In the Shadow of Death: Chapter Three

<<<<<<<<GO BACK to Chapter Two

In The Shadow

Raze Constantine was not a man in the habit of waiting. Looking down at his watch, he sighed with annoyance. 6:20. Twenty minutes late, though it felt like an hour. He sat at an empty table and contemplated the glass of wine perched between his fingertips. He supposed he shouldn’t be so irritated. He’d waited this long to meet her, what was a few more minutes, but Raze waited for no one. In both of his lives he was used to making things happen. He wasn’t above forcing his will upon others, but Scarlett was a different story. His weakness for her is what got him into this mess in the first place.

“Mr. Constantine has been waiting.” His ears perked up as he heard the maître ‘d say his name. He straightened his tie and stood as the man led a small girl toward the table. She walked purposefully, if not somewhat unsure on high heels. Her hair fell in an unkempt dark tangle around her face, which was beautiful but tired. Her sunken eyes revealed that she had gotten very little sleep in the past few days. Or weeks. Though she was a bit of a mess, she offered a wide smile when she approached.

“Mr. Constantine, I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m Scarlett Munro.”

“Yes,” he replied with a terse grin. “I recognize you from your picture.” The maître ‘d pulled out her chair and she sat down with practiced grace. “I was beginning to fear that you’d become lost.”

“I admit that I was a little jet-lagged. The time must have slipped up on me.” She smiled sheepishly, pulling up to the table, obviously afraid to stare him in the face.

The waiter approached. “A drink for Mademoiselle?” he asked with an exaggerated French accent.

“Please,” she sighed. “Jack and…”

“A glass of Riesling for Miss Munro, please,” Raze answered, cutting her off. The waiter nodded and walked off to get it. Turning his gaze back to her, she looked a little stunned by his impudence. “You look far too elegant to imbibe such a crude drink.”

“Thank you… I think,” she stammered. A blush rose to her cheeks and she chewed on her lower lip nervously.

“It was indeed a compliment,” he said. His jaw was tense and all of his muscles were tight. She looked exactly the same as she had all those years ago, though some of her innocence had been lost over the difficult years of her borrowed life. She stared at him as if there were a spark of recognition, but he hoped she would ignore it. He wasn’t ready for her to know his true purpose just yet. “And don’t worry about being late. I’m just glad you’re here.”

Scarlett laughed. “So am I. Thank you for sending Geoffrey over. I’d never have made it through the airport without his help.” She sat back, allowing the waiter to pour the glass of wine in front of her. “He was very patient.” She stared from the golden liquid to Raze and back to the glass. “It’s white.”

“Yes. Riesling is white. But very light. You’ll like it.”

“I only drink red,” she chuckled.

“You should broaden your horizons,” he replied, giving a nod that implied she should drink the wine. He watched as she brought the glass to her lips and took a cautious sip. The bittersweet flavor made her wrinkle her nose but she smiled in spite of herself. “So why don’t we begin with you telling me about yourself, Miss Munro.”

“There isn’t much to tell, really. I grew up North Carolina. I started painting when I was a teenager. My agent told me this morning I was coming to London to meet with Raze Constantine. End of story.” She shrugged, “What else do you want to know?”

“Oh I’m fairly certain that there’s more to you than just that, Miss Munro.” Raze smiled and leaned forward, staring at her face intently. He could tell that she was intimidated.

“You see, I never do business with someone I don’t know very well.”

“As I said, there isn’t much to know.”

“I beg to differ. The truth is, you’re little more than a street urchin. Or were.”

“Are you always this abrasive?” She sat back in her chair, looking down at the table with interest. Again she was nibbling at her lower lip and Raze caught a glimpse of the scared little girl he’d met so long ago. His heart sank as he realized that he had spared her only to completely ruin her innocence for good.

“Most of the time. I’ve been told it’s a flaw of my ethnicity. We English are apparently very blunt and to the point. Please forgive me if I have offended.”

“Not at all. You seem to be very perceptive. Do go on telling me more about me.”

Raze smiled again, pleased that he could hear a twinge of anger at the edges of her voice. Perhaps there was some of that fiery spirit left after all. “All right. You lived with a neglecting mother and an abusive stepfather. To pass the time you engaged in a variety of recreational drugs until you had a brush with death at the ripe old age of eighteen. Am I doing well so far?” He cocked his eyebrow and looked at her, expecting her to get up and leave. He was challenging her. Testing her. And when she didn’t move, he knew that she was up to it.

She nodded but did not speak. Her mouth was set in a hard line and her jaw was tense. She was wondering just how much he knew about her. Were all of her dark secrets laid bare for him now?

“You finally ran away to live in a parking garage in Savannah, Georgia. That lasted until a forty-five year old banker named Sheehan took you in. In exchange for discreet sexual liaisons, he kept you clothed and fed. He even paid for you to take some art classes at the local university.”

“Well being a pretty face tends to have its advantages.”

“Indeed, but it didn’t work for long. After two years he tired of your mood swings and drug abuse and you found yourself on the street once again. But that’s when your art career really began. You made a bit of a name for yourself as a graffiti and tattoo artist. And that’s when David Bradford found you.” Raze sat back and crossed his arms, signaling that his well of information had run dry.

“And knowing all of this you wanted to work with me anyway? You must be very brave, Mr. Constantine.”

“Oh I’m not brave. I fully intend to protect my investment.”

Before Scarlett had the opportunity to reply, the waiter came back, their food balanced on his fingertips. He set a small plate down in front of her with vegetables artfully arranged in splatters of colorful condiment. “I didn’t order this,” she murmured to the waiter.

“I took the liberty of ordering for us both just before you arrived. You’ll like it.” Taking a bite, Raze gave a secret grin. He knew that she was thinking how she wasn’t sure she liked all of his assumptions—about food or her life. “Trust me,” he said.

She stabbed at the leafy vegetable with her fork and brought it to her mouth as delicately as possible. She chewed carefully, the uncertainty evident on her face as she tasted the earthy flavor of the salad. He expected that she had never eaten in a place like this before and from the looks of her, she hadn’t eaten real food in a very long time. Clearly someone needed to take care of Scarlett before she spiraled downward into another abysmal half-life. “It’s different,” she replied, swallowing visibly, then taking a generous sip of her wine. “Well now that you’ve told me all about myself, what about you?”

“Don’t care to make any observations about me? I know David sent you a small dossier.”

“It didn’t say much,” she replied. “I mean, nothing that hasn’t been in the papers a thousand times. Though I am wondering why the billionaire hermit philanthropist is insisting on having dinner with an artist that might be crazy and/ or using drugs?”

“Are you?”

“Which one?”

Raze chuckled. “Clever evasion.”

“I’m not crazy. Despite what David and the rest of the world think.” She toyed with her salad, pushing it around on her plate. “As for being on drugs, I’ve found more socially acceptable ways of dealing with my issues.”

“Are you on anything right now?” He caught her gaze and held it with his own, staring into the bottomless blue pools of her eyes. It was evident that something other than blood and alcohol raced through her veins. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes danced all over.

“I may have had a Xanex before I came down. Just to take the edge off.”

“The edge?” he asked, as if he didn’t understand what the phrase meant.

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re a little intimidating, Mr. Constantine.” She blushed again, but this time there was no chemical enhancement. This type of blush was the sort that gave a glow of embarrassment—even arousal.

“Then allow me to put your mind at rest, Miss Munro.” He leaned forward, taking her free hand in his and bringing it to his lips gently. “Do call me, Raze. I’d like our relationship to be less formal.”

****

Less formal. She repeated the words over in her head and wondered for a moment what “less formal” might mean. From the way he brushed his generous mouth over the gentle curve of her knuckle, she hoped that less formal was synonymous with less clothing. As he rose to his full height again she was struck by his eyes. They weren’t quite blue, more of a steel gray color like a stormy sea. They seemed to glow against the pale tone of his skin. Something about his face was so familiar, yet she could not place him just yet. How she wished she could because it was there, niggling in the corners of her mind, like an itch she couldn’t scratch. She should know this man, yet she did not. “Alright then, Raze,” she replied, her voice even with the force of her breath. “Of course you can call me Scarlett.”

“Thank you,” he said, dropping her hand and taking up his fork again. For several moments they ate in silence. Scarlett stared down at her plate with interest, not wanting to meet his gaze again. There was something about him. For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel this sinking feeling of emptiness and fear. Utter safety emanated from his every breath. The way he had grasped her hand sent shivers of lust up and down her arms, but there was something else. She wasn’t sure, but it was a sort of comfortable submission that she’d been missing her whole life.

“Scarlett?” he asked. She jumped, not realizing that she’d been staring at him the entire time, her fork poised over her plate. “Are you alright?”

“Me? Oh… yes,” she stammered, bringing the fork to her mouth and only when she bit down on the bare metal did she realize that she hadn’t stabbed any food. She made a small noise and glanced up to find that he was chuckling behind his hand. “Well… maybe not.” In another second both were laughing heartily and Scarlett could feel the weight of the tension between them melting away. “I’m sorry… I’m just so tired. The plane got delayed and the airport was a nightmare. I’m not usually like this.”

Raze snorted. “Oh I have a feeling you’re usually much worse, Scarlett. Women like you are so irresistible to me, you know.”

“Like me? What do you mean?”

“So very intelligent. So very creative and in their own heads that they can’t find their shoes in the morning. You might say I have a penchant for being a caretaker.”

Scarlett smirked, a trace of displeasure darkening her eyes. “You think I need taking care of?”

He took a sip of wine, his eyes never leaving hers. “Oh most definitely. I think it’s been a very long time since you’ve been taken care of, if ever.”

Her breath caught with the pounding of her heart against her sternum. He was so arrogant and sure. “What makes you say that?”

“You have a sadness about you. Even though you’re successful and seem to have the sort of life that others would wish for, you carry this heavy weight with you. Like a person who’s been abandoned over and over. You stink of obsession and despair. And though it is part of the fuel that makes your art so striking, it kills you inside a little more each and every day. Searching, always searching for something or someone that can take your pain away, but it’s a hopeless endeavor because only you can really know where your pain lies. But you’ve hidden it for so long that maybe you don’t even know where it is anymore. So you just bury it under layer upon layer of alcohol, drugs and sadness. You’ve driven everyone in your life away, leaving them before they can leave you. You say that you survived your little overdose, but I think not. I think you’ve been dead all this time, you just go through the motions of breathing.”

Scarlett wasn’t aware that she’d begun to cry until she saw the dark splotches on the tablecloth where her mascara tears had stained the linen. His words sliced into her soul with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel and for a moment she hated him. Hated him for being right, for knowing her so well. “You seem to have me all figured out,” she choked. “Am I so simplistic and transparent?”

“Not at all. As I told you before, I always do my homework.” He winked as the waiter approached with plates and set them down before them. “I hope you like chateaubriand,” Raze said, looking across the table. “I thought for our first dinner together you’d enjoy something a bit substantial, especially considering your travels.” He nodded at the waiter, indicating that the man should leave. Scarlett almost giggled as the tiny waiter scampered off. Clearly Raze was used to people doing exactly as he said with no argument.

“It looks delicious,” she replied, trying to casually wipe the stray tear that had fallen from the corner of her eye.

“A bit heavy, but you’ve never been afraid of being full.” With a cocked eyebrow, he gave a wolfish grin that let her know that the double entendre was completely intentional.

Again she blushed, her already rose-colored cheeks seeming to glow in the dim candlelight. “So what exactly is it that you want with me, Raze?” she asked, cutting into the bloody meat with her fork. “We’ve been sitting here nearly an hour and you’ve yet to tell me why you’ve gone to so much trouble bringing me here.”

“I’d like you to do some paintings for me,” he answered.

“Paintings? You mean, more than one?”

“Paintings meaning several. I’ve just acquired a new building here in London and I’d like very much to have some of your work displayed. You see, I’m a collector with very specific tastes. I saw some of your work in a gallery in New York last summer and I was intrigued, but alas, all of the paintings were spoken for. And you know how New York art collectors can be. They’re like children with new Christmas toys. Completely unwilling to let go. Though I must say, I was a bit surprised that they turned down my more than generous offers.”

“So find some different ones. I have several works available online…”

“I looked. Though they were beautiful, none of them had what I was looking for. They didn’t speak to me.” Scarlett nodded, taking another sip of wine. “And I have an affinity for things that are… one of a kind. You’d, of course, have complete control. You can paint what you’d like.”

“Perhaps I could see the spaces to get an idea of the scale. Then when I get home I’ll know where to start…”

Raze snickered and took another bite. “You must complete the paintings here in London.”
Scarlett stared at him with wide eyes and mouth agape. “Here? But several paintings… that will take months! I can’t stay in London for months.” How could he expect that she stay in Europe for months at a time? The lodging bill alone would be more than her budget could stand. Not to mention the unfinished projects she had at home. She thought of the enormous portrait of her angel that she’d been working on when David found her.

“I have… other commitments.”

“Yes, I am well aware of your obsessions and addictions, Miss Munro.” His voice was terse, teetering on stern. “But these are my terms. I will pay you quite handsomely for your work and of course all of your expenses during your stay. I told you before, I insist on protecting my investments. Keeping you close will ensure that you are focused completely on my commission.”

“Are you implying that I am incapable of keeping focused? Or do you think I’d just take the money and run?”

His expression softened. “Of course not, Scarlett. I’d never offer such a proposition to someone I didn’t feel I could trust. But you and I both know that you have a tendency to become bogged down in your own self-pity. Which brings me to our contract.”

“Contract? Shouldn’t David be here for this?” she asked.

“I can assure you that Mr. Bradford and I have discussed the contract.” He reached down beside his chair and brought out a stack of papers out of his briefcase. He pushed it across the table toward her. “Feel free to look it over at your leisure.”

Scarlett kept her eyes locked on his as she picked up the contract. She tried reading it, but after the first sentence it may as well have been Sanskrit. Evidently Constantine had a very slick lawyer working for him to craft such an airtight document. Of course one thing was perfectly clear: $250,000.00. “This number can’t be right. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for a couple of lousy paintings?”

Raze laughed. “Six. I want to commission you to do six paintings for me. Five for my office and one for my home.”

“Six? Do you have any idea how long that will take?”

“You seem to be very concerned with time, Scarlett. You can stay as long as it takes. And of course you’d be free to come and go as you please, should you need to return home for a while.”

Scarlett let her gaze fall from his to the six figures stamped in the middle of the contract. How could she pass this up? She’d be a fool not to accept his offer. That amount of money was unheard of for an artist at her level. But how could he expect her to walk away from her whole life for what could turn into several months, even a year or more? “I… I just don’t know what to say.”

“I would, of course, advise you to say yes. But keep reading. I have a few conditions to my offer.”

“Such as?”

“Such as there will be no drug use of any kind while you are in my employ.”

“What qualifies as drug use?” Scarlett asked, making a show of balancing the glass of wine between her fingertips and bringing it to her lips. “I mean are we talking soda? Coffee and cigarettes?”

“Xanex,” he replied simply. “Hydrocodone. All of those little pills that you use to make yourself feel better.”

Scarlett narrowed her eyes. “I can assure you that any of those so-called ‘little pills,’ have valid prescriptions.” He met her gaze, staring into her eyes with a smug grin. She looked away. Something about his stare made her uncomfortable. As if he were looking straight into her soul.

“That would be another part of the contract,” he sighed, sipping his own glass of wine, seemingly unshaken by Scarlett’s cold shoulder. “I detest liars, Scarlett. And I won’t tolerate being lied to. You and I both know that though you may have prescriptions, you have little need for them.” She did not look up or try to deny, only turned the pages of the contract.

“It says here that I am to reside at 42 Whitby Avenue. Is that a hotel or something?”

“Not at all. It is my home here in London,” he replied, cutting his meat. “A penthouse on the top floor of RazCon Towers. I’m afraid it’s a bit more cosmopolitan that I’d like, but I don’t have any stately manors lying around.”

Scarlett stared at him, her jaw hanging agape as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Mr. Constantine,” she began. “I’m sure that you can get a date easily without having to coerce young women into your house.”

“Very funny,” he replied, his face alight with amusement. “You’re very clever. But as I told you, I intend to protect my investment. And that means keeping you close at hand. You shouldn’t fear for your virtue, as I’m not often there. You’ll have your own room and Geoffrey will be there to attend to your every need. I’ve also taken the liberty of clearing some studio space for you. I ordered a few things for you, but in the morning I’ll give you a tour and you can make a list of anything else you’d like.”

Scarlett closed the contract and looked up. She was silent, but she could feel a knot of anger down in the pit of her stomach. It was the same anger she’d felt since she was a child. That anger that only went away when she was high. Or when she saw him. Her angel. He always made her guilt and shame dissipate like a morning mist frying in the sun. “Who do you think you are, Mr. Constantine?” she asked with an ice cold edge to her voice.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you find this amusing? Thinking you can order me around with your money? People have been trying to boss me around all my life. Dragging me from one stupid situation to another. As if I need you to tell me what to do and watch over me like some nursemaid! Either you want me to do your paintings or not. I shouldn’t have to sign some contract that says you get to control my life until they’re finished! I don’t need your patronage that bad.”

“Are you done?” he asked, adding a chill of his own.

“I suppose.”

“Good. You mentioned that you didn’t need a nursemaid. Well I think you do. I think you do very much. Let’s be honest, Miss Munro. The truth is that you need my patronage quite a bit. No gallery will touch you these days with your erratic behavior. Your paintings have gone from dark to deranged. Your little obsessions have gotten harder to hide and Mr. Bradford is about to drop you. Feel free to deny my contract and get on the next plane back to the US. Hell, I’ll even pay for it, but I can assure you that I never extend an offer twice. Should you decide to turn me down and walk out of here, I will not ask again. Nor will I accept that you’ve changed your mind.”

The waiter approached and took their plates away without a word. Constantine’s words, though stern and unyielding, were not angry. He pulled out a slim cigarette case and opened it. He pulled one out and toyed with it. “At any rate, the contract stands ‘as is’ and is non-negotiable.” He rose to his feet and tossed his napkin carelessly on the table. “I’m going to the bar for a cigarette. Perhaps you could use this time to think over my offer.” Before she could respond, he had turned away and was heading for the bar on the other side of the restaurant.

Scarlett watched him walk away. He was probably the most graceful creature she’d ever encountered. It was as if every movement of his hands and wrists, every turn of his head, was carefully calculated. One might think that this would make him seem effeminate, but quite the contrary. Raze’s masculinity emanated from him like the rays of the sun. She looked down at the contract in front of her and then back at Raze. He stood at the bar, a cigarette poised between his long fingers. Every fiber of her being, at least all the ones attached to her sexual organs, wanted to stay with him. But couldn’t he understand? She couldn’t uproot her life and take on such a commitment. She was afraid to. Couldn’t he see that she was afraid? Once he could see her for what and how she really was, his interest in her would dissipate. She didn’t think she could take the rejection.

And all these rules? She’d never been good with rules. She’d sworn to herself on the day she walked out of her mother’s house that she would never again be subject to someone else’s rules. She flipped through the pages of the contract, toying with the paper that had begun to curl at the corners. When she looked up again, Raze was staring at her from across the room. Their eyes met and for a moment time stopped. She could scarcely breathe and her blood pounded in her ears. She felt lightheaded and her mouth became a desert. Was he doing this to her? He raised his glass and gave a mischievous wink.
“Fuck this,” she murmured. The waiter approached the table, but Scarlett stood up and pushed past him before he could speak.

****

“Well it looks like you’re doing a bang up job, Azrael.” Gabriel’s voice was dripping with a sarcasm that made him want to punch her in her turned- up, angelic nose. She sat on the stool beside where he stood, sipping her vodka martini with a smug expression. The angel watched with amusement as Scarlett grabbed her purse and nearly ran over the waiter in her haste to get out of the restaurant. It was obvious that she wanted to be away from Azrael and his scrutinizing gaze.

“Shouldn’t you still be wearing your old man suit?” he grumbled, taking a long draw on his cigarette.

“Oh yes, I so enjoy pretending to be your valet.” Gabriel rolled her eyes and plucked the cigarette from between Raze’s lips. “Geoffrey, the ever faithful servant. The Alfred to your Bruce Wayne.” She finished his cigarette, smashing it out in the ashtray. “So what are you going to do now?”

“I didn’t expect her to accept my offer on the first try. She’s willful and angry. If it was going to be easy, I’d have asked… well… you… to do the dirty work.”

“So witty. But let’s not forget that this is all your doing in the first place. If you had just done what you were supposed to, it wouldn’t be an issue, now would it?” Raze glared at his androgynous friend, knowing she was right. Perhaps that was what was so annoying about the entire situation. From the moment he’d laid eyes on the girl, something in her soul spoke to him. That sadness that glimmered in her eyes, even now. It had made his heart go out to her and though her soul had been his to take, he couldn’t stand to extinguish a light such as hers so soon. And there was a light, glimmering deep down within her. “But it’s plain to see that love has clouded your judgment.”

His head snapped up, surprised at her words. “Is it not our place to love them as God loves them?”

Gabriel smiled. “I’m not talking about divine love, Azrael. I’m talking about a worldly love. A dangerous and selfish love. Have you spent so much time with these humans that you’ve begun to possess their flaws?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grumbled, motioning for the bartender to refill his glass of bourbon.

“Why did you spare her life before?”

“Because she was a child that hadn’t had a chance to live,” Raze replied, staring down into the amber liquid. “And I thought this time would be different.”

Gabriel scoffed, taking another long sip of her drink but never taking her eyes off of him. “What about the countless other children whose souls you gathered? Should they not be subject to your mercy?”

“So what if I did have some sort of love for her? Is that so bad?”

“No. Not bad, but you and I both know that balance must be restored. Don’t pretend you don’t know that the girl is somewhat… talented.”

“Of course she’s talented. Look at her artwork…”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it! She has a very old soul and you’ve been protecting her for ages. But you must let her go and move on. Her time here is done! Her chances have been spent.”

Azrael whipped around, staring icily at Gabriel. His fist was clutched tightly around the glass so he wouldn’t punch the arrogant archangel. “Do not dare to tell me what my job is, Gabriel!” he snarled. “Her soul is mine to take and I won’t give up on her just yet!”

“There’s nothing to give up! She’s had lifetime after lifetime and she hasn’t learned yet. You were supposed to let her go and have her soul fall where it may!”

Raze sighed and stood up. The worst part about Gabriel’s words was that she was right. “Look, I said I’d fix this and I will.”

“I hope so, Raze,” she said with a disdainful snort. “Patience is fleeting. But don’t worry I’ll help you.”

“Doubtful. Don’t think for one minute that I don’t know what you’re doing. I know you’ve been sent here to spy!”

Gabriel threw her head back, laughing heartily at him. “Don’t be so dramatic. If I were going to spy I wouldn’t go to all the trouble of taking a human form.” She peered down at her hands as if examining the skin. “I do so hate being so… fragile.” She laid her hand over his, stroking at the small bones just under the skin. “But I do still care for you, Azrael. I’d hate to see you fall over something so… trivial.” His eyes met hers and for a moment, he could almost remember loving her. The mask of aloofness she usually wore began to fall away and the corners of her eyes sparkled with tears. “Was it so very long ago, Azrael?” she whispered.

Raze took her hand gently at first and then pushed it away with a violence that toppled his glass. “Keep your serpent’s tongue,” he spat, throwing bills on the bar and leaving the angel alone.

<<<<<Did you miss something? Go back to the beginning….>>>>>>>

In the Shadow of Death, Chapter Two

In The Shadow

 

Go to Prologue, Ch. 1

TRIGGER WARNING:  Child death. And Scarlett is a mess in these first few chapters.

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“I’m afraid she doesn’t have much time left.”

The doctor spoke in hushed tones to the couple standing in the corridor.  “There just isn’t anything else we can do for her.  I’m sorry.”  He walked away in a flurry of his white coat, not pausing to offer any comfort or field any difficult questions.  The couple stood there a moment, unable to process what the doctor had said.  For a moment they denied it, going through each syllable of the practiced speech they’d been given, but after a few minutes, the harsh reality sank in.  The woman broke down, burying her head in the folds of her husband’s sweater.  He cradled her in his arms as best he could, but he was having his own crisis of grief.  Silent, wrenching sobs rolled over them as they held onto one another.  The angel could tell what they were thinking.  That they had to pull themselves together for the sake of their child.  If they faced her this way, she would be frightened.  Should they tell her the truth or continue to feed her false hope?  She’d been through so much already.  So much pain.  The little girl had been diagnosed with cancer at age five and had fought it long and hard.  Chemotherapy, radiation, surgery—the doctors had tried everything, but to no avail.  Every time they managed to beat down the disease, it had returned someplace else with an aggressive fervor.  It began in her brain and then jumped the superhighway of her bloodstream to infect her bones and organs.  Now the young girl lay in a sterile, hospital bed, waiting to be released from the prison of her inadequate body.

The angel had seen it so many times.

“We have to tell her, John,” the woman sobbed, wiping her eyes against her husband’s shoulder.  “We can’t just let her…” Her voice trailed off in a torrent of sobs.  She couldn’t bring herself to utter the solemn truth.

“She’s just a little girl, Anna,” he sobbed.  “How are you supposed to tell a little girl that she’s going to die?”

The angel looked away from them, silvery tears wetting his cheeks.  They could not see him.  No one could unless he willed it and for a moment he considered going to them and offering some bit of comfort.  But something told him that it would only seem to them like a cruel joke and he did not wish to cause them more pain.

He drifted into the room where the child lay.  She listened to her parents in the hall just outside and turned her face to the pillow.  The little girl looked so frail, her pale skin seeming to cling to her bones like a wet blouse.  Her head was shorn, only a smattering of ginger-colored fuzz gave her any coloring at all.  Her parents were worried for nothing.  This child knew that she was dying and when she saw the angel standing in the corner, she looked almost relieved.

“Are you an angel?” she asked, her voice sounding like the crackling of autumn leaves.

“Yes,” he replied, walking toward her slowly.

“You don’t look like an angel,” she said, staring at him with a skepticism that only a child can accomplish.  “I thought they wore white robes and had halos.  You look more like… a rock star.  Where are your wings?”

The angel smiled.  “Want to see my wings, do you?” He stepped into the dim light afforded by the small fluorescent over her bed.  He closed his eyes and allowed his wings to appear.  Shimmery and skeletal, they appeared at his back looking like silver smoke that stretched down to the floor.  “There.  Now do you believe me?”

“They don’t look right.  I always thought they’d be white and feathery.  Like a bird’s,” she whispered.  “Yours look more like batwings.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

The child looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking her head.  “You’re here because I’m going to die.”

The angel hesitated before whispering his answer.  “I am.”

“I knew it.”  She did not sound afraid.  Her voice was even and he detected no trembling or sadness.   There was a small stuffed dog on the bed beside her.  She picked it up and held it to her chest weakly, worrying the corner of its floppy ear with her fingertips.  After several minutes of silence she looked up at the angel. “Will it hurt?”

He sat down on the edge of her bed and took her hand.  “Not at all.  It’s like going to sleep.”  She sat up a little, reaching out for him. She ran the fingers of her free hand over his arm and shoulder, then touched his face.

“You feel like a regular person.”

“What did you expect?” he chuckled.

“I guess I thought an angel would be like touching fog.  Kind of cold and misty.”  She smiled a little and sat back.  He started to release her hand but she held it firm, lacing her tiny, childish fingers through his.  “What will happen to me… you know… after?  Will I go to Heaven like my mom and dad say?”

“I don’t know,” he replied.  “I just deliver the souls.”

The little girl looked down at her toy again, the corners of her mouth turned up into a slight grin.  “What kind of angel are you?  Aren’t you supposed to know that stuff?”

The angel returned her smile, laughter playing in the corners of his eyes.  “Everyone has a choice.  And everyone has to walk down a different path.  I can only promise you that there is something beyond.”  Taking her hand in both of his, he kissed it gently and gave it a gentle squeeze.  “You have nothing to fear, little one.  This is merely a stop on your journey.”

“Like on the train?”

He grinned.  “Exactly.”  Reaching out, he brushed his fingertips over her brow.  “You have greater destinations ahead of you.”

The door behind him creaked open and a blade of light cut the dark room in two.  The girl’s parents crept in and immediately the angel felt her tense.  “Will you stay with me?” she asked.  “I’m afraid.”

“I promise.”  His heart broke for the child.  For every child whose soul he had collected.  His empathy was both a blessing and a curse.

The girl smiled at her parents as they approached the bed.  “Hello, mommy.”  She cast a glance at the angel, wondering if she should explain his presence.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered.  “They can’t see or hear me.”  She nodded and tried to smile as her parents sat by her.

“How are you, sweetie?” the girl’s mother asked, passing through the image of the angel.  He winked at the child and dissipated in a wisp of smoke before reappearing by her other side.  “Feeling better?”

“A little bit,” she said, trying to sit up a little.  “The nurse gave me some medicine.”

The angel could hear the woman’s thoughts.  The nurse had given the child morphine.  Something to make her comfortable so she wouldn’t be afraid.  “That’s…” she stammered.  She trailed off in a new tempest of sobbing, hiding her face in her hands as her husband put a protective hand on the back of her neck.

Her father forced a nervous smile at the little girl.  “That’s real good, honey.”

After several moments the girl touched her mother’s hand.  “It’s okay, mommy.”  She looked back over her shoulder at the angel as he stood over her.  “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

She smiled and looked over her shoulder at the angel.  “I’m ready.”

****

“Sir!  Can you help…” Scarlett called to a man wearing an airline uniform as she came off of the concourse.  He either ignored her or didn’t hear because he barreled past as if she were invisible.  “…me?”  So far this trip had been one disaster after another.  Her leisurely evening flight had quickly turned into a red eye when all the flights got grounded due to a terrible storm that had blown up and left Charlotte, North Carolina in a dark haze of rain and thunderheads.  Then the first airline douchebag had given her static about everything in her carry on.  Next, her non-stop first class ticket to London had turned into a coach seat to New York where she then had a five hour layover before hooking up with an early morning flight to London. The final insult was when the screaming kid behind her had kicked the back of her chair for the entire eight hours of the flight. Now here she was, jonesing bad for a Xanax and completely lost.  According to the itinerary that David had handed her on the way out, she was supposed to be meeting Constantine that evening for an early dinner.  Looking down at her watch she realized that she had precious little time to make herself look human before that.  Now if only someone could help her find the baggage claim.

“Excuse me, Miss.”  A deep, accented voice from behind startled her out of her reverie.

“Oh my God… you scared me,” Scarlett replied, clutching her chest.  She turned to see an older gentleman looking at her expectantly.  He did not smile, but his gray eyes were kind.

“Do forgive me, but are you Scarlett Munro?”

“Yes.”

“Oh good. I was afraid I’d have to wander the airport looking for you.  Mr. Constantine sent me to retrieve you.”

Scarlett nodded, her mouth slightly ajar.  “Well that’s very nice of him, but unnecessary.  I could have called a taxi.”  By the looks of the old man, she wasn’t sure he should be driving around all over town.  “I hate to put you to any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble, Miss Munro.”  He offered his hand, “My name is Geoffrey.  I’m Mr. Constantine’s valet.”

She took his hand, shaking it politely.  “I didn’t realize anyone really had those,” she chuckled.  “But how did Mr. Constantine know?  I had some trouble en route.”

“Yes, the airline called.  Mr. Constantine wanted to be sure that you made it into town without incident.  He’s expecting you for dinner promptly at six.”  With a flick of his wrist, the older man hailed an airport officer who would take them to the baggage claim.

Everything seemed to be a blur as Geoffrey led her through the crowded baggage claim.  He moved quickly for a man of his age and before long Scarlett was panting trying to keep up.  Her head ached and she knew that the withdrawals were coming.  She hoped that Geoffrey could get her to the hotel before they started in earnest.  She stood there beside the old man, not speaking but tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for her bags to come sliding down the conveyor belt.  When she saw them, she reached down to pick them up, but Geoffrey beat her to it.  “I’ll get those,” she protested.

“No need,” he replied cheerfully.  “I don’t mind.  Shall we?”  He looked at her with an expectant grin and turned toward the door that would take them to the street out front.  A tall woman dressed in a black uniform met them on the sidewalk and took the baggage from Geoffrey.  She efficiently heaved the cases into the trunk of a slick, black Mercedes before coming around and opening the door for them.  “Thank you, Miss Summers,” Geoffrey nodded to the chauffeur, gesturing for Scarlett to get in first.  “I believe Miss Munro is staying at The Garden.”

Scarlett watched the people on the street whiz by as they passed.  She’d never been to London before and from what she could see so far it was unremarkable.   Gray spires climbed into the gray sky overhead.  The sidewalks were swarming with people and cars zipped this way and that, honking their high-pitched horns in a maddening cadence.  Not much different than other large cities she’d been to.  Of course her perception was clouded by the onset of a migraine moving in behind her eyes and the shaking of her hands.  Until yesterday morning she’d been living in a haze of alcohol and prescription medication.  Having that taken away was starting to take its toll.

“Are you alright, Miss Munro?” Geoffrey asked, patting her hand with a concerned look in his eye.

“I’m fine, Geoffrey. Just a little jet-lagged I suppose.”  She tried to smile, but a wave of nausea rolled over her and she had to lean against the cool window.

After what seemed an eternity, the car pulled up to the curb outside her hotel.  She stepped out of the car, leaning heavily on the old man, and looked up at the hulk of a building before her. It had begun to rain, just a light mist that made everything sticky, so she hurried up the steps and allowed herself to be ushered inside.  Geoffrey followed behind, waving at a porter to grab the bags.  Scarlett approached the counter, gave her name as David had instructed and in minutes was on her way up to the twentieth floor in the elevator.  “Thank you for walking me up, Geoffrey.  I didn’t want to keep you all afternoon.  I’m sure that you’re quite busy.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Constantine wanted to be sure you were settled to your satisfaction.  Please feel free to call on me for any of your needs during your stay in London, Miss Munro.”

“Thank you, Geoffrey, but you should call me Scarlett.”  Her words were cut off as a pain stabbed behind her eye, so sharp that she gasped aloud just as the doors opened.  The older man took the keycard from her hand and led her down the corridor to a heavy oak door at the end of the hall.  He unlocked it easily and had she not been doubled over in pain, Scarlett would have laughed.  She always had to try keycards several times before they would allow entry.  As soon as they entered, Scarlett sank to the end of the bed, holding her forehead, as Geoffrey tipped the porter.  She could hear him moving around the room and for a moment she thought that perhaps Constantine had sent him to babysit her.  “You don’t have to…” she started, opening her eyes to see him standing over her and holding out a glass of water and two pills.

“Some aspirin for your head.”  He waited until she had swallowed the medicine and then started out the door.  “Mr. Constantine will meet you in the lounge downstairs promptly at 6.”

As soon as he was gone, Scarlett stared around the room.  This was truly the most luxurious place she’d ever been.  Though she’d been able to support herself with her art for some time now, she wasn’t what you’d call posh.  The room wasn’t a penthouse but enormous would be an understatement.  An entire wall was nothing but glass looking out over a panoramic view of the city.  It was cloudy and wet, but she imagined that one could see all the way to the Thames on a clear day.  The dark, hardwood floors were covered with lush rugs and the leather couch seemed to invite you into its depths.  Then there was the bed.  She sat on the end of it and giggled when she realized that her feet dangled off the end.  Everything here was too big, too magnificent… just too much.  If this was the type of place her would-be patron preferred, Scarlett wasn’t sure she’d fit in.

“Who is this guy, anyway?” she thought, kicking off her shoes and scooting back against the headboard.  Her purse had been tossed carelessly onto the bed beside her and she could see a manila envelope peeking out.  She pulled it out and opened it up, dumping the contents onto her lap.  “Hmmm… a dossier.  How very official, David,” she murmured to herself, flipping through the stapled booklet of printouts.  On top was a photograph of Raze Constantine, somewhat smudged because of the copier, but the divine symmetry of his features was apparent.  His hair was dark, trimmed neatly but styled with purposeful disorder.  His eyes weren’t really blue, but more of a transparent amber with flecks of gold like autumn leaves in the light.  Though they sparkled with youth, tiny lines at the corners revealed that he was no boy, but rather a grown, thoughtful, man.  Most men of his stature would always appear in a business suit with a crisp white shirt and stiffly knotted tie, but this particular picture showed him wearing a black dress shirt open at the neck.  Scarlett’s fingers traced over his image.  Something about him wasn’t quite right.  Something nudged at the back of her mind but she couldn’t put her finger on it.  He was familiar, yet they had never met.  The only reason she knew of him at all was the occasional media coverage of some event sponsored by RazCon Technologies.   Constantine was known to be somewhat of a high society hermit, only venturing out into the populace when absolutely necessary.

“Who are you, Mr. Constantine?” Scarlett flipped through the biography and found it to be shockingly incomplete.  Nothing about his background, but mostly press releases about RazCon.  “RazCon Technologies burst onto the entrepreneurial scene with the birth of the Internet.  At first a small microchip company, they have expanded their business to include software innovations that benefit nearly every growing industry in the western world.  From CGI effects to medical equipment, RazCon is the leader in cutting edge technology for the modern world.”  The dossier went on to enumerate Constantine’s many achievements, including being nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize for his work building state-of-the-art schools in Africa.  In one village, he actually had a power plant built so that the school would have a power grid that could handle the servers needed to go with the computers, tablets, learning software and phone lines that would be installed in the school.  Unlike most of the other rich people you hear about, Constantine had actually gone into the villages to hammer nails and lay bricks.  There was even a photograph of him standing in the middle of an empty classroom, one small child on his hip and another holding his hand.  “No one can be this perfect,” she said with a cynical sigh.  She shoved the information back into the envelope and tossed it aside, stealing a glance at the clock by the bed.  Its angry red numbers glowed “4:00.”

“Two hours.  That should give me enough time to take a short nap,” she murmured, asleep before she rolled over.

****

The staircase was narrow, so narrow she could barely breathe from the closeness of the air.  Deep breaths filled her aching chest with his scent.  Mmmm… she could taste him on her tongue already and they hadn’t even reached the top.  With a firm hand he led her, never speaking, never stopping, toward the precipice.  Looking down over the rail she could see how far they’d come and her heart pounded with exhilarating terror.  For a moment she almost pulled away and insisted they go back down, but the words died in her throat.  He must have sensed her apprehension, because he pulled her closer to him, holding her tightly around the waist as they ascended the stairs that spiraled ever higher.

Finally, they reached a small landing.  She felt as if she was teetering on the edge of something, but she could feel his arm, strong and sure at her back.  Darkness surrounded them on all sides and a heavy mist curled around their feet.  Looking down, there was only nothingness now below them, yet something held them in place.  Suddenly he dropped her hand and began to move away into the mist.  A light shone down on him from above, highlighting the careless waves of raven curls that fell over his brow and casting his body in lines of light and shadow.  His body was nude, save for the strange markings that snaked down each arm and across his back and shoulders.  She could not pull her gaze away, taking in the pale skin and complicated structure of bone and sinew that moved beneath.

“Scarlett,” he whispered, turning back and imploring her to follow.  He held out his hand, but she was afraid to move.  Somehow she knew that if she took one more step forward that she would plunge into the abyss, falling forever into a sea of black and stars.  “Do not be afraid,” he said, his hand still offered.  She could feel his pull like an invisible string, tugging her closer and bending her will.  Breathing in deep, she took a step forward.  To her surprise there was no stumble, no fall from the ledge, only her hand in his.  As she stepped into his light she noticed that she was also naked, but she was not chilled and did not tremble with embarrassment as he stared, pacing around her slowly.  Sidling up behind, he wound his arm around her waist, pulling her against him forcefully.  Her inky black hair fell over one shoulder and he pushed it aside, exposing the pearlescent flesh hiding beneath.  Gently he kissed it, his lips so warm that his feathery kisses burned like the sudden sting of hot wax dripped slowly over the skin.  His hands were in her hair, tangling it in his fingertips and tugging it away from the back of her neck, mouth and tongue brushing gently over it.  She shivered, the tiny hairs standing up.  He pulled away and touched the base of her head with the tip of his finger.  A quicksilver shock ran down her spine, first hot then cold as ice.  Scarlett’s eyes widened as she saw the blue markings begin to appear at her shoulders and grow like a network of vines down her torso, circling her breasts.  His fingers followed them, tracing their progress as they spiraled downward, marking her body with a peculiar tattoo.

“You’re mine, Scarlett,” he rasped, breathing moist against her ear. “Body and soul.”

His voice was a powerful tonic, intoxicating her instantly and she swooned into his embrace.  With an effortless movement, he swept her into his arms.  She gave a sigh when his mouth covered hers, stealing her breath.  For a moment she could feel an odd sort of suction, drawing the air from her lungs like one might inhale cigarette smoke.  As it left her body she felt relieved.  A sense of calm came with an insatiable lust.  He tried to pull away, but she held him close, keeping her mouth pressed to his.  Their kiss deepened and she could feel his tongue forcing its way between her lips, claiming her mouth for his.  Closing her eyes she felt weightless as he lay her down.  His hands caressed every inch of her body, sliding slowly over the hills and valleys of her torso.  Pausing at her breast, his fingertips circled each nipple lightly until she was mewling with desire.  As the centers puckered, they swelled, almost reaching out for his warmth.  He was quick to oblige, taking each one into his mouth and suckling the sensitive skin against his teeth.  Scarlett cradled his head to her chest, stroking his hair and praying silently that he would continue.

She whimpered when he pulled back, his warmth leaving her body.  When he stared down at her, she was nervous.  The intensity of his gray eyes at once made her feel as if he could see straight into her soul.  Every imperfection and twist of her dark imagination was exposed.  He must have sensed her apprehension because he smiled warmly and bent over to kiss her lips.  “You must not fear me, Scarlett,” he said.  And she believed him.

She lay beneath him, not sure she should move.  He knelt between her thighs and pulled her closer so that she could feel his body flush against hers.  His cock was hard, poised at her entrance and she was impatient to feel him moving inside of her.  With a small whimper, she arched against him, pleading with him to give in.  “I need you,” she said, her voice nearly inaudible.  “Bind my soul to yours.”  With a firm hand under her thigh, he pulled one leg over his hip, laying her open before him.  The petals of her sex flushed with heat and she could feel the slick drops of her wetness sliding down between her thighs.  For a moment he was still, the only sound their heavy breathing.  And then he was inside, his cock driving into her fully.  She gasped with exquisite pain, a gentle throbbing that began deep inside her sex and radiated outward.  He pulled back slowly, almost letting his member slip from her womb, but stopping at the last moment before thrusting forward with a savage growl.  Scarlett cried out, the muscles deep within her sex clenching in a desperate attempt to hold him inside.  For a moment he allowed it, teasing her with tiny, shallow strokes.  Raising up a little, she tried to wrap her arms around his neck, but he stopped her, grabbing her wrists.  With a violent thrust forward, he pinned her wrists down and began pounding into her.  Scarlett wanted to moan but she couldn’t catch her breath. All she could do was hang in his grasp, letting him use her for as long as he liked.  In the darkness above him she could see the spectral wings take shape, enveloping them in the cool embrace of death.

“Please…” she sighed, her words getting lost in his throat as he pulled her up against him.  “Take my soul.”

****

Scarlett woke with a start, still gasping from the fevered dream.  There was a heaviness that had settled in her center and her heart pounded in her chest.  Her sex was warm and sensitive, her clothes feeling like sandpaper.  Never in recent memory had she been so turned on, so ready for release. Her fingers tingled and she wanted to touch herself but as she turned her head, the clock delivered a sharp slap of reality.  5:45. “Fuck.”

 

In the Shadow of Death: Chapter One

<<<<<< GO BACK to Prologue

In The Shadow

TRIGGER WARNING:  Drug abuse and mentions of sexual assault.

ICYMI:  In the Shadow of Death: Prologue

Chapter One

“Scarlett!  Open the door!”   David Bradford shouted through the door, this time loud enough to attract attention from the old lady waiting for the elevator.  This was not how he had planned to spend this morning, but he’d been trying to reach Scarlett for several days and nothing.  Not that it was unusual.  Like most of his clients, Scarlett was a free spirit and would often just go off the grid for days or weeks at a time.  Of course, unlike most of his clients, Scarlett was a loose cannon.  Behind the door, it was just as likely that she would be lying in a pool of her own vomit having overdosed on pills as it was that she was standing in front of a canvas with her iPod blasting in her ears.

“She keeps a key under the mat, son,” the old lady finally said, the annoyance clear in her jagged voice.  “Why don’t you use it instead of disturbing the whole building?”

David smirked, bending down and retrieving the key.  When he pushed it into the doorknob and opened the door, there was a discouraging silence.  He peered inside a little, but the chain was still latched.  He had to push his shoulder against it a few times to break the chain lock and heave it open. “Goddamnit, Scarlett.  Gay boys shouldn’t have to break into women’s apartments,” he called into the room.  No response.

He could smell the scent of alcohol all over the ruined apartment.  Empty wine bottles, newspapers, books and food dishes were strewn everywhere and the air was thick.  David shook his head, stepping carefully around the debris as he made his way into the living area.  Stacks of canvases, some painted, some still white, blocked the windows making it dark in the room despite the early morning sun.  Her obsession was evident everywhere.  She was surrendering to her own madness, it seemed.  The dark angel, staring down at the world below.  Even if he wasn’t the subject, he was always there.  The paintings had grown in scale and twisted beauty in the last couple of months.  And though they were like nothing he’d ever seen, David began to fear that the art world would be disturbed by them.  And that meant that she would be written off as a kook and never sell another piece. Not while she was alive, at least. He walked around the couch and saw Scarlett lying on the floor at the foot of an unfinished canvas.  “Scarlett!” he exclaimed, rushing around the clutter to kneel beside her.  He touched her face, feeling that it was still warm and seeing the gentle rise and fall of her chest calmed him somewhat.  “Scarlett, honey, wake up,” he sighed, hooking his arms under hers and trying to pull her to a sitting position.

“Leave me…” she slurred, her head lolling to one side as David propped her against the front of the couch.  Her eyes opened and focused on him briefly and he could see that her pupils were shrunken and unresponsive.  “David…” she said before closing her eyes again.  He slapped her lightly on each cheek, trying to get her awake enough to stand on her own, but she only groaned.  He sighed again, pulling her into his arms and lifting her body.  “Bitch, if you puke on this suit…” he murmured.  Sadly, this was not uncommon in his dealings with Scarlett.

Carrying her through a maze of wine bottles, he finally made it to the bathroom.  Setting her down in the large porcelain tub, he turned the shower on, letting the cool water rain down on her, uncaring that she was still fully clothed.  When she got like this it was the only thing that would work.  With a heavy sigh he sat down beside the tub.  He could only hope that the cold water from the shower would bring her around and he wouldn’t have to resort to the emergency room.  Scarlett Munro was an up and coming artist—the last thing he needed right now was her unconscious face slapped on newsprint.

A cough and sputter broke David’s reverie and he sat up to see Scarlett shaking the water droplets from her hair and face.  “What the fuck, David?” she growled.

“Well look who’s awake?” he replied, pulling a towel from the rack behind his head.  “I thought I was going to have to call an ambulance this time.”

“You should have just let me be,” she replied, wiping the rough terrycloth across her face.  “I’d have woken up eventually.”

“Jimi Hendrix said that too, I think,” David mused, putting a hand on her arm to pull her forward a bit.  “Come on.  Let’s get you out of these clothes and wash you off a little bit.  You look like hell.”  Scarlett stared at him, her eyes still bleary with the after-effects of her latest bender.  He pulled his suit jacket from around his shoulders and threw it over the toilet.  “Don’t look at me like that.  It’s ok.  I’m gay,” he said as he rolled up his sleeves.  After a few moments, she allowed him to help her out of the soaked tee-shirt and jeans.

David knelt by the tub, using a washcloth to rinse warm water over her body, washing it clean of what was at least a few days’ worth of stink.  Scarlett was silent, letting her friend cleanse her as the effects of the alcohol and pills slipped from her brain, leaving only a dull ache behind.  “How long was I out?”

“No idea, darling.  But I’ve been trying to reach you for three days.”  Leaning over her, he pulled the shower nozzle down and began running warm water over her hair.  “When your voicemail box was full, I decided I’d better come check on you.”  He nudged her shoulder, pushing her forward and scrubbing her shoulders and neck with the loofah.  “So when were you planning on stopping this?”

“Stopping what?” Scarlett asked.  Her voice sounded tired and disinterested.

“Doing this to yourself.  I mean, I get the whole ‘I must suffer for my art,’ bullshit, but honey this is a bit extreme.  Even for you.  One of these days you aren’t going to wake up from this.”

“That’s the idea,” she replied, picking up the shampoo and squirting a pile into the palm of her hand.  “Maybe I’m just wanting to see how far I can go.”

“Don’t talk like that,” David said, picking up her hand and holding it in his.  He tried to smile, but he caught sight of something strange.  Thin streaks of red snaked over the top of her thigh.  Some of the scars were fresher than others and some were quite deep.  When Scarlett noticed him looking, she pulled away, trying to hide.  “What happened?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” she started, but he dropped her arm and gripped her knee, holding it in place as he examined the thin cuts.

“The hell you don’t,” he said angrily.  “You’ve been cutting yourself too, huh?  Is this something new in your repertoire of self-destruction or is this just the first time I’ve seen it?”

“Look, David… you’re my agent.  I don’t see why you even care,” she sighed, pulling away and standing up.  “It’s my body. I’ll do whatever I damn well want.”  As she stepped over the side of the tub, she stumbled, nearly falling to the tile floor before David caught her.

“I’m also your friend, Scarlett.  I hate seeing you like this.”

“I hate being like this.”  She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears.  “You think I like feeling this way?”  Suddenly her façade of stoic indifference melted and the tears tumbled over her cheeks.  David embraced her tightly, letting her cry against his shoulder.  She had cried many times.  It seemed to be a symptom of her addiction, but never had she felt so cold.

“Alright, sweetie,” he said, pulling a towel down off of the rack and wrapping it around her.  David walked her clumsily into the next room, sitting down beside her on the bed and holding her tightly against him as her sobs came in shaking heaves.  He rocked her back and forth, letting her tears wet the light cotton of his shirt.

“Scarlett, maybe it’s time that you go and see that doctor I found…”

“No,” she barked, sitting up quickly and backing away, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.  “They can’t help me.  Nothing will help me.”  He stared down at her silently, his heart feeling heavy and sore.  Scarlett obviously believed that she was just a damaged person and that nothing would ever make her right again.  Her art, which had always seemed to work as some kind of salve for her mind, had become dark, reflecting the storm of unstable emotions going on in her head.  He just didn’t know what to say to her anymore.

David had been Scarlett’s friend when she was still scribbling graffiti on the sides of buildings.  It was rare that she ever opened up about her childhood traumas.  A few details here and there about a drunken mother and a handsy stepfather were as far as she ever went.  He’d always been able to talk her down from the ledge but these days it was getting harder and harder.  Worse yet, lately her behavior had become erratic.  At first he’d just assumed that she was high, and being an art agent, he was used to dealing with cokeheads, meth-addicts and junkies, but this was very different.  Her actions were self-destructive and near-suicidal.  As if she were just waiting for someone to show up and save her.

After a few moments, she spoke again.  “Did I ever tell you about the angel in my paintings?”

“No.”

“I saw him when I was twenty-one.  I overdosed on morphine and heroin at a party…”

“What the hell kinds of parties did you go to?” David asked, the corner of his mouth quirking in a sarcastic grin.

Scarlett chuckled.  “The kind where twenty-one year old girls are hopped up on drugs and date raped in the corner.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway.  I guess I was looking for an escape.  Maybe I wanted to die.  Whatever it was, I had been drinking wine laced with morphine or something and then some guy gave me a syringe full of heroin.”  Scarlett pulled the towel tight around her body as she lay down across the bed.  “It was first and last time I ever shot up.  Have you ever done it, David?”

“Never.”

She smiled.  “At first it feels so good.  Like you’ll never be sad or hurt again.  God, I remember that feeling.  I was floating, a spirit looking down on my physical body.  I didn’t want to go back, I just wanted to stay there.  Floating high above and watching.  The world was just this beautiful thing, all colors and wonder and light.  And then I saw him.  This form appeared,   shadow and smoke in front of me.  At first I thought it was just a hallucination or a dream.  There was a man kind of just… floating in the air above me.  At least, I thought he was a man.  He had these wings… God I know it sounds crazy, but he had these wings that just furled out behind him, kind of ghost-like.  He was all dressed in black, even his blonde hair seemed completely devoid of color, but his eyes.  His eyes had this silvery light.  I thought he probably just knew everything about me in that split second that our eyes met.  And I felt so sad that he was seeing me this way, this broken little girl, and I wanted to cry and beg his forgiveness.  But he looked at me and sort of smiled and I knew then he was an angel.”

Her eyes looked past him, her voice trailing off, over David’s head, and away to something unseen.  “So what happened?” he asked.

“He kissed me.  And then he was gone.  Next thing I remember I was waking up in a hospital bed.  My mom was standing over me crying.  I didn’t even care, I just kept looking for the angel.  Praying he hadn’t been a dream.  Of course, he wasn’t, but I kept waiting.  Peeking around corners, staring at the ceiling at night.  I thought that maybe after seeing what I’d done, he’d just decided not to bother.  So I tried to make up for it.  I thought that maybe if I was a better person that the angel would come back.  He’d save me this time.  I quit using, I actually went to school, I tried to play the part of the perfect daughter.  Hell, my pervert of a stepdad even left us.  And for a while everything was better and I just knew my prayers had been answered.  But my mother went back to the bottle.  My stepfather came back and was the worst he’d ever been.  So then I thought, maybe if I was bad, really bad and put myself in situations like before, that he’d come back.  I mean, that’s how he came before, right?”  She paused and pulled the blanket over her shoulder, snuggling against the pillow sleepily.  “But he never did.”

“Scarlett… I think you need some help.”

“No doctors, David.  Please…”

“We’ll find somebody that can help you, I promise.  You can’t just keep this up…”

“A doctor will just give me pills.  Make me numb.  Maybe I’d lose him.”

“Maybe you need to,” David sighed, standing up with an exasperated sigh.  “If you’ve got a guardian angel that’s standing by and watching you kill yourself with drugs, booze and cutting, then he’s not a very good one.”  Scarlett rolled over, turning her back on David and the conversation.

Spying her cell phone sitting on the nightstand, he grabbed it and programmed an alarm. “Look, I’m setting your alarm to wake you up in a few hours.  I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the last three days to tell you that I’ve found a rather unusual patron.  Assuming my continued procrastination at setting up a meeting hasn’t scared him away.”

Scarlett sat up and stared at David, her stringy wet hair going in all directions.  “A patron?”

“Yes.  You remember what that is.  Someone who pays you to create a specific work of art.”

“I know what it is, dumbass.  Who is it?”

“Raze Constantine.”  He raised his eyebrow, waiting for her reaction.

“You’re kidding,” she said, her mouth hanging agape.  “The billionaire, Raze Constantine?”

“Well I haven’t seen his bank statement, but I’m going to assume yes.  No one else would have a name like that…”

Scarlett leaped out of bed, nearly losing her towel in a comic fashion.  “Raze Constantine is probably the richest guy in Europe, nay the entire world!  What in hell does he want with me?”

“I would think he wants you to do some kind of painting for him.  All I know is that he tracked me down and called me personally to find you.  His exact words were, ‘Miss Munro or no one’.”  David went into his breast pocket and pulled out a plane ticket.  “He also sent this for you.” Scarlett jerked it out of his hand and examined it carefully.  David braced himself for the exclamation that was surely coming.

“David!  This ticket is for this afternoon!”

“I said I’d been trying to reach you for days…”

“I can’t possibly go to…”  She paused, looking for the destination on the ticket.  “Does this say London?  As in London, England?  Like… in Europe?”

“That’s the one.”  David wandered over to the closet and began pulling things out.  He pulled out a dark sweater and threw it aside, wrinkling his nose.  “Everything in your closet is so dark.  You need some color.”

“Thanks, Mom,” she replied with just enough sarcasm to elicit an exaggerated sigh.  “I can’t go to Europe this afternoon.”

“Why not?  It’s not as if you have some pressing engagement.  You’re an artist for God’s sake.”  He pulled a suitcase out of her closet and began tossing things into it carelessly.

“Well… I’m…” She stammered.  “I just don’t think I’m up for this, David.”  He turned to see her reach for a small pill bottle on her nightstand. “And I’m in the middle of a project right now.  You know I don’t like to stop in the middle of a painting.”

With a lunge, he knocked the bottle from her hand, scattering tiny white pills over the hardwood floor beneath her bed.  “You don’t like to stop when you’re in the middle of a bender,” David snapped.  “I’m your friend, Scarlett, but I’m also your agent.  And if you keep going on like this you won’t sell anymore paintings…”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if you don’t get your ass on that plane this afternoon and leave all this…”  He indicated the mess in which they currently stood. “I just can’t represent you anymore, Scarlett.  It’s too much of a risk.”

Scarlett sighed.  “Look, David… if this is some kind of tough love thing…”

“I can assure you that I’m quite serious, love.”  He picked up the wastebasket in the corner of the room and swept the amateur pharmacy off of her nightstand into it.  She followed him around the apartment, watching him pitch pill boxes, wine and liquor bottles into the trash.

“You win, David. You always win.”  Scarlett sighed, leaning heavily against the wall.

“I know.  By my watch you have about four hours to get packed and to the airport.  Do something with your hair.  You look like hell. Oh…” He reached into his pocket again and found a slip of paper with the address of a hotel in London. “I’ve already made your reservation and paid in advance.  Just go in and tell them your name.”

“You aren’t going with me?”  Her eyes widened and for a moment Scarlett looked utterly terrified.

“I’m afraid I can’t go on such short notice. I do have other clients.”  He bent down and continued picking up trash, holding it carefully between two fingertips as if it were a disgusting bug.  “I don’t have time to go running off to London playing nursemaid to you.”

“You’re such a pain in my ass.”

David looked at her with a comic twist of his lip.  “It’s my lot in life.  I’ll be back in a few hours to take you to the airport,” he said, making his way to the door with his load of garbage.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> GO TO Chapter Two