and he gently put her from him. This was a mistake he wasn't about to make... not with one so young and vulnerable. She still looked into his eyes, as if asking a question.
He tore his gaze from those soul-piercing orbs and stood. "It's cold. You shouldn't be out here." he stated soberly.
She slowly stood, without a word... remaining so as if uncertain of what she should do.
He gently took her arm, leading her out of the cemetery toward her car. She shivered from the cold, or perhaps from the sadness which held her so firmly. She stumbled a couple of times before they reached her parking spot.
His Harley sat a few feet away, and he considered offering her a ride, but it was cold and she wasn't dressed for it. He walked her to the passenger side of the car and helped her in, then slid into the driver's seat.
She looked up then, worry etched into her lovely features, "Where are you taking me?" Her voice was barely audible, shaky.
"Where do you live?" he asked, turning the ignition. She shook her head, closing her eyes tightly, "No...I can't go home. I don't want to go there... not now. Anywhere but home... please."
Alex was at a loss. Where else could he take her? His house was still a mess, and she'd been frightened by just the sight of it... he didn't want to upset her more. "Lorna," he sighed, "I only know two places here. My house and now, this cemetery. You'll have to tell me where you want to go. Do you have some friends you could visit?" He felt like an ass as soon as he said it.
"No..." she stammered, her voice strained, "There was only...Helen." Tears streamed down her face as she spoke her friend's name.
Alex swore inwardly. They couldn't sit there forever, and he couldn't just leave her. She was in no shape to drive. He put his foot on the gas and eased the car onto the road, heading in the only direction he knew... Wellesley Manor.
Alex stood near the fireplace, studying Lorna's face. She had either passed out or fallen asleep during the drive, he wasn't sure which. Now she lay in front of the fireplace, on the old Victorian sofa. He'd discovered it was far more comfortable that the steeping bag, and had taken to sleeping on it himself, after ridding it of most of the dust it contained.
She stirred slightly and he went to her, worried about her reaction to waking up in the old house. He half expected that she'd fly into hysterics, after the way she'd acted a couple of days ago. And now, in her emotional state...
He knelt beside the sofa, watching her eyes as they fluttered open. She seemed dazed for a moment, then jerked upright as she took in her surroundings.
"H... How did I... get here?" she stammered, her eyes wide. Alex remained as he was when she sat up, facing the glow of the fireplace. "I was afraid to let you drive," he answered softly, "and you insisted that I not take you home. So, here we are. I'm sorry, but I didn't know where else to go."
Lorna's eyes darted from one side of the room to the other, then toward the staircase, expecting the old haunting feeling to return as it always did when she was near this place. But strangely, all she felt was a dull ache in her head. Her eyes ached as well. She remembered then, what had happened at the cemetery... how she'd broken down when Alex spoke to her.
Her face grew hot with embarrassment as she recalled the way she had clung to him, to a man she'd only spoken to briefly. What must he think? "I'm sorry, Mr. Cardaul." she said, shaking her head, "I put you in a terrible position. You must think I'm awful."
Alex walked over to the fireplace, stoking the embers as he spoke, "Not at all. You've been through a terrible ordeal, it's quite understandable."
He walked back to the sofa and sat down, "And please, call me Alex." She smiled a bit then, much to his relief. She was surprisingly calm. He began to wonder if she was in shock.
"It was very kind of you to take care of me... to comfort me the way you did. " Her green eyes seemed to be searching his, "Why did you? I mean, you don't even know me."
Alex turned his gaze to the fireplace, not sure himself of the answer. He wasn't even sure why he'd felt the need to go to the cemetery. Empathy, he supposed.
"I didn't do anything, really. You were upset... and I suppose I've been where you are now. Couldn't just leave you sitting there in the cold."
"You lost someone?" Her question wasn't meant to pry, but he wished she hadn't asked it. "Yes. Hasn't everyone, at some point in their lives?" He desperately hoped she wouldn't press the subject. He'd tried very hard to put the painful past behind him, and he had no intention of reliving it.
Lorna watched the play of emotions cross his handsome face. She'd seen pain in his eyes, sadness... she was sure of it. She decided to drop the subject. She'd had enough sadness for one day... hell for a lifetime.
She turned her attention to their surroundings, noticing that he had done quite a bit of cleaning since moving in. The room glowed with the warmth of the fireplace, and it didn't seem so creepy now. But she felt a twinge of sorrow as her eyes settled on the piano, now polished and dust-free. She could still see Helen sitting there, smiling as she played that haunting tune. She quickly looked away, afraid the tears would come again.
She could feel Alex's eyes upon her, and the feeling of being drawn to him tugged at her insides. What was it about him? She'd felt it that first day, when he stood by the tree, scowling at her. And even more so today when he'd held her.
His arms felt safe, strong. His voice was so sensual, intoxicating... as were his eyes. Something emanated from him... pulling her towards him like a tractor beam. The sound of his exotic accent wafted to her ears.
"Are you alright?" he was asking, searching her face in concern. She nodded, "Yes. Thank you.. Alex. But I should be getting home. It must be late, and my mom will be worried."
Lorna stood, moving toward the door, "She hasn't been well, and I shouldn't leave her alone for too long."
Alex watched her, the way the black dress draped along her body. She moved gracefully, like a dancer, and her frame - though slender - was well formed. He forced himself from the train of thought her curves had instigated.
Standing, he moved toward her, smiling languidly. "Could I trouble you for a lift?" he asked. She seemed taken aback, as if she'd been caught trying to escape and her plan thwarted. Then realization lit her face, "Oh, your bike. I'd forgotten."
She found herself staring at his mouth, warmth stirring somewhere below her waist, "Of course. It's the least I could do after all your kindness."
He followed her out the door, and they walked in silence to her car, each of them fighting the attraction which hung almost tangibly in the air between them.
TO BE CONTINUED...