Tempted by Evil (10 page)

“Never heard of them,” I responded, tucking a stray lock of red hair behind my ear.

“I’m not surprised,” he quipped. “It’s not easy listening, nor is it Jesus-approved.”

“Hmm,” I thought aloud, “I don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” he queried.

“Why all the rock and roll band t-shirts?” I questioned further.

“Long story,” he stated simply.

“I’ve got time,” I pressed.

He stared at his shoes for what seemed like an eternity before he finally spoke again.

“Music for me is like books for you.”

“I see,” I said as I stared at the side of his face, his olive skin flawless in the sun.

And I did.

In that moment, I understood precisely what he was telling me. With those few words, Merrick had confessed to me that not only did he enjoy music, but it was a part of him. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye as well as Metallica was something that he related to on some personal level―something that spoke to him and his search for meaning in this world. Merrick had done the last thing I had expected; he had gotten personal.

Taking one hand off of my book, I reached it slowly toward Merrick and placed it lightly on his. He immediately ripped his hand from beneath mine and shot to his feet at lightning speed.

“You see nothing, little girl,” he spat at me as he raked his fingers through his hair again.

“I was just trying to show you that I understood you,” I pleaded, pools stinging the backs of my lids.

“I’ve got news for you, Aspen,” he said quietly, with a reserved anger pressing against his facade of calm. “You don't understand me, and you clearly don't understand life. You have no clue . . . this world is not the blessed place you want to believe it is. You would be wise to remember that.”

And with those words, he turned away from me and stalked down the street. I watched him until I could no longer see his form due to the tears that had finally made their way into my eyes, spilling quickly down my cheeks. My vision blurred, my face a swollen mess, I sat by myself on the park bench, thinking Merrick's words were suddenly very true.

I didn't understand at all.

I wasn’t quite ready to head back to my apartment, so I decided instead to stop into the café for a hot chocolate and one of Marie’s tasty scones. As I rounded the corner onto Main Street, I nearly collided with a very polished-looking elderly woman. Her snow-colored hair was coiled into a proper bun on the top of her head and her lips were painted pastel peach. A whisper-pink pantsuit with a matching pink and gold brooch pinned to the lapel nearly washed out her pale complexion. Her deep gray eyes glossed over as they met mine, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, sending a shiver down my spine.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered as I tried to move out of her way.

Grabbing me firmly by the wrist, her glazed stare continued to bore into me as she whispered, “Minds will be poisoned, weather altered, and time manipulated by the Anathema―the chosen one on the eve of adulthood. Her thoughts and feelings hold the power to sway man’s thoughts, the sky, and the hour.”

Standing there motionless, I said nothing while the old woman released her grip on my arm and continued her journey down the street as if nothing had happened. When I finally regained my wits and looked up to call after her, she was gone.

I considered just going home after yet another one of my dark and off-putting encounters, but opted instead to be in the company of others rather than being alone. The old woman’s words played on a loop the rest of the way to Holy Grounds, and I couldn’t escape the feeling that something truly frightening was happening to me. I wanted desperately to dismiss her message, but I was amassing enigmatic run-ins faster than I could count. It seemed too convenient to blow them off as coincidence.

Trying to evaluate the situation with some level of rationality, I broke down what she'd said. She had called me Anathema―an abomination. Could I really be viewed by God as a thing that should not exist? Someone with the kind of powers she spoke of? Surely not. She’d also said the chosen one was on the edge of adulthood, but I was already eighteen years old and living quite the adult life, if living in my own apartment and having a job counted for anything. As I contested her sentiments, I couldn't shake a growing doubt welling up from deep inside me. Something about her words was beginning to stick with me.

Walking into the café, I nestled myself into the far corner where I could be alone in the safety of others. As an experiment to disprove her theory, I quietly set to work on the task at hand: changing the weather. If I was what this woman claimed I was, then I should have been able to control it. Focusing all my energy on the window directly beside me, I stared through the pane of glass at the sky as though my very life depended on it. Although not exactly sure what I was supposed to be doing, if sheer effort alone could have affected some sort of change, the sky would have turned from blue to black in an instant. Instead, the sun continued to shine as if mocking me.

Redirecting my efforts on to something else, I sought out the clock on the wall across the room. If I was the abomination the old woman talked about, she said I should be able to control time. Channeling all my focus toward stopping the ever-ticking second hand, I figured I’d start small in order cause time to stand still. Still nothing happened. Frustration brewed, and I snatched up the spoon from the table in front of me and attempted to bend it with the power of my mind, like in the book
Travels
by Michael Crichton that I read after
Jurassic Park
(guilty pleasures of my youth that Sister Mary Constance and I sneaked into the convent).

“Having a
Matrix
moment, are we?” a voice as smooth as honey interrupted my foolishness and I let the spoon fall to the table.

“A what moment?” I asked curiously, looking up into the most glorious blue eyes.

“
Matrix
, it’s a movie,” Julian explained, scooting a chair to sit beside me, “a reference to your spoon-bending exercise. And we’ve gotta add that to the 'must see' list.”

“Um, okay,” I giggled, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep into my cheeks. “How did you know I was trying to bend a spoon?”

“If you weren’t,” he began seriously before settling into his mischievous grin, “then I’m a little concerned that the spoon has a better shot with you than I do.”

“Hardly,” I scoffed, my face turning an even brighter shade of red as I sank my teeth into my lower lip, certain that I was an open book for Julian to read.

With his face set in that wide, boyish smile, Julian narrowed his eyes on me. “Tell me why your skin keeps turning that lovely shade of rose.”

“Is that a diplomatic way of saying that I’m blushing more than a prostitute in church?” I immediately covered my mouth with my hand, unable to believe I’d just repeated the expression I’d heard the sisters say in jest for years.

Julian could not contain his laughter, though to his credit, he did try. Still chuckling, he quipped, “More like a schoolgirl in the principal’s office. And since I’m a guy with authority issues myself . . . what’s up?”

“I just had a run-in with a crazy old lady. Kind of like the homeless man from before,” I began but was immediately cut off.

“What do you mean run-in?” Julian interrogated, suddenly looking very serious. “I thought we talked about this, Aspen. Is everything okay? Were you harmed? What did she want?”

His questions came fast and furious while his anxiety, which was clearly visible, rose higher.

“I'm fine. Please calm down. You're getting upset over nothing, really.” I tried to make my voice as soothing as possible, remembering Julian’s history from before. I wanted to believe what I was telling him, but years of truth-telling had left me with a visceral awareness of being anything less than honest. “She said crazy things to me. She called me '
Anathema
' and said that I would alter time, weather, and people’s minds. It was utterly bizarre, but―”

“But what?”

“She seemed so convinced when she spoke, Julian . . .”

He looked thoughtful for a moment before replying.

“So you think that you’re this Anathema just because she called you one?”

“Yes,” I began, “no. I don’t know. Maybe?” I hesitated slightly, debating as to whether or not I even wanted to bring up the lady by the ocean. Admitting that I was giving weight to the enigmatic messages was disconcerting enough, but my real fear, the one that slowly and consistently grew, was that the common denominator in all the craziness was me.

With a sigh, I decided to trust him and tell him everything, praying that he wouldn’t turn and run. I stared down at the table so that I wouldn't have to meet his gaze as I rattled off the many mysterious things I'd been told. Keeping my eyes on the prize, letting light be my only guide, Chosen one, Anathema―I sounded ridiculous as the words left my mouth. Once I was done, I unconsciously held my breath, awaiting the inevitable drop of the other shoe.

And, yet, it never came.

Instead, after gathering the courage to look at him, I saw Julian sitting across from me with sympathetic eyes. He was clearly befuddled by what I had told him, but he was there. He hadn't left me.

“So . . . ,” I said quietly in an attempt to escape the growing silence, “why do you think these strange things keep happening to me?”

“Well,” he replied thoughtfully, “I'm not sure. It certainly is strange, that's for sure.”

“It's beyond strange,” I muttered to myself under my breath.

“I agree, Aspen, but I have no idea what to make of it. I'm not sure what I can offer you that will help.”

He looked saddened by his own words.

“I know, Julian, I'm sorry. I don't mean to drop this on you and expect you to solve yet another of my problems for me. Maybe I'm just thinking out loud. It's just bizarre, I mean . . . all these weird messages? People singling me out? Why would this happen if it wasn't intended for me or didn’t mean something?” I collapsed down onto my folded arms on the table, desperate to make sense of the insensible. “And where is Chloe so I can get a cup of hot chocolate and a scone?”

“Oh . . .” Julian’s voice was apologetic and he looked like a scolded child. “I told her not to worry about your table when I saw you walk in. I’ll get whatever you want.”

“I’m sorry, Julian,” I said, popping up from my rested position. I still felt exhausted and confused. “I didn’t mean to snap at you; I’m just frustrated with this situation.”

“No worries, Aspen,” he replied, placing his hand upon my shoulder and smoothing back a lock of unruly hair. “I'm not sure how, but we’ll figure it out―
together
. In the meantime, Felice is cooking at the Casey house tonight if you’re up for some family time? Maybe it'll take the edge off? I promise I won't say anything crazy.”? His mouth crooked up at the corner as he tried―and failed―to stifle a grin.

Family time
.

As mentally and physically exhausted as I was, I never got tired of the idea of being surrounded by people who genuinely cared about me.

I smiled at him before responding.

“Family time sounds great.”

*

By the time we arrived at the Casey home, dinner was already in preparation mode―my nose and stomach were willing to attest to that. I said hello to Constantine with Julian and then excused myself to head into the kitchen to see if there was anything I could do to assist Felice. Walking through the swinging doors, it was as though I’d stepped into a whole other world. Mrs. Casey had a black full apron over her navy blue capri pants and white blouse, and was tossing a salad in a large bowl. Two other cooks were working furiously over the stove, one stirring some sort of cream sauce and the other preparing pasta for draining.

They all looked up as soon as they realized they were no longer the only ones in the room, and the greetings began. Felice placed her bowl on the island and came over to me with arms outstretched, “Aspen, darling, how we’ve missed you.”

“Felice.” I returned her affectionate hug, a beaming smile on my face. “I’ve missed you too, though it’s only been a couple of days.”

“I’ve never liked being away from my family, dear,” she said with her arm still around me, guiding me back over to the salad in the center of the kitchen. “And
you
are family.”

An overwhelming sense of gratitude washed over me, bringing tears to my eyes. The only words I could find were a simple, “Thank you, Felice, I feel the same about all of you.”

She opened a mahogany drawer and removed a pair of tongs, placing them in the salad bowl.

“I hope you’re all right with a more casual dinner this evening, Aspen,” Felice said as she picked up the large bowl and began to carry it into the dining room. “Occasionally, we are a little less formal around here.”

“Formality can be so overrated.” I exaggerated my tone to be a bit playful, forcing a laugh from Felice that I quickly shared as we entered the picturesque dining room.

Julian was already seated across from Alexa, with Constantine taking his place at the head of the table. Mrs. Casey placed the salad near the far end of the table while the two cooks followed us out, carrying what appeared to be fettuccine alfredo with broccoli and fresh bread sticks. The smell of the food was wonderful and my stomach growled in anticipation. I looked around to see if anyone had heard the unbelievably loud noise and was met with an icy glare from Julian’s sister.