Blind World (The Onyx Fox Saga Book 1) Page 7

  Suzette’s heart ached for the small family, wishing nothing more than to find a way to comfort them; but for some odd reason, she felt out of place next to the Steins—an outcast, not the right fit to be standing among them. She glanced back at her own parents, sulking behind her in the second row, then back to the grave. The knot in Suzette’s stomach got bigger and bigger the more dirt they piled onto the coffin.

  Dante’s mother wailed for Frank. She loved her deceased son, but he wasn’t like Dante, her husband, nor her. He hadn’t gone to church; he hadn’t read a Bible. Instead, he had decided long ago to forget about the Creator of his soul, to forget about an afterlife. But she believed, and Suzette knew it caused Frank’s mother great grief thinking about where her son could be.

  As Mrs. Stein and Liza’s tears continued, the crowd of guests slowly dispersed. Even Virgil couldn’t seem to stay for too long, the emotion choking something deep within him. All left except for a lonely, redheaded man in a nice suit, staring from a distance, looking as miserable as the Steins. After a long time, he finally came up to the grave, eyes stained with old tears. Then he turned to the Steins, his gaze fixing on Liza. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. Suzette could see in his eyes all the pain of a man who had been shattered in two.

  Liza pushed herself up out of her chair and only made it a few steps before her knees gave out. She collapsed into the man and bawled. “He’s gone, Henry—he’s gone!”

  Tears sprung to Henry’s eyes, but he held them down, stroking Liza’s hair softly. Once a few minutes had passed, he set her back in her seat and stuffed his hands in his pockets, shuffling backward a bit. His eyes grazed over the other three Steins. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he mumbled. “Frankie was a wonderful man.”

  Dante knew so few men who had had the privilege of calling his brother Frankie; it was only what people who had been close to him had called him. Dante grinned at the man. “He was,” he agreed. “I’m sorry he had to leave you, too, Henry.”

  Henry laughed silently—humorlessly—at that and shook his head, though his chin quivered a bit. He nodded to the family and started away, pausing at Liza. He set a hand on her shoulder and stayed there for a long moment, looking as if he wanted to say something. But he released her and slipped away in a dark, fancy car.

  Finally, Mr. Stein said, “Come on, honey.” With a pained gentleness, he pried her away from the mound of dirt on the ground and began toward the car, Liza following. Dante and Suzette followed a good distance behind, stopping once the others got in the car. Without looking at his girlfriend, Dante mumbled, “We better get these ladies home.”

  Of course he would need time to heal and get through this. All she wanted to do was help him feel better. She would sit and hug all the pain away if she could. She would cook all the food he wanted to his heart’s content if he’d let her. But she could feel the agony seeping out of him, along with an intense desire for distance. That was the only way Dante knew how to cope: withdrawal and isolation. It broke her heart. “How long do you need?”

  He barely glanced up at her. “It might be a while,” he confessed. “I don’t know how long, though. Dad and I have to take care of Mom and Liza, but you know Dad—he’s just as broken. I have to be there for them. Uncle Virgil offered to stay down here with her for a while, but I know he can’t afford it, so I told him to go back home and not worry about it.”

  Suzette tried to push her own pain aside. She had offered to help with his mother and Liza, but he rejected it; he did not wish to “burden” her with such matters. The rejection hurt and made her feel excluded from his life, but mourning was a difficult subject, one she wasn’t sure how to address. “Alright,” she mumbled, smiling a bit to hide her hurt feelings. “Just keep telling them that I’m praying for them, okay?”

  Hesitating, he stood there for a moment, silent. Then he nodded once, turned, and walked to the driver’s seat. “Goodbye,” he murmured under his breath. With that, he got in the car and drove away.

  —

  Suzette slumped back in the seat, her heels tossed on the ground next to her, the skirt of her mint-colored dress draping off her limp, wide-set knees. All efforts of ladylikeness had been cast off as she stared dismally at the church doors, hoping and praying to see Dante walk through. As time ticked by, she pulled her phone out of her purse and checked her phone.

  No calls—no texts. Just the same as before. Her fingers ran across the screen.

  Are you coming to church today? she texted.

  She set the phone down on the table and let out a sigh. He hadn’t returned the call she made, hadn’t replied to any of the texts she had sent. She had considered going over to his house again, but he would surely send her away, just like last time. She was completely cut off. What tormented her was she knew he was suffering—she knew he was broken. It was her duty to help him through this, but he didn’t seem to allow it.

  A hand fell on her shoulder and she turned to find her mother. “Service is about to start.”

  Suzette remained silent, watching her mom walk past her into the building. Suzette slipped her shoes on and grabbed her purse. Eager, she swooped up her phone and checked it.

  Nothing.

  She sat through the service with her family, listening intently to the sermon about being selfless and caring. But as the pastor spoke, she couldn’t help but stray to her darker thoughts. Was it bad that she was less worried that Frank died and more worried about how Dante was handling it? Should she not show remorse for the dead man? Even if she hadn’t known him well, even if he didn’t like her, she still should have some saddened feelings, right?

  It made her question what kind of a person she was. Selfish. Uncaring. Just like Frank had insisted to his family. Maybe he’d been right all along. She felt unworthy to sit in the church.

  Once the pastor prayed the congregation out, Suzette hurried to the door, checking her phone again.

  Still nothing.

  She set her purse aside and welcomed people to the second service by holding the doors open for them and handing out sermon notes. She put on a fake smile and made sure everyone who walked in heard her cheery, “Hello!” As much as she hated to admit it, on that particular Sunday, she hated standing there. She just wanted to see if Dante walked through the doors or not.

  As more and more people shuffled in, her heart dropped. By the time the last guest made her way to the door, she felt sick. The last guest was an elderly woman, small and frail, adorned in fancy clothes and jewelry. Her kinky white hair was pulled back into pins, framing her kind, loving face, all the wrinkles on it showing signs of past joys. Her dark eyes were youthful, but Suzette could sense a hint of sadness in them—maybe the same kind of sadness she felt.

  “Hello!” Suzette squeaked, holding out the sermon notes.

  The woman smiled warmly and, while taking the paper, patted her arm with a feeble hand. “Thank you, dearie,” she laughed kindly, her voice thick with an English accent. “Do you mind helping me?”

  Suzette’s stomach dropped at the thought of putting effort into anything, but her nature got the best of her. “Of course. How can I help?”

  “I actually was wondering if I could speak to your pastor or perhaps his assistant. I called him earlier in the week. Do you know where I might find him?”

  “Well, he’s getting ready for the next service, but let’s see if we can find him.” She took the old woman’s arm in her free one and gently led her into the large church.

  “Maybe I can get your opinion as well,” the old woman started. “I’m here to look for some young applicants.”

  Suzette tried to push past her grief to focus on the guest, to make her feel welcome. “What for?”

  The old woman’s sweet smile dulled just a bit. “You see, my husband died just recently this year,” she said softly.

  Suzette’s heart sank, her own worries flying out of her mind in an instant. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, ma’am.”

  The old woman nodded
. “Thank you. I’ve had such a hard time giving him up, so I have the silly thought to take up his charity work. But he was so diligent, so hardworking. As much as I would like to imagine myself as a spring chicken, I’m old. I need an assistant to help me with things. Someone who will have the same wholesome, Christian zeal he did. I’ve only heard good things about this church, so I wanted to speak to your pastor about anyone he might have in mind.”

  “Why, hello, Lady Augustine!” a voice called.

  Suzette turned to see her pastor walking up, smiling like usual, with a cup of steaming coffee in his hands.

  Augustine. Suzette had heard the name before. Dante had mentioned Frank and Liza going to an auction Lady Augustine had held at someone’s mansion just the weekend before. It was odd to see such a typically high-maintenance person come to such a casual church.

  Lady Augustine pulled away from Suzette and made her way toward the pastor. “Hello, sir.”

  He offered his hand when, all of the sudden, he tripped over his own feet. Losing control of his legs, he stumbled forward, the coffee in his cup starting out of his hand and toward Lady Augustine.

  Everything seemed to be in slow motion—except Suzette’s mind. They all moved like snails. No, snails would move faster. Lady Augustine froze in shock and found herself only staring. It appeared to Suzette as if the pastor took his sweet time falling. Odd. After what seemed like a good ten seconds in Suzette’s head, Lady Augustine finally brought her arm up to block the coffee. The steaming liquid lulled out of the cup and into the air as if it were a thick, sticky sap and the cup was as light as a feather.

  Suzette’s fingers slowly peeled away from the sermon notes, almost as if on their own. Her foot moved forward, but instead of it being quick, it moved like she was being forced through tons of water. Her hand came up as she lunged at the pastor, whose chest, after what appeared to be a good few seconds, fell into her hand. At the same time, she grabbed the cup with her free hand and caught the suspended coffee inside. Then she hooked back around and snagged the little droplets as they drifted in the air.

  Once everything was safe, she watched Lady Augustine’s hands finally jerk up to her face to stop the coffee, the old woman’s shoulders scrunched up.

  The pastor gasped when he saw he had been spared a nasty accident.

  “Oh!” Lady Augustine breathed, shocked that she too had been saved. Eyes wide, she stared at Suzette in awe. “That was amazing.” Her voice was quiet, bewildered. Her hands came up to her chest to steady her pounding heart. “How on earth did you do that, child?”

  Surprised herself, Suzette blinked a few times and opened her mouth. When nothing came, she just shrugged. Finally, she confessed, “I don’t know. It was like time slowed down and I—” When she thought about it, she stopped, knowing it was useless to explain. No, it just sounded plain stupid to even try. Time slowed? Her body had gone into autopilot? She closed her mouth and stared back. “I don’t know,” she repeated, bewildered and confused herself.

  “Time slowed down, huh?” the pastor asked, taking his coffee. “Yeah, I know what you mean. That’s happened to me before. But thank you! Great reflexes!”

  “No!” the Lady insisted. “It was different! You reacted to it! You remarkable child, what is your name?”

  Blushing, Suzette shuffled her feet. “Um, Suzette Valentine, ma’am,” she mumbled nervously.

  “Suzette,” the old woman repeated. Taking Suzette’s hands in her frail ones, she shook them and added, “Thank you very much. You’re a gifted child, you are.”

  Looking over at her pastor, Suzette could see in his face that he thought it was no big deal. But Lady Augustine was right. What exactly just happened? Suzette asked herself. She had good reflexes, sure, but nothing like that. She was just lucky that she reacted fast enough. But now, she processed the whole scene in her head.

  Maybe things were not moving slow.

  Maybe her reflexes were moving quicker.

  Either way, it was strange. And either way, it wasn’t bound to happen again. She was just lucky. What else could it have been? Weird…but lucky. Or maybe the stress of everything had finally made her snap.

  “There’s something special about you,” the old woman whispered. “I can see it in your eyes. I have a wonderful feeling about it. You’ll do great things, I’m sure.”

  “Great things?” A little embarrassed, Suzette pulled back a bit and looked down. “Like what?” Am I destined to save other little old ladies from coffee spills?

  Lady Augustine laughed at that. “Oh, I could think of a few things. Not all heroes wear capes, you know.”

  Suzette laughed awkwardly back, only at the effort trying to picture herself as a “hero.” A bizarre thing to say for such a bizarre situation. Yeah, right. What an idea! She brushed away the thought, too focused on strange occurrences.

  But then Lady Augustine’s eyes twinkled. “Or perhaps, if you ever want to be an assistant…” She pulled out a notepad from her clutch purse and began to scratch on it with a pen. With a smile, she handed the paper over to Suzette, patted the young woman’s shoulder, and walked off with the pastor.

  Suzette looked down at the paper.

  It was an address.

  She stuffed it in her pocket and stood there, a bit confused. What did you do after an event like that? When her eyes fell to the floor, she noticed the scattered papers and began picking them up, her mind much slower than it had been just moments before.

  Canto IV

  The full moon shone brightly in the sky, though its rays couldn’t penetrate the darkness that lurked in the room. Dorian sat on the edge of the bed, staring out at that moon, daring the light to penetrate him as he prepared himself for the task at hand. He had put it off for too long. Now, the shadows demanded it—said it was time. He glanced over at the beautiful, foreign woman lying next to him, her bare body tucked under the covers. It was Krishna, if he remembered correctly. Not that it would matter. He remembered how easily he had lured the poor, little-known woman out of her country with promises of fame and fortune.

  That made him laugh a little.

  But who would pass up an opportunity to be the costar of a Dorian Gray movie? Even in her little, sheltered town, she was well aware of his star-studded name. It had been easy to tell that the girl was desperate for him to take her out of nothingness, to make her feel special.

  And he was sure to deliver.

  Krishna stirred. He glanced over his shoulder to see her roll over and face him, yawning a bit. “Are you alright, my love?” she asked in her native language. Her tone sounded more seductive than concerned.

  “I’m fine,” he answered back in the same tongue. “I’m just excited.”

  She giggled a little. Then she crawled after him and pressed herself against his back, running her hands down his bare chest. “Excited for what?” she purred.

  He peered up at her. When he looked into her naïve eyes, he smiled, matching her sultriness. “Let’s go look,” he said instead, standing. Eager, he grabbed her hands and pulled her out of bed, wrapping his robe around her before they shuffled out of the room.

  They crept quietly through the large, empty house, making sport of it. The way she giggled showed her anticipation building. Stopping at the kitchen, Dorian reached into a drawer, pulled out a cloth napkin and tied it around her eyes.

  She felt at it curiously.

  “It’s a surprise,” he whispered in her ear, answering her silent question.

  The words made her smile and she felt for his hand, granting him permission to continue.

  Dorian made his way to the den. It was a smaller room than the others, with a few chairs and a bookshelf filled with a large variety of books from philosophy to fiction. A portrait of himself hung next to it. He walked up to the books and began to pull out the Holy Bible when it stopped short, clicking. The bookcase swung out from the wall, revealing an unlit hallway with a door at the end.

  He walked in, gingerly pulling Krishna along,
and pressed a button on the wall. The bookcase slid back into place. Then he walked her over to the door, pulling her through with him.

  It was a plain room—deep red walls and a wooden floor, no windows. A small table sat in the corner, holding a small lamp and picture frame. The focal point of the room was, by far, not plain at all.

  Laying in the middle of the room was a collection of candles. They were all arranged along a large, white circle of paint on the floor. Within the circle was a white, five-pointed star, resembling the head of a goat. The points formed two horns, two ears, and a beard, with an inverted pentagon as its face. There were four chains connected to the wooden floor within the circle, the cuffs lying open.

  Taking the girl’s hand, Dorian led her to the circle, ever so gentle. “Step over,” he ordered quietly.

  She hesitated but obeyed, lifting her robe up a little. Her feet teetered a moment in the air as she tried to judge how far to step. Once she passed over the small barrier of candles, she shuffled forward uncertainly, feeling the ground with the soles of her feet, but he stopped her. With great tenderness, he coaxed her to lie down in the middle of the star, two of the points protruding from her shoulders. Though blindfolded, an erotic smile crept onto her lips as he chained her arms and legs down. From there, she waited in anxious excitement, her hands gripping onto the chains that bound her.

  Dorian stood up and glared at her. Shaking his head, he stepped out of the circle and over to the small table. He opened the side drawer, plucked out a lighter, and began to light all the candles. As he moved from each one, he glanced at the woman. She tried to squirm impatiently but the chains wouldn’t allow her. And as he worked, he began to recite an ancient prayer under his breath.

  “What did you say?” Krishna asked, not recognizing the language.

  He gave a small snicker at her ignorance. When he was done, he took a step back and stared at the scene, taking it in. It made him smile. Then he went back to the table where a small, silver dagger waited from him. He picked it up and his smile grew as he watched the flames flicker off the blade. He then finished his ritual prayer and smiled at his handsome reflection in the silver. Walking over to the girl, he began his own prayer. He asked for guidance and for a new task he could carry out—maybe one that would bring him more recognition or more purpose. He just wanted the same kind of outcome his very first prayer gave him. Hopeful, he stepped inside the ring of fire and knelt over the girl.