The House on Black Lake (19 page)

“What is wrong my dear?”

“I had some very bad news today. I’m sorry... I’m not good company. I should probably go, this isn’t—”

“Why do you run away when you feel emotion?”

I dry my eyes with the sheet and try to find words to explain my torment.

André walks to the corner of the room, closes the window, and pulls the curtains tight, shutting out the light and sounds from outside. “Dance with me.”

He draws me up from the bed and leads me in a sensuous sway. Holding me close, he kisses away my tears and soothes me with tender words until my chest stops heaving and I am taken by a narcoleptic fugue.

“Have you ever given yourself without inhibition, with utter truth?” he whispers. “Have you every loved to the degree you lost yourself as you know yourself to be,” he asks, and draws my hair back to slide his lips where the scalp meets the skin of the neck.

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Who do you give when you make love, your true self, what I call the Beautiful Freak, or do you give the mask you think they want to see?”

“I’ve been a freak, and I can assure you it’s not beautiful.”

“How do you define beauty?”

“Perfection.”

“There is no such thing, and anyway imperfection is far more intriguing.”

I rock in his arms, moving to the sensuous music, lost to myself, drunk with despair, my shame and sorrow transformed by the liquid gold shimmering through my hardened heart.

“Have you ever given your heart to someone or had it taken away, André?,” I ask and pull back to see his response.

“Again, you pull away from me. I am tired of this game, and it
is
a game you know, one you play with yourself. Why are you filled with such self-loathing?” André says with alarming vehemence.

“I am not filled with self-hatred, and you have no right to judge. I asked if you have ever given your heart or had it taken by someone. You didn’t answer my question. Perhaps it is
you
who is afraid.”

“The taking of a heart is a violent act, a crime,” he says with dark eyes flashing. “It should never be given or taken. Peace only comes when you open yourself to another without expectation.”

“I yearn for such peace,” I say, and caress his hair while drawing my lips tenderly across his eyelids, seeking to draw him back into the previous spell.

“Peace is the quiet that follows chaos, they abide together, the two, and cannot be separated,” André says, and leans down to blow out the candle. “When you embrace your primal self, you will find your unique serenity.”

“And you... have you found yours?”

“Not yet,” he says and draws me close to peer deeply in my eyes.

“Come with me. I want to play a little game with you,” he says, breaking into a mysterious smile. “It is a test of trust. With sparkling eyes he leads me across the room. “We will both confess our most guarded secrets and desires. The revelations will carry no shame, or discomfort if we choose to play them out with each other.”

“A confessional of sorts?”

“In this confessional, both priest and sinner are one,” he says with a playful laugh, and opens the door to a closet, empty, except for a few articles of clothing hanging loosely from wire hangers. “There is nothing to fear. Darkness cannot harm you. There is purity in darkness. In darkness, anything is possible.” He leads me inside the closet, closes the door, turns off the light and lowers me to the floor.

“The heart, body and soul must unify before you can fully unite with another person,” André tells me in a voice that sounds like a whisper from the netherworld.

I
WATCH A MYRIAD OF MY REFLECTIONS IN THE EYES OF THE MOUNTED
animal head trophies, as I move through the entryway.

“Where have you been, Alexandra?”

He moves up behind me, barely touching.

“What are doing up so late, Ramey?”

“I might ask you the same question. St. Agathe closes up tight by ten o’clock, unless you’ve been invited to a private party.”

“I
was
invited to a private party.”

“Was it good?”

“Beyond words.”

Ramey digs his fingers into my arm and swings me around to face him. He looks dreadful, with hair sticking up in tufts, the corners of his lips caked with dried blood, and his T-shirt stained with perspiration. What is more alarming are the gray hairs mingling in the growth of stubble on his chin—the first sign of anything that has staked a claim on his perfection. A wave of repulsion rides up my spine and spikes a fit of nausea, disgust unfathomable in my former carnation. The god has fallen from his pedestal. This grim satyr looks and smells like nothing more than a filthy drunk.

“I need to talk to you; come back to my room.”

“Take your hands off me. Enough is enough! I don’t welcome the sexual advances of my friend’s husband, or anyone else’s for that matter.”

“You sure rode in on a high horse.”

“I’ve paid a high price for my freedom, unlike you. I have no respect for men who seek the safety of the cage and the thrill of the wild, but don’t have the courage to commit to either.”

“Don’t lecture me, dear.”

“Fuck you, Ramey.”

“I don’t take seconds.”

“Is that so?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?

“Where’s Ruth?”

“She stayed the night in Montreal.”

He digs his fingers deeper into my arm and guides me roughly through the house.

“I said no! Let go of me.”

“Quiet. You’ll wake the children,” he says, then draws me inside the room and engages the bolt lock.

“Sit down.”

“I prefer to stand.”

“Suit yourself, Baby.”

He moves to a hanging chair, upholstered in brocade, with interlocking chains connected to hooks in the ceiling.

“I’ve seen your little warlock’s den, Ramey. What are you, some kind of wizard?”

“I have a fascination with science and magic. Does that frighten you?” he asks, and sits in the chair with legs spread wide.

“You don’t frighten me.”

“Did you fuck André Labat?”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Ramey.”

“Answer the question.”

I’m silent.

He rides his hands up the chain and draws his tongue over cracked lips.

“I’m disappointed; I thought you had higher standards.”

“Why did you row me out to stay in the house on the island?”

“I love a good game. Terror and Titillation is one of my favorites. I also like Pain and Pleasure. They’re goal posts on the same playing field. Rowing you out on the lake and leaving you on the island was like tying you up without tethers. The thought of you alone and frightened got me off—knowing I could set you free... or not.”

“You have a very sick mind.”

“Freedom can only be attained through absolute containment. The body is a vessel for the soul and the soul is the conduit to the spiritual world. When your body is contained, your soul is released. The soul’s escape is a powerful, life-changing event. And when it happens, there is no turning back.”

He stops the motion of the chair.

“Don’t pretend you don’t understand.” He gets up from the chair and crosses to where I stand next to the door.

“You know exactly what I mean, don’t you? You’ve had a taste of it, haven’t you?”

I clasp the palm of my hand against my chest to calm my wildly beating heart.

“It started in the house. And last night, in the hallway, you went there with me, didn’t you?”

“Is this the warlock talking? Or do you worship a darker deity?”

“Yes, it’s happened, Alexandra. That’s why you fell for the pathetic charms of André Labat. But giving yourself to that little worm is like a sailor dipping his cup in the sea when he’s dying of thirst. He’ll never be able to quench what I see in you.”

He stands only inches from me now—so close a bead of sweat drops from his forehead onto my cheek.

“I made love to Ruth the night we left you on the island and pretended she was you.”

“Save your confessions for your satanic priest.”

“But you had to fuck with it and move into my basement.”

“Nothing matters to you, does it, other than satisfying your perverted needs?” I say, and turn to walk out.

“I didn’t give you permission to leave.”

He blocks my movement to the door.

“You stay in my house, eat my food, drive my car, and expect me to babysit your son so you can go out and fulfill your perverted needs?”

“I refuse to defend myself. You invited me to stay in your home. I’m your guest. I will be leaving soon, so you shall be relieved of your burden shortly. And with whom I choose to share my bed is certainly none of your concern. I’m a single woman and free to do whatever I desire. I was once contained, but I had the guts to release myself. You, on the other hand, are completely contained. On your hand you wear the gold band of ownership, proof you’ve been tamed. You are no different than your marked and pierced livestock. You have no claim on freedom. You’re branded, Ramey.”

His eyes terrifies me. They hold the rage of a ruthless killer.

“Listen, Ramey, I’m tired and you’re drunk, and this isn’t the best time to have a discussion. We can talk tomorrow if you like, preferably with your wife present. Now, please move away from the door... I need to check on Sammy.”

Ramey’s perfect teeth glimmer inside his parted lips.

“I want you to consent to a punishment for your behavior, for being such an ungrateful houseguest. Five lashes would be fair, wouldn’t you agree?”

“This has gone far enough.”

“Have you ever taken a beating?”

“What are you saying?”

“Have you ever taken corporal punishment from a lover?”

“I have no idea—”

He gestures to a four-poster bed swathed in yards of parachute silk and covered with a plush duvet and lace pillows.

“You’re acting crazy, Ramey. I’m leaving.”

“You walk out that door and I’m taking you and your son to the airport tonight.”

“Get out of my way. I’m leaving this room.”

“Go...” he says, motioning to the door. As I turn to leave, he whisks me up into his arms and carries me across the room to throw me roughly onto the bed.

He paces like a prodded beast inside its cage. His eyes glow, transformed to a vivid gold. Or perhaps the change in color is only a reflection of the flames from the studded candles stationed on wood pedestals next to the bedposts.

“Stand up and bend over,” he orders.

“No.”

“There is only one way for it to happen. We’re the same you know; we’re the same kind.”

“I’m nothing like your breed.”

“I haven’t slept since I met you,” he says in a chilling voice. “I wander through a maze of empty houses filled with shadows. When I awake in the darkest hours I want to take you into my arms and lose myself inside you. Some nights I feel I might succumb to the gloom and follow the curse of my legacy.” He observes me with a strange curiosity, as though he is aware I have been plagued by similar dreams.

“We’ve been together since the first moment I took your eyes—the night you walked into the crazy house in the desert on the arm of your asshole husband. You looked like an angel dressed in white, with snow falling outside the windows behind you, and Mozart echoing in the rafters—a fucking angel sent on a mission to destroy me. I’ve waited for you a very long time—it feels like more than a lifetime, and perhaps it is. My quest is only to release you. I’ll give you what you deserve, and more importantly I’m offering what you need to spread your wings and fly.”

“You’re not listening to me. I said NO! You are not used to hearing the word, so it may sound foreign to a man like you—one who has never been refused.”

“There is no other way,” he says with calm assurance. “There’s no other way for you to break out, to crack the shell. You say you’re free, but you’re not. You took off your ring, but you still live inside the cage. Your perfect world was never your own, and now it’s impossible to return. You can refuse, but we both know it has to happen, sooner or later.”