Nuit Noire (5 page)

I stop the very moment Gauthier stops. He has an unexplainable hold over me. One that forces my limbs to do as he wishes, and ignore my own.

“You’re not scared anymore,” he says, turning towards me hopefully. “You trust me.” This second part he says hesitantly. I shake my head at him in answer.

“No, I don’t trust you. But I believe that when I walk out through those doors, I’ll wake up,” I tell him happily. His face falls. His eyes darken with sadness again.

“No, leman.” I start at the use of the name I first heard in my dream at the lake some weeks ago. “You aren’t dreaming,” is all he says before he pulls the doors open.

A wave of warmth and music blasts out, slapping at my figure, overpowering the rising tide of fear in me, drawing me inside despite the incessant screams in my head to step back.

I feel the wetness on my cheeks before I realize that I am crying when Gauthier stops just inside of the storage room we find ourselves in, the doors slipping shut behind us.

“Don’t fight it,” he says, a voice so pained as though he understands how I feel. How could he? How could anyone?

“Trust me,” he proceeds to say again. “I’ll never hurt you. I’ll never let anyone hurt you,” he whispers, stepping closer to me, brushing a tear away with a hanky that he pulls from his pant pockets, draped over the tip of his gloved fingers, leaving behind a trail of a burning sensation where it grazes my skin. “Soon you’ll understand,” he says before proceeding to walk on, my feet following him obediently.

“Good evening, Mr. Cynebald!” A guy that bursts through a door ahead calls when he sees us, bearing in his hands a large box of something.

“Good evening, Hunter! How often must I tell you to just call me Gauthier?”

“Sorry,” the guy says smiling.

“Slow night?” Gauthier asks, not missing a step.

“Yeah, luckily,” he answers with a smile, before dropping the box onto an empty pallet on the floor and walking out the doors again.

See, I tell myself. That guy looked normal enough. He looked free, not like a puppet at all. Gauthier may not kill you after all.

The storage area is large, and we are still crossing it when another young man, just slightly older than us, bursts through the doors and walks over to us, a curious expression on his face. He stops right before us, assesses me, no studies me, with the same intensity in his eyes that Gauthier tends to have. He studies me from head to toe, stopping at my eyes when he’s finally done.

“She looks scared,” he says, an almost amused look playing at his lips. I take an instinctive step closer to Gauthier, which surprises all of us, and in his eyes there flashes something akin to pleasant surprise.

“Of course she is,” Gauthier answers the dark eyed stranger, whose long wavy hair fans his face, eyes burning with interest.

“She’s beautiful too,” the stranger chuckles under his breath, producing an unnerving sound that causes my lips to visibly tremble. He starts lifting a finger as though to touch my face, a gloved hand too, I note, but Gauthier moves quickly and slaps it away.

“Don’t touch her, Hemming!” He says in a near growl that surprises me. I’ve never heard him speak like that before.

The stranger chuckles again.

“You like her already. It would be unfortunate if she’s not the one..”

“She’s the one!” Gauthier snaps, the whispered voice that says these words has a chilling effect on me. The stranger chuckles yet again, clearly amused by Gauthier’s reaction.

“Calm down, tiger! Come on,” he says turning. “Father will be glad to meet her.”

I turn to Gauthier questioningly, but he’s already walking again, is soon pushing the door ahead open, and I am forced to follow. I hurry after him, the stranger walking behind me scaring me, the music now blaring even louder in the narrow corridor we find ourselves in, and I realize we must be in a nightclub of sorts.

I was right. We are in a nightclub, I now confirm when we emerge from the door at the end of the narrow corridor into a dance floor that I’d describe as very busy on one side, contrary to what Hunter had said, and a raised VIP section of sorts on the other side, separated by an empty floor space that we now find ourselves standing in.

My feet fight to keep up with their commander, as he walks forward briskly, every now and then sending a pained gaze my way. I note how some skimpily dressed women in the club send him longing come-hither looks, and it infuriates me so much that my fists clench possessively, surprising myself at my jealousy reaction.

There’s is a fury about me in my intent to remain by his side that scares me. It feels as though it is the most important thing in the world. As though the idea of anyone touching him in any way will drive me utterly insane. I do not want any of the women, or men, in the club to get any ideas.

Gauthier is mine! I want to scream. My leman! The sentiment scares me, and the use of a word whose meaning I am unfamiliar with shocks me, causing me to hesitate just long enough that my feet stop following after him. Gauthier stops too, and turns to give me a reassuring nod just barely noticeable in the dim lighting.

“Come,” he says, beckoning me with an outstretched hand. “It’s alright. You’re with me now. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

I then take a step forward and lift my face to look up.

I see him. The king. The father. I know he is the one. Sitting there at the head of the table, next to a middle-aged woman and man on one side, and Hemming, the guy I met earlier who now rushes to sit at his father’s other side.

Looking at them, I now know that Gauthier is not like me. Neither is Hemming, nor that woman. There is something off with these people- these beings. Something untoward. Something different. Something not fitting.

“Father!” Gauthier calls, and the man, the being, rises to his feet, the rest of them on that table stop their conversation, drop their hands, and turn to face us.

My eyes sweep through them, but no detail of their being registers in my mind for my attention once again reverts to the man that is at the centre of the table- the centre of the whole room. I take note of his dark long hair also held in a loose ponytail, before I trace the hard angles of his face with my eyes, which then zoom in to his eyes and I start back with shock.

Bleeding orange eyes look back at me. The eyes in my nightmare.

I squirm inside, and though nothing of my stance changes, Gauthier impossibly senses my emotions, and steps closer to me.

“Gauthier,” I cry in a whisper, and he turns to look at me curiously. His face registers concern when he sees the fear in my eyes.

“What’s wrong, leman?” He asks endearingly.

“His eyes,” I say in a whisper, my voice trembling, my courage gone.

“I know,” he says. “Don’t be scared..”

“He is my nightmare..” I say, looking up to Gauthier’s face, searching his eyes, begging them for help.

“No, love,” Gauthier now says quietly, tracing a gloved finger covered by the hanky in his hand across my cheek to capture yet another tear I hadn’t known had escaped me.

“I am,” he simply says instead, and his dark eyes change into the same bleeding orange that causes my breath to catch at my throat in panic, my head to scream so loud, cry, the wailing inside me resonating in time with the throbbing in my veins, as all I want is to flee, but my body fails me. Betrays me. I never make a sound.

“Don’t be frightened,” he whispers, but his control of my muscles does not transfer to my mind. My mental faculties are still my own. And I am not frightened, I am terrified!

“Sophia,” he tries again, his voice heartbreakingly soft, but I am beyond his persuasions right now. I am not only panic-stricken, I hate him. I hate him for terrorizing me this way. For taking away my control, for making me feel so helpless and vulnerable. For coming into my life and scattering it into a million pieces again, just when I’d begun to gather them together after dad. I hate him.

“Gauthier, my son.” The firm voice that sounds causes me to turn away from his eyes and hurt expression, to catch his father approaching with arms spread out, enclosing him in a warm hug when he reaches up to us.

“Father,” is all Gauthier say in answer against his father’s arms, and I just make out his forehead under the dark coat his father wears.

They pull back from the embrace, but his father keeps holding his shoulders, keeping him close as they speak.

“You finally found her,” the father says.

“I did,” the son answers. I note to myself that the father doesn’t look that much older than his son. He doesn’t look much like his son either.

“After all these centuries.” My face clouds at those words, my heart throbs, as my mind ponders over the implication of those words.

“Yes, father. I really think she’s the one.”

The older man’s attention now turns towards me, releasing his grip on his son’s shoulders and stepping closer to me. My attempts to step away are once again futile as I find myself arrested in place, dreading his proximity.

“She’s a beauty,” the father says, leaning his head to his side as he studies me some more, and I feel myself as though a lab specimen. It unnerves me that the party at the nightclub goes on behind me, as though no one can see us, is seeing what is going on here.

“What’s your name, child?” His father asks me. I will myself to remain quiet, my jaw moves to speak regardless. Traitorous body.

“Sophia. Sophia Torres,” I say.

“Sophia,” the older man repeats. “That’s a beautiful name,” this he says to his son beside me.

“It is,” Gauthier confirms.

“Have you touched her?” He asks.

“No. But I got as close as I could.”

“And.”

“I nearly tore myself apart trying to keep away,” he rasps with what sounds like great torture. My breath catches at my throat when he says this. I turn to stare at him, finding it hard to believe that it’s me bringing such strong sentiments to his voice.

I then think back to the night at the lake when a strange boy had emerged in the shadows and tried to touch my face, only stopping short. I remember how he’d struggled.
Blessed heavens!
He’d cussed in a whisper. My presence had affected him greatly. Maybe he is as much enslaved to me as I am now to him.

“You’re greatly affected,” father tells son.

“Greatly so,” son admits uninhibited. “She’s breathtaking.”

“That she is,” father says, reaching out his gloved hands towards my face, then stopping just an inch away, as though changing his mind.

“My son tells me you’re the vixen he’s been waiting for all his life,” this he directs to me, his face changing angles as he slowly walks around me, his face held so close to mine that his warm breath fans me.

“I.. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.

“You don’t, do you now?” I don’t answer him, for I doubt he expects an answer. “Look at you, so scared,” he continues. “Wondering what we could possibly want to do to you.”

The large room is silent now, at least it feels so. The music sounds so distant, I wouldn’t believe we are in the same room as hundreds of party goers. I turn my eyes to Gauthier in a panic, feeling myself edging closer to him, an unvoiced beseech written clearly in my eyes when they meet his which are now gleaming even darker than they had before, and he surprises me by stepping even closer, and holding out a hand to keep his father at a distance from me.

“Don’t taunt her anymore, father,” he asks, a vulnerability in his voice that I wouldn’t have expected. “Just confirm us please.”

“You brought her too early!” The woman calls from the small group still seated at the table ahead.

“I know,” Gauthier says. “But I need to know.”

“It was quite impulsive of you,” she rebukes. “What if you’ve permanently scared her?” She continues scolding. “Even if father confirms it, she might still not want to be with you. That’s why patience is critical at this point, brother.” I guess he has a sister.

“I’ll win her heart..” The woman that had spoken laughs, interrupting whatever Gauthier was going to say next.

“You know nothing about women, brother,” she goes on to say. “In your haste, your impatience, you might just lose her after having waited for her for so long..”

“Father just tell me!” Gauthier says with exasperation, interrupting his sister.

His father chuckles, just before stepping even closer to me, as Gauthier steps away. My heart immediately screams in fear, and I reach for him, my body freezing on the spot, my hands halfway to him when he softly mutters, “stop.”

I look at him with fear and dread, hating this control he has over me, hating the vulnerable situation I find myself in, cursing whatever gods had seen to it that our paths should ever cross.

“Look at me child.” his father’s quiet voice is barely done when my head automatically turns back forward to him, and my eyes search for his, meeting them in time as they slowly turn from dark globes to fiery orange. He leans in even closer, crouching low as he does so, so that our eyes are on the same level, and gets even so dangerously close, his lips a hairbreadth away from touching mine.

My insides recoil at his proximity, my head screams, my blood pumps so furiously, that my vision is hazy red. But even in this constant internal struggle, my muscles never move an inch.

“Exhale,” he says, his voice like a gentle wind, and my lips immediately part, and I feel my energy exiting me in the deep exhale that escapes my parted lips, just in time as I see him inhale that very same air that escapes my lips. It is a light gray stream against the dim light that seeps in through his parted lips right before mine, and his eyes shut slowly as he continues to take the air from inside me, and consequently my energy, until my insides are hurting and my chest is shaking.

I breathe easier when he steps away, and with his eyes still closed, walks over to his son, and lowers himself slightly as he is nearly a head taller than him. I watch Gauthier part his lips like I had, and watch the gray stream that escapes his father’s lips and is directly taken in by his son’s. I watch baffled to see Gauthiers now bleeding orange eyes shut slowly, almost as though in bliss. When next they open, they are icy blue pupils that stare back at me, causing me to gasp. Right when I think I’ll get a heart attack thanks to the irregularity of my beating heart, jubilant cheers start from the three seated at the table ahead.

His brothers and sister walk up from the table and come down to him. They pat his back or embracing him, clapping happily as they speak, just stopping short of touching me as they introduce themselves, telling me welcome to the family.

I never once say anything. I have no choice but to keep looking forward with parted lips for that is the situation I find myself immobilised in. I do not catch the names of the other two faces or their father’s that swim before me. That doesn’t stop them though from welcoming me to their family, telling me how beautiful I am, thanking me for making their brother happy. All are things I am apparently to do regardless of my wishes.

They never once touch me, and I notice that they all have gloved hands. I soon notice that their zeal to avoid tactile contact is for my benefit. I ponder over the fact further as they continue their celebration around me. If their father inhaling my breath had weakened me so, and if Gauthier dabbing at my tears with a gloved hand under a large hanky had left a trail of burning sensation behind, then what could a bare touch of skin to skin do? Is that why they wear gloves? Are humans poisoned by the touch of these beings, whatever they are?

Some time later, it does eventually come to an end. Gauthier is asking me to leave with him, and my feet are following him as we walk out of the club, using a different side door this time that exits into a darkened alley. We walk along the deserted alley and around the bend, coming to stop at the front side of the club. A bright neon sign blinks the words Nuit Noire.

Fitting,
I think,
for it’s indeed a dark night tonight.

His car is then driven to a stop by the entrance a couple seconds later, and a uniformed valet jumps out just as another chilly gust of wind slaps against my face, chilling my tensed up features as Gauthier leads me into his car, waits until I am settled in before closing the door behind me and rushing to his door.

“I know you want an explanation,” he says as we drive through the dimly lit streets. “The events of tonight must have scared you,” he continues to say when he realizes that I am not going to say anything in response. “I did not mean to scare you. I.. I have just been searching for you for so long, that I did not want to get attached to you only to realise that you were not the one for me.”

I am not even panicking anymore. I must be beyond it. In my heart is settled a form of terror, a terror that lets me know that my nightmares have literally come true. Not only have they come true, but that they are even more alarming than I first thought them. I am not scared anymore. I am not even terrified. I am now resigned to a panic-stricken state.

“I want you to know that I loved you even before you were born.” He must think it endearing to say that. It isn’t. It only intensifies my alarm. “I love you, leman..”

“Don’t call me that!” I retort. Sad eyes study me in the darkened street the car now crawls through.

“I suppose I shouldn’t. Sophia will do just fine. It is a beautiful name in any case. I like it. I could get used to it. You see for the better part of the past five centuries, I have been referring to you as my leman. I didn’t know your name. However, nobody born of this century knows what leman means anymore. They all say darling and sweetheart.” His voice sounds so hollow, so lonely, but I do not let it break me. I do not want any part of his world. After tonight, if he does indeed drop me off at home, I’ll never again talk to him. I’ll tell the police. I’ll tell mom. I’ll tell Tony. I’ll tell everyone, even if they think me crazy.

My heart soars as he slows down to park by the last house on this street, and if it wasn’t because I am still immobilised in place, I’d have flown out of his car screaming to my mother for help. I’d be halfway across the yard by now.

“You know you can’t tell anyone anything about this,” he says. I scoff to myself. “I can’t let you do it, you understand?” He asks, his eyes searching for mine. I never once meet them. I keep staring straight ahead. “Remember that, Sophia. Do not tell anyone about this. Anyone asks you, you just say that we had dinner, and that it was a great date.”

Dream on!

“Le.. Sophia, please look at me.” I am surprised to find that my head does not automatically turn to face him. He must not be using whatever compulsion spell he has me under. He is giving me a choice to look at him. Of course given the choice I wouldn’t. After tonight’s events, there is no debate about that.