Chapter Twenty OneA Chapter by ScottWinchesterNicolle Darling had never been kissed. This
was, admittedly, not her greatest concern at the moment. Her greatest concern
was on the front of the newspaper sitting on the kitchen table… front of the
newspaper, she noted, not the sports section. CLOSE ECLIPSE BOWL ENDS WITH PLAY FOR THE AGES. She noticed how
over half of its five hundred word length dealt exclusively with Jackson McKay,
Darius Geldart, and their final play, leaving virtually anything else �" other
players, other plays, even the final score itself �" matters of little
importance. According to one report both Chess Club members ex-Chess Club members had already spoken to multiple college scouts. This
was news to those who remained Chess Clubbers, of course, seeing as no one had
spoken to The Evil Three since the night of the Eclipse Bowl. It was now
Sunday, two days having passed, and the matter of what to do with the rogue
Artists when schooldays returned was driving them all crazy, most of all poor
Dominic. By
way of his executive order (which, sadly, seemed to hold a little less power in
light of recent happenings) Dominic ordered all Chess Club members to lie low,
“low, low, low,” was how Vee had relayed it, “as low as possible.” No
Artistries, no going out, nothing.
Not until the Chess Club found its bearings again and the coast was clear. This
had resigned Nicolle to her bedroom, just like the old days, looking out the
window wondering what was going to happen. Also
of concern, Timmy had more or less left her alone since Friday evening. She’d
heard from him one time only… a text message she sent him the morning after the
game. In light of all the problems the Chess Club officers were facing she
decided to do her part in keeping Timmy on some kind of leash, as she’d
originally agreed; one less problem to deal with. But his reply was very unlike
him: instead of invitations to see each other or an attempt to carry a
conversation, he only said three words: Times
are changing. She texted back uh huh,
are you okay. He didn’t reply. Their
world could end. Dominic had explained it well; if there were others that knew
about Artistries �" and there likely were �" it was quite possible they would not
have good intentions for the Chess Club. And despite all of these worries and end-of-our-world
scenarios and Up-and-Coming Artistries… … …
Nicolle had never been kissed. Nicolle had never even had a boyfriend. So when
Elijah put his arm around her, and she had permission
to lay against his powerful chest… how could anyone care if the world ended or
not?? Internally she warred with herself: it was a romantic gesture on his part, no it
wasn’t, not at all, but he laid his chin on the top of my head, what about
that, his neck might’ve been hurting from fighting, he just broke up with
Presley, the girl wonder, there was absolutely nothing romantic in the bridge,
and the stars, and the water… Oh, but there was. The bridge, the stars, the water… they owned it
all for such a short time. And a short time it was. Eventually he returned her
to her car, thus ending the worst/greatest night of her life, but not without
hope. Probably one hundred times since that night Nicolle had relived, in her
mind, reaching out and taking the door handle in her shaking fingers… but
she did not pull. She waited, and the car rumbled impatiently, and Elijah
Beaumont, beside her, said nothing. It was fear: she just knew that when the
door opened and she got out, all of the good things of the night �" his touch,
his voice, the stilling of time �" would vanish, and all the bad things of the
night �" the screams, the betrayals, the end of everything, maybe �" would
amplify in the silence of her lonely bedroom. So she waited. The car rumbled impatiently. And
Elijah said nothing. “Will I see you again soon?” Nicolle spoke
tenderly, and cursed the fact; her vulnerability practically scented the
Cherokee. Did Artists of the White have
good senses? Could he smell her fear? What a terrifying thought… Perhaps worse,
she was likely smothering him. He hadn’t looked at her in a while, bad sign,
and he had so much on his plate right now… she needed to just BACK OFF, let the
man breathe, but then, God, he would drive away and forget her, and�" “Yes,” he said. Yes, he said. Yes. “When?” Her tone was that of a girl saying ‘I’m
on fire, someone put me out’. He thought for a
moment, and she knew he would say ‘at school’, or something like that, a time
when they would see each other anyway; she braced herself for the crushing
disappointment�" “Sunday,” he
said. Sunday, he said. And suddenly Saturday became Hellday, twenty-four
hours of pure torment, the only thing standing between herself and… whatever
she and Elijah apparently now had. Romance…? If not, companionship?
Friendship…? Pals? It
was now Sunday evening and by way of Dominic’s order, she had spoken to no one
in the Chess Club hardly at all. Her day had been spent awaiting one of two
things: Elijah to get in touch with her somehow or for the ramifications of the
Eclipse Bowl to knock on her door, probably with a gun of some kind. So
she waited, wondering if she would die without knowing what a kiss felt like.
Vivian
van Valen wanted to cry. Nicolle believed that her best friend had the ability
to become optimistic at will, pretty much �" she’d read such from Nicolle’s mind
�" but no. Especially not today, listening to her Dominic plead on the phone in
the next room. She hadn’t ever heard him plead before; the sound broke her
heart. “…
dad, if this is your number, you have to
call me back, please. I’m in over my head now… I thought I could manage
this, but I can’t, and I know things are about to get very bad because of it.
Seriously, we could be taken away, or killed, over this, if anyone out there
looks for people like us we could be in serious trouble. I need your help.
Please dad, if you get this, please, please call me back.” The
phone call apparently ended, but Dominic did not return, instead choosing the
solitude of the room he was in; weakness was a garb he did not wear well. Vee
was tempted to look into his muddled, defeated thoughts, but stilled herself;
he wanted privacy, she would give it to him. Fear
was not an emotion commonly felt in the Chess Club. She and her fellow clubbers
walked the halls of Maple High in a bubble of intense popularity, mysterious
power, and unapproachable intimidation; put simply, no one messed with them, so no fear there, and it could be relied
upon that if a troublesome situation did occur
one of them would possess an Artistry to dispel it pretty quickly. The
Chess Club was no more, and its members had gone rogue, broadcasting their
secrets to the world, potentially bringing about their end. There was no
Artistry to mend that. Dominic slowly reentered the room. She looked
up to him with sad Blue Eyes, and he returned a Green Eyed look of pure, concentrated
exhaustion. She was sitting on his bed, hands folded in front of her; she
nodded to the spot beside her. “Come
here, Dom,” she said. He
walked over to her lifelessly and sat. Perhaps two minutes passed in silence,
Dom mindlessly fidgeting his phone from one hand to the other. He’s not going to call, Dom, she
thought. There is no hope there. But
she hoped still. “I
remember,” he started, his voice scratchy and low, and then nothing for ten
seconds. Vee wondered if she was about to see him cry for the first time until
he began again. “I remember the morning my Artistry awakened… how happy I was.
Unlike most Artists, you know, I actually knew
what an Artistry was before I got mine. I was stoked, I always thought
having the Green Artistry would be fun. All I could think about was how much
fun it was going to be, and how much good I was going to accomplish, like dad.” Vee
recalled the early days of the Chess Club well; Dom wasn’t exaggerating his
enthusiasm. His chest was always out, his head held high, his attitude one of
unmovable hope for the future. “I…
walked out of my dad’s office, where I’d accidentally teleported… and I first
ran to tell Eli, and he had an Artistry too, and it was like Christmas, you
know…? We just stayed in his room for thirty minutes or so, all happy and
excited. Eli was in better shape than when he went to bed, and he started
buffing up Maximus, our lizard then, and I was managing to stop time for a
second or two, and sort of teleport. Then we heard mom downstairs�"” Vee
could hear Mrs. Beaumont down there as he spoke; a vacuum was running. Such a
normal thing. Vacuuming. She judged that Dom hadn’t told her of the events of
the Eclipse Bowl, otherwise it was possible that when Vee arrived at the
Beaumonts that morning there would not have been anyone there. “�"and
we both ran down to show her our eyes. And… I will never… never forget the
look on her face. She didn’t say anything bad, but she didn’t have to. She was
so disappointed.” She’d
never heard this part of the story before, but she wasn’t surprised by his
mother’s reaction. Where Dominic ended up favoring his father’s opinions
regarding Artistries, Elijah ended up favoring their mother’s opinions, which
weren’t negative, per say. But they did include room for alarm; alarm over what
such power might do to her children, alarm over what such power would mean to
the rest of the world. “She
was the one that started the sunglasses thing,” Dom continued. “Most people at
school probably think it was a brand of coolness or something, but no… she was
terrified to let us return to school with eyes like this. She was so afraid
that the world wasn’t ready for Artists, that her boys would be hurt somehow.
That if anyone found out what we were… they’d take us away from her.” Those
words were the last ones said in the room for nearly five minutes, and they
echoed, and echoed, and echoed in Vee’s thoughts. “Tell
it to me straight,” she said, not looking at him. “What do you think will
happen to us?” “Someone out there knows about Artists… maybe
the government, I don’t know. But all we can do is pray that they haven’t been
watching Savannah. Because if they have…” “… we’ll all be gone in days.” He hadn’t
wanted Vee to hear, but she heard anyway. “Days,
huh?” She said, a sad attempt at her usual playfulness. “If only we had some
way of stopping time…” She
looked to him with a small grin. He didn’t grin back, but there was
understanding there regardless. She leaned her head on his shoulder �" she
wanted to wrap her arms around him, but was that too much? �" and felt his body
rise with his deep breath. Sound
ceased; the sinking sun stilled; the world stopped turning; a bird in midflight
paused just outside the window. Nothing moved on the planet Earth but Dominic’s
arm around Vee’s waist, and in their frozen moment she cried at last. Nicolle
woke to a sound at her window. It was just passed midnight, according to the
digital clock beside her, and all was dark and held a dream like haziness, like
walking on the moon. She slid out of bed and went slowly to the window; her
first thought was this is the end,
whatever the end would be. The fallout from the Eclipse Bowl. But no; she knew
in her heart what this was. This was romantic. This was Elijah Beaumont,
keeping his promise. Her
fingers found the locks and undid them; she slid the window up (done so many
times as she and Adam escaped to Granddaddy Longleg’s) and put her entire upper
body through. A
soft night wind rustled her hair. There was no sound in the night, nor was
there much light. Nor was there Elijah… A
ringtone sounded; Nicolle poked her head back inside to see her cell phone
lighting up. She walked over to it and lifted it to her face. It was from Vee.
RUN. THEY ARE COMING.
Nicolle’s brow creased in confusion… what was that about? What was
Vee saying? Wait… could she be
talking about�"? --
a red line, a laser pointer, appeared through her bedroom window and centered
on her chest. She’d seen this before, on movies; this was the aim of a gun.
Someone outside her window was pointing a gun at her chest. She
leapt to the side just as the glass shattered, but not fast enough; the bullet
took her right in the shoulder, sending her spinning to the floor; blood
splattered her walls. Pain. So. Much. Pain�" --
Nicolle forced herself back to logical thought, a skill borne of living in fear
from her mother. In her hands surged the power of the Black Artistry, and she
was determined to deal death to whoever came next. Somewhere in her thoughts
she placed the pieces together: I’m the last
on the list. Everyone else is gone, this is why Eli didn’t show… Was Vee okay? Was anyone dead?? Was�"? Her
bedroom door exploded open with a kick; Nicolle screamed and shoved herself
into a sitting position. There were three of them, just like in a movie,
military men of some sort, outfitted in complete combat gear, guns with lasers
held high. Nicolle lurched forward and latched onto one’s leg, but it was no
use, she was touching clothe, not skin�" “Hands
up!” One yelled, and she did what she could, raising her only good arm above
her head. Another one of the men aimed his gun at her face; the light was sharp
in her Black Eyes. “She’s
one of them alright, look,” he said. “Take
her down, President’s orders,” another said. There
was a flash of gunfire, and… … … and Nicolle awoke. A
dream. It was a dream. Nicolle
gulped air as if she were drowning, her eyes scanning her bedroom; her door was
on its hinges still, and no laser pointers came through her window. In her
dream it was a still, moonless night; in reality thunder rumbled overhead and
heavy rain drummed the countryside… what Granddaddy Longlegs would have called
a gully wash. Nicolle
laid her face into her hands, a pose of defeat, put her head down between her
knees, and cried. It was an emotional overload; sadness for her friend’s
worries, fear for everyone’s safety, disappointment that Elijah never showed.
Sunday was almost over; it was nearly midnight. He had twenty four hours to
come and never did, leaving her feeling terribly unimportant. There
would be no sleep tonight; Nicolle groped her way to her desk and woke her
computer from its sleep. The screen’s brightness was toned down to very low to
keep from blinding her. Tybee lighthouse lit up her room. That image had given
her hope for as long as she could remember, something to assure her that one
day she was going to break free. That hope wasn’t quite there anymore. What
a realistic dream… her body was still in fight or flight mode; her fingers were
still preparing to kill whatever moved. They had school the next day, but
should any of them really be going…? Would it not be easier for each of them to
just run away, to find somewhere and hide? There was no running from the event
that Dominic’s Up-and-Coming Artistry was foreseeing, but perhaps there was a
way to run from being found out due to the Eclipse Bowl�" --
someone was standing just outside her window. For a split second she merely
stared at the shape of him, wild terror coursing through her spine, before a
sense of relief �" and something more �" overwhelmed her. She couldn’t see the
face that well in the dark… but the shape of him, the silhouette… it looked
just like… …
far from being a laser pointer, or a gun, his finger rose to the glass and, so
politely, tapped. Each tap delivered a thousand more butterflies into Nicolle’s
stomach; at first she simply watched him from across the room, too moved by the
occasion to stir back to logical thought. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark
and she saw him; Elijah, the Elijah Beaumont, was at her house. He was right
there, just outside the window. Why was he coming to see her…? Wouldn’t he much
rather visit someone else, or…? His
hand raised again and, still so politely, tapped. She
nearly hopped in her race to reach the window; she fidgeted with the lock as if
she’d never worked it before. “Hold
on… it’ll be just a second… … man, these locks are… are… darn… I’m trying to
hurry…” Nicolle realized she was rambling and snapped her mouth shut; he wasn’t
even inside yet and she felt like an idiot. The
lock disengaged �" click �" Nicolle
lifted the window �" shoom �" and she
reverently stepped back as if an angel from Heaven was about to fly through.
With a leonine grace that was intensely sexy (how could she go from afraid to attracted so fast?) Elijah threw one leg inside before pulling the
rest of himself in with a gymnast’s ease. He stood inside her bedroom, HER BEDROOM, like a figure of worship,
powerful and full of beauty, unapproachable, amazing… “I’m
sorry about the mess,” he said, his voice deep and sensual. “And for how late
I’ve come… I didn’t intend it.” Nicolle
nodded eagerly. He could have said I
brought a grenade with me, by the way… I’m about to set it off and she
would have nodded eagerly. Like before she was stunned into paralysis, unable
to think logically; she just stood a few feet from him, the fingers of her left
hand playing with the fingers of her right hand, her eyes locked on him. There
was a certain unreality to the
moment, that he should exist in her room at all, and truthfully Nicolle wasn’t
sure what to do or think. After
a few moments without a reply he smiled, something she wasn’t accustomed to
seeing. “May I… have a towel?” “Oh,
yes! We keep towels! Over here, let me… let me…” Nicolle
rocketed from the bedroom at the speed of sound, racing to the bathroom to grab
the fluffiest towel she could find, and maybe she’d spritz it with the perfume
Vee bought her first. As soon as she was outside of her room a single logical
thought invaded her explosion of happiness and she knew well to heed it: be quite… be careful… you’re still in the
home of Fire Woman. What happens if she finds a boy in your room…? THERE’S A BOY IN
MY ROOM was all Nicolle could respond with; she pranced
back into her bedroom with a towel in hand, closing the door softly behind her. “Here
you go,” she said, giving it to him, her eyes not quite meeting his. “Thank
you,” he said, and it was as if her knees blew out beneath her. Holy moly. What
a voice. And what a body. He wore only a white V-neck despite the cold weather
and rain, and she was thankful; through it she could see his shaped muscles,
his rock hard form. Why was he in her bedroom?
Wouldn’t any other girl’s bedroom be preferred…? She gripped the edge of her
computer desk to steady herself as she watched him dry off. “It’s…
nearly midnight,” she said; in the act of drying his hair his eyes were covered
by the towel, giving her the courage to say something. “I wasn’t thinking you
would come.” “I’ve
been away, unexpectedly busy,” he said, his deep voice audible over the
growling thunder around them. “I was checking on the houses of other Club
members, making sure nothing was amiss. I wasn’t intending to wake you,
actually, but I noticed that you were awake already.” He
wiped his arms down once he finished with his hair and then handed the towel
back to Nicolle, who was already planning to fold it and hide it, never to wash
again. Just like that, with the returning of the towel and the opening
pleasantries amended, a nervous silence overtook the room, a feeling of picking
up where ‘the bridge’ had left off and not quite knowing how to start. It would
help if Nicolle knew whether Elijah’s aims were romantic or platonic. That
night he’d dropped his rock-hard demeanor for just a little while and allowed
himself to be comforted, but she saw no sign of such vulnerability tonight. “Well,
you seem to be unharmed, and we have school tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll let you
get back to sleep, I suppose.” Nicolle
shook her head quickly. “No, no, it’s!... it’s fine, really, you just got here…
just have a seat, I can get us something to drink, if you like… hot chocolate,
maybe…” “I’d
prefer to stand, actually,” he said. “But perhaps you should sit… you’re
shaking pretty badly, do you feel okay?” Nicolle’s
heart lurched in horror; she looked down and, yep, her hands were shaking.
Around the corners of her mouth the muscles tensed, making a smile impossible. “This
happens s-sometimes,” she stammered. Whenever
you’re near, that is. “N-nothing to worry about…” “You
shake?” “Y-yeah,”
she said. She attempted to force a casual air into herself; he was watching her
rather closely, either concerned or confused, and she was not about to allow
the rare occasion of him being in her room to waste with her looking dumb. She
pulled up the chair to her computer desk and sat down. She crossed one leg over
the other… undid that, crossed the other leg… undid that, laid her hands on her
legs, but they were still clearly shaking, so she crossed her arms, hugging
herself closely, knees tight together. She finished fidgeting and looked up to
find Elijah staring at her. “Are
you okay?” “Mmhm,”
she agreed quickly. “Do
I need to leave…? I don’t want to put you out, I just wanted to make sure
everything was okay here�"” “No,
s-stay!” She waved a hand as if waving away the suggestion. “It’s okay, don’t…
don’t go.” He
took a step forward: “But… something’s unnatural. You’re nervous… or
frightened, or something…” “No,”
she said, looking down. The
floorboards squeaked as he dropped to one knee in front of her. “Is
it me?” His tone was sincere, and the gentle volume of his voice melted her. “I
apologize for screaming at you, in the field house… you don’t have to be afraid
of me.” “I’m
n-not,” Nicolle choked out, her face so far downward that her chin touched her
chest. “It’s… … … not that…” “Then
why are you so restless…?” Nicolle
thought over how to respond. As she did, she noticed something and her stomach
turned to ice: she was still in her pajamas, pajamas which consisted of panties
and an overly large T-shirt. There he was, looking like a movie
star-slash-model-slash-seraphim, and there she sat, hair everywhere, looking
like a repugnant disaster, a girl on the wrong end of a chicken attack. “I…
think I’m gonna be sick.” “Sick?
As in…?” “I
don’t f-feel so well,” Nicolle said. She rose and turned for the door, her
fingers barely reaching the handle before his hand gently went around her
wrist, holding her from leaving. In his touch she felt the cool, refreshing
sensation of being healed, and her stomach began to slowly unknot itself. Slowly
she turned, still refusing to look in his face, and planted her back against
the door. “There,”
he said. “That should have helped...” The
setting was for a romantic novel: the lights were low… they were meeting in
secret… they were whispering, and he was standing so near to her now, herself
backed up to the door, his hand still on her wrist. Her breathing became
asthmatic. “Just…
just breathe slowly,” he whispered, clearly confused. “What’s wrong with you…? You’re
acting unnatural.” Nicolle
decided to count to ten before she responded. She closed her eyes and listened:
the sound of torrential rain outside the open window, of occasional thunder,
and his breathing. So close to her. He
removed his hand from her wrist; she caught it before he had time to pull it
back, feeling his fingers on her own. She didn’t dare look up to see his
expression. “I
suppose… if the world will be ending for us soon… … secrets have no point in
being kept,” she whispered. “I, um… I… um… You’re a Black Eyed love machine “… I think we were made for each other.” A siren went off
internally: you just laid it on way too
think, Darling. “I mean!... I have feelings for you, you know… just a
crush, that’s all, it’s nothing for you to concern yourself with, not really…
you know, a schoolgirl thing, I just think you’re extraordinarily good looking,
and being around you makes me happy… but… and… well…” She
fizzled out. Throughout her entire speech she’d not looked up one time, and
he’d stayed kindly silent to allow her to speak. At long last her secret was
told, and the thought both excited and terrified her. She was still awkwardly
holding his fingers in her own; she assumed he could feel her throbbing
heartbeat. Her hand was still shaking, wobbling both of them. Seconds
passed. Every breath was like fire, both optimistically warm and
pessimistically scalding, a limbo where her heart teetered between pain and
relief. His
left hand crossed over and joined the right, holding her own hand in between.
This steadied her and the shaking stopped, and at last she had the courage to
look up at him. Hope surged; she was losing strength all over; all she could
hear now was the loud thumping of her heartbeat in her ears. His breath was cool
and fresh, near enough to her that she could feel the light air on her face;
she breathed it in an almost sexual way, greedily taking in his fragrance. She
had never felt this way before: electricity pounded every nerve in her body;
she felt like a flower that had just blossomed. He
hadn’t yet answered her. She no longer cared. Dominic’s Up-and-Coming Artistry… Adam’s Intuition… All the fear for
the future… “Take her down, President’s orders,” another said.
There was a flash of gunfire… Let the world end with this.
She took a handful of his wet shirt, pulled herself against him, and
voraciously placed her quivering lips on his own. She gave in to animal desire,
something she had never done, allowing her tongue to taste his bottom lip,
setting her hands free to dig into the solid muscles of his torso, his
shoulders, his biceps. After
nearly two seconds, tenderly yet firm, Elijah moved back from her. While
kissing him she had purpose, she knew what to do; standing three feet away from
him, chest rising and falling with uncontrollable gasps, empty hands unsure of
where now to go, she felt suddenly, foolishly adrift. Through
her window, through the falling rain, a cold breeze moved over her boiling skin
and cooled her. She wondered what would happen next, and was more afraid now
than ever. What would he say…? How badly had she messed up…? What in the world
had come over her…? “Perhaps
I should apologize,” he said. This statement was so obtuse to her that she
wasn’t even sure how to respond; him apologize?
She was the one that’d just essentially molested him, she should apologize.
“Will you forgive me?” “What
for…?” She was lost. “I
have no control over that particular Artistry,” he said, and to her
astonishment his tone took on a color of… what was it? Rueful confession? “I
hadn’t realized an Artistry was used,” she said. His nod was a shamed one. “Yes.
If ever I have particular feelings for a person, my body will produce very
potent pheromones to attract them to me further. I’m afraid I just seduced you.” …? What? Nicolle felt as if she had just
been tackled, distorting her sense of everything.
She analyzed his words in her mind a thousand times in one second, her pulse
quickening. The conclusion she came to couldn’t possibly be correct… “You…
have feelings… … for me??” His
gorgeous White Eyes, the color of the lightest storm clouds, looked her dead in
the face; his expression was likely intended to be contrite, but to her it was irresistibly
smoldering. He nodded slowly. Like
a cartoon character Nicolle comically smacked her forehead with her hand and
kept it there, so blown away by this revelation that it felt as if the ground
was spinning beneath her; with her back to the door she sank onto her bottom. “How??” Though he still looked
collected and calm, he didn’t look particularly comfortable; he was a closed
book, a tightly closed book, and
prying it open at last was not without difficulty. “I’m…
an uncommon kind of person. Most people, I think, are fairly similar, in that
they think in similar ways, and are entertained in similar ways, and live in
similar ways. But my life has progressed so that the man I’ve become is not
similar to most people. I’m an Artist, like it or not, which has its blessings
and curses, and being an Artist instantly makes relationships with other
non-Artists problematic. But there’s more. I have a very hard time trusting
others, and… I construct a mask, or a wall, to keep me from knowing them, and
from them knowing me. Even with Presley, who was a good friend, I held her at
my arm’s length, not just keeping my Artistries a secret from her, but my the
reality of who I truly am as well.” This
was the most Nicolle had ever heard Elijah speak; she doubted many others had
witnessed him open up so thoroughly either and was careful to stay still and
listen lest she interrupt him. She tried to appear as calm as he was, but
inside she was like a petal in the surf, every few seconds overwhelmed by
another wave of emotion. Elijah
continued: “She is a wonderful person, patient… but in the end, even though she
tried so hard, I don’t think she would have been capable of really understanding me. We had
similarities, but ultimately I was too unique… too uncommon… for us to work. I was prepared to relegate myself to
simply living alone after she and I separated, to keeping my walls up always…
it would be easier that way. To love is to risk pain. And in any case, what
were the odds of finding someone as unique as myself to be with?” Nicolle
swallowed. She thought she knew where this was going, and her blood raced. “It’s
not just that you are also an Artist, that we share that secret. You and I
share more secrets that you think, secrets of the heart and mind. I didn’t see
it at first, but when my walls came crumbling down on that bridge and for the
first time since I was a child I allowed someone inside… I saw it, something
that was tickling my mind ever since you appeared in the Hideout the first time.
You’re uncommon, too… on the inside, you don’t think or even live like most
people. But you think and live like me. I don’t know if anyone will ever
understand me like you probably could, I see it in your eyes, the way you watch
me. That’s why I’m here now.” He took a deep breath and let it out very slowly,
perhaps taking that moment to compose his words. He finished his soliloquy with
this: “I’ve felt alone every day of my life except for the moments when I’m
with you. I don’t know what that means. But I think it means something.” Nicolle
didn’t know what to say, or what to even think; she was even having trouble
knowing how to breathe. At last she looked up to him and whispered, “I’ve never
heard you say so much.” He
smiled. “If the world will be ending soon, why should secrets be kept?” Nicolle
swallowed again; her throat was dry; her fingers were tingling. She pleaded:
“Keep going.” A
fraction of a second was Nicolle’s only warning, the slightest sensing of
footsteps elsewhere; the three hard knocks on the door eliminated Nicolle’s
blushing, turning her white with fright. BOOM,
BOOM, BOOM they reverberated across her back. “NICOLLE!!
WHAT ARE YOU DOING, I HEARD SOMETHING!” The
door tried to open but couldn’t; Nicolle was sitting in front of it. She looked
up to Elijah, scared and embarrassed; his composure kept, but he looked
concerned. “The window,” Nicolle whispered; Elijah
went to the window, climbed out, closed it behind him, and was gone. Gone. Nicolle
stood and the door blew open, reminding her of her dream, and instinctively the
power of her Artistry returned to her hands. Fire Woman appeared in the
doorway, a bear awoken from its cave. What had just happened with Elijah We kissed empowered her in a way she’d never before had when dealing with
her mother; she was prepared to stand her ground, though she let her Artistry
fade from her fingers. Her mother-extraordinaire looked feral… but what was
new? “What
are you doing in here?!” Whut are yoo
doin in har?! “I
was watching videos on the computer,” Nicolle said, gesturing to the lit up
monitor. Sylvia
looked as if she wanted to argue more, but Nicolle believed two things stayed
her hand: sleepiness (she’d probably been on her way to the bathroom, having
had too much beer before bed) and fear. Fear of Nicolle’s hands. “Well
keep it down, d****t… people are trying to sleep,” she said groggily, and left,
slamming the door. Nicolle
forgot her; she ran to the window lifted it. Why bother, though…? Why would he
still be out there, getting all wet and cold, he was probably heading home
already�" He
was there, all the way across the side yard, standing under a tree. Unhindered
by the truth that she wore only undies and a shirt, Nicolle climbed through the
window and sprinted across the grass; in her mind a soft, beautiful theme
played, maybe a song heard in her youth. This was the big romantic scene in the
movie of her life, after all. She
slowed down a few feet from him, her bare feet on wet grass; above them was the
sound of rain on hundreds of leaves. It occurred to her suddenly that this was
the tree she had seen so long ago, hiding in her bathroom, the tree that looked
as lifeless as she’d felt. Now it seemed just fine, and she was more than that.
She was flying. They
said nothing at first. Both of their hair was darkened by rain and sticking to
their faces. She knew reality: it was too soon for him to date, that was
understandable. But also included in reality was this, something she saw in the
way his grey eyes looked at her: that she was now his, and he was now hers. He
was her confidant, her secret keeper, her Elijah… maybe her everything. “If
you’re wondering if I want you to,” Elijah said, “I want you to.” Nicolle
rushed him, her feet splashing puddles, and he wrapped his arms around her. Her
heart was lighter than she’d ever thought possible. She wrapped her arms around
him likewise and he lifted her from the ground, holding her close to his body.
For the first time in either of their lives, it seemed to her, they’d found
someone they could open up to entirely. She was in love with the feeling. She
knew she shouldn’t… not when he wasn’t yet ready to date… but: “If
it all ends tomorrow…” she said, pulling her chin off his shoulder to look him
in the face, and she kissed him with rainwater washing over her. It
was like a resurrection.
© 2013 ScottWinchesterReviews
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2 Reviews  Last Updated on June 3, 2013 Author
ScottWinchesterCullman, ALAboutThis is the official page for Scott Winchester's THE CHESS CLUB. Nicolle Darling knows all about unhappy living. Friendless, broke, and abused, she spends her time reminiscing about the days when h.. more..Writing
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