Caribbean Blossom

Chapter 1

Chapter One

The lashing, howling winds were rapidly beginning to pick up, pounding against the window, the sounds of the coming storm echoing throughout the house.

The conditions were worsening. I vaguely registered the woman's voice on the television warning people to stay inside.

I stood in the kitchen watching the heavy snowfall. My brain slowly accelerated into overdrive, and my thoughts were loud and incessant with the need to look outside. It was a quiet, urging panic that had become a familiar friend. There was no one out there, just an empty street illuminated under the yellow glow of the flickering streetlight.

The town was under a severe blizzard warning, calling it "the storm of a century." It was a hellish combination of hurricane-force winds, violent thunderstorms, and inches of arctic snow.

I had become used to the seasonal storms, but this one was ominous. There was a malignancy in the air, and the wind groaned like haunted souls.

Part of me wanted to believe I was being irrational and that this was just a coincidence, nothing to measure, no secret message, just the logical explanation of lousy weather. Soothing myself, I eased my anxiety, reminding myself that I booked the tickets and would be ready to move as soon as the storm ended.

The consequences of giving up my endless summer nights led me to these cold, icy days. I had to abide by and live under the rules of the witness protection program. I was barred forever, having to keep good people at arm's length, and lost to the island I loved and left behind.

Memories of a time when I could bask in my innocence of the world, live in the reality and safety that was once called home. I missed the sweet, salty smell of the sea and the white sand that followed you everywhere you went. The old Banyan tree in my mother's garden and clusters of colorful Hibiscus blooming wildly. We were still in our girlhoods when we gazed up at the stars, wondering what our destinies would look like —endless conversations about where and when we would set sail and travel the world.

The possibilities were endless then. We were naive.

That was the world I knew before I met him . That fateful day, I was oblivious to the true nature of evil, the devil lurking beneath his smile, and it bound me to him forever.

I reminded myself it was safe, looking at the single-lit white candle in my living room for comfort. For the first time tonight, I noticed how the flames danced, erratic, fighting to stay alive.

"All emergency personnel will be unavailable during this time."

I turned off the television as the lights began to flicker on and off. The electricity wasn't going to last another hour.

I checked for the final time, ensuring I had locked all the doors and windows and set the alarm. I wrapped myself beneath my covers, willing my body to soften into the white sheets. I listened to the gentle breathing on the monitor at my bedside.

I was able to fall into a dreamless sleep. Surrounded by darkness, the familiar smell of earthy, rich smoke filled the air.

I was dreaming. I had to be.

The nightmare of the smell of his cigar disturbed my dreamless sleep, following me into the waking world. I woke up gasping for air, a silent scream muted on my lips, my body drenched in sweat even though the temperature was close to freezing.

The smell was heavy, its sharp notes overpowering and nauseating. The room was heavy with an overpowering presence. The feeling was all too real.

The horror of my dream escaped with me into reality, goosebumps rising on my skin as the acrid smell of the tobacco now wafting through the room.

He was here.

I looked for him in the darkness, my heart pounding in terror as I quickly rose. In a frenzied state, I knocked the lamp to the floor, enhancing his menacing silhouette against the wall.

He found me.

"Hello, little Dove." Patient amusement laced the raspiness of his deep voice as he watched me with calculating, cold precision.

"Meroveo."His name came out in a whisper, a name I had forbidden myself to say out loud for fear that if I did, he would appear in front of me.

He stood at the entrance of my room, blocking my only escape.

I had buried the memories long ago deep inside. Now, they rushed to the surface in a violent, painful fury.

I tried to speak, but my thoughts died, the words plummeting into a ball in my throat, blocking what I was fighting to say.

He shook his head, not caring to listen. His mouth formed into a mocking frown of disapproval, casting the cigar ashes onto the floor.

With shaking fingers, I tried to find the panic button on my bedside that would alert the local police.

"No, brujita ." He smiled, almost tiredly, his voice deep and smooth like I remembered. The old nickname pierced me, tearing through and opening parts of me that I buried deep within myself.

We both knew no help was coming.

Meroveo took another lazy drag. "That's been handled," he smiled coldly, his eyes glowing with spite at my terror.

“Come here,” he called to me. He threw his cigar on the floor, stomped on it, and snuffled the light from its flame.

He beckoned again with his head.

"Don't make me ask again," he warned, his gaze churning with quiet, terrifying rage.

I looked towards the closed door, praying in desperation that he would take me. Every inch of my body shook as I struggled to move, facing him with false bravado.

"Tell me," he questioned. "What were you thinking?" He stared into my broken spirit, the tic in his sharp jaw a silent pledge to the visceral anger I felt lurking beneath him.

Meroveo was always in control. He was still the master of that unbending authority he had always possessed. Wearing all black, like death, he was beautiful and cold as the night.

"Leave." The word left my lips like magic, undoing his spell as the anger slowly simmered in my veins, thawing out the paralyzing ice and bringing me to life.

He couldn't do this to me anymore. I had something to live for now, a purpose from the haunting pain of the memories of that night.

"You were wrong." I smiled, my hate overhauling fear.

Unhurried, with deadly and slow precision, he closed the gap between us, lifting my chin with the tip of his thumb. He smiled down at me with his final judgment for my betrayal.

"You thought I would let you get away?"

His question was rhetorical, the anger bleeding from his eyes.

I knew once I signed those papers, my only outcome would be death. I felt his hand wrap delicately around my neck, applying pressure to my pulsing vein.

His intention was clear.

Meroveo had no remorse in his eyes as he studied my face, watching me closely, molesting my features, invading me.

“Tell me, Niobe,” he taunted cruelly, mocking the name I had given myself. The life I had carefully built was now vanishing.

"Give me one reason," he questioned, his hand slowly tangling in my hair painfully, his grip on my neck growing tighter.

He forced himself closer, face inches from mine, waiting to hear an answer, knowing it would never leave my lips, wickedly mimicking the way he used to touch me.

The roughness of his thumb brushed back and forth on the erratic pulse on my neck, punishing me with a confounding mix of violence and a touch of gentleness.

A gentleness I once found safety in.

I fought to break free, but his hatred would not release me. My nails tearing into his skin, but he would not relent.

I pleaded with my eyes, but he wouldn't listen.

I wanted to beg him to let me see those faces again.

Spots began to float in my eyes, my vision dimming, my hands gripping his arms in desperation, his around my throat, taking my breath one last time as I struggled for life.

Before I could give him the only reason that would matter, I heard a small, sleepy voice call out to me from the darkness.

"Mommy?"