Chapter 30 #3
“I could never tire of those eyes,” he admits as his hand presses gently against my cheek. This close, I can’t miss how his expression drops slightly. How is it possible that someone can switch so quickly between passion and pensive?
My body moves instinctively, attempting to close the narrow gap between us. He smells of whiskey, with a hint of smoke. I should be relishing his scent, but I’m unable to. Thinking back to the way my masked stranger makes me feel. How I want to be wrapped in his black candied flavor.
“I’m going to get changed,” he blurts, immediately withdrawing when we were just a hair’s breadth away from one another.
He strides down the hall, most likely to his bedroom, and I’m finally able to shake myself from this spell-bound state.
What am I doing? I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m conflicted. Lost to the pull of another without a name. I should go, this was a mistake. Standing, I slipped off my heels, and padded down the hall in the direction his figure disappeared. Let me tell Eamon I’d like to go home.
Only one door was ajar in the long hallway.
I push past to find a dimly lit room. Dark walls surround a shallow bed; all cast in a familiar crimson glow.
Curiosity has me slipping into the room, where I find Eamon shirtless before his closet.
Just as I am ready to speak, I find the source of the red light.
Inadvertently, I edge toward the glass box, holding what air I already had within my chest. Within the enclosure of plants, I locate a fuzzy creature, almost identical to my Thelma.
In the corner of the tarantula’s home is a skull hide, just like I have back in my apartment.
My stomach twists, causing the air to rush from my lungs all at once.
An audible noise falls from my lips, just as a hand lands on my shoulder.
I spin around to find Eamon, eyebrow raised, and still shirtless.
My mouth opens and closes but no words form.
That’s when I notice something even more odd than a twin spider in my boss’s home.
On his upper forearm, a stark, black skull with shamrock eyes looks back at me. I’ve seen that before. “There’s something you need to know,” he confesses.
When my brain finally fires up, I spit out.
“Why do you have an identical set-up and pet to my brother’s?
” The world tips on its axis. Without realizing, I have progressively been backing up…
I’m taken off guard when the back of my calves hit soft material and I fall back. I’ve guided myself to his bed.
Eamon now stands positioned between me and the door to his bedroom.
What is happening? What could he possibly need to tell me besides; I’ve been hiding things from you. Oh my god! Does he plan to…?! My heart painfully thunders in my chest. Think! Think! My phone is in the kitchen, but I know Andrea must be listening. If I were in danger, she could help me. Right?
Eamon must have noticed me looking from him to the door. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just need you to… understand some things.” With arms folded, I’m now angry with myself for agreeing to come here in the first place.
“What do you want from me?!”
Then it hits me, how he knows so much about me, why he keeps me close. “Did… did you kill my brother?!”
His features change from soft to jagged in the blink of an eye. His knit eyebrows and curled lips tell me all I need to know. “What?!” He takes a step back.
On shaking legs, I stand and point my finger toward him, “You heard me!”
His jaw begins to tick, as if chewing on something invisible. “I would never hurt Theo,” he says through gritted teeth. “I fucking loved him.”
Wait… what? I sit back down onto the bed.
Memories of my brother swirl in my mind.
How? Could this be true? Too many imperative questions to pick out just one.
Long quiet moments pass without either of us speaking.
He’s keeping his distance. I focus on the present, what’s in front of me, and how I should begin. “What’s its name? The tarantula.”
His shoulders noticeably lower. “Louise,” he says a breath above a whisper.
“Thelma and Louise?” Eyes downcast; he confirms my hasty revelation with a head tilt. “You were… like, together, together?”
His body moves to the closet, pulling a shirt off the hanger ahead of advancing toward the floor to ceiling windows, toward the endless dark horizon. He’s telling me without his voice.
“Oh. Oh!” I look for something to busy my hands, finding a loose thread on the hem of my dress to fiddle with.
This man makes me question how well I actually knew my brother.
Through childhood we were thick as thieves, but as we grew up, he made room in his heart for others, I never considered.
Was he scared to tell me? Theo meant the world to me; I would never judge him over who he chose to love.
Is Eamon the secret I’m supposed to find?
“Are you a prince?” I wondered out loud, thinking back to the song my stalker played for me.
I probably sound unhinged, but I suppose it’s better than telling him why I’m asking.
Well… a song by Spin Doctors informed me you are in fact, not my stalker, and I was wondering if you were of noble blood? Yes… let’s avoid that.
A shy smirk works its way across his face, and I can’t help but chew on the inside of my cheek.
Slowly, he makes his way to my side; his attentive glare trained on me.
“I’m sure my father would consider himself a king, but no, little fish, I’m no Prince Charming.
” His words were hushed but spoken with conviction.
I feel like even his answer has a riddle woven throughout.
The bed dips with his weight as he sits, naturally leaning me toward him.
The shirt he now wears has the top few buttons undone with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows; past the ink on his skin.
His large hand takes hold of mine, ceasing my ability to wind the rogue string on my outfit, around my finger.
As if he knew my plan to wrap it around, until it turns the tip of my finger white. Even now, he is tender with me. I seem to understand the dynamic better. Unable to meet his eyes, I settle on assessing the hollowed, shamrock sockets of his tattooed skull.
“You have so much to learn, little Princess. This much I can say, I wouldn’t touch a hair on your brother's head. Unless he asked me—”
My hands shoot up to cover my face. “Oh god! Please don’t finish that sentence!” I absently feel for the flower shaped brooch, while trying to do anything but picture my brother with the man before me.
Removing his hand from mine, he stands abruptly. “Other things are at play. Everything goes far deeper than you could possibly fathom. There are people who want to hurt you, Cindel.” Each new revelation is more disturbing than the last. “Your family aren’t who you think they are.”
An unpleasant shiver works its way up my spine. “I’ve been trying to get close to you. Working up to telling you all of this… because Theo shouldn’t have left us. Now, it’s my job to protect his kid sister.”
I watch as his arms move, trying to convey his message as the word “sister” gets stuck on a loop in my brain.
Hold on. That tattoo... Mairead! She has the same one on her shoulder.
Mairead is Eamon’s sister! Like connecting toy bricks, everything snaps into place.
Is he aware of my friendship with Mairead?
Alarm bells began to sound in my ears. Everything is connected!
Nothing is by chance… I need to get out of here.
I try to control the tremor that quakes through my body.
If not Eamon, then who wants to hurt me?
Fidgeting with the rose pin on my chest, I remind myself that I’m not alone in all this.
I roll my shoulders back, mustering all the confidence I can, then stand to walk toward the bedroom door.
“Fake it till you make it,” my mom would tell me.
Especially whenever I was too nervous about what others would say.
The windows and low-lit room play with shadows. Eamon's silhouetted frame watches me inch toward the door, as he remains fixed in place against the dark navy sky.
Within the door frame to the hallway, I demand one more thing before I leave. “Who is my family, Mr. Murray?” I wait on bated breath with posture so rigid, it makes my neck ache.
His hands ideally find their way into his pant pockets. His gaze distant, not just physically but detached from the present conversation.
I ran my hands down the length of my dress, smoothing the wrinkles from sitting most of my time here.
He nods to himself before glancing down at the floor then back up to me. Even from across the room, his eyes appear lethal, like an invisible switch flips from my inquiry. “Look up… ‘Lombardi’ when you get home.” He pivots away from me, facing the water, as if that is my cue to leave.
I don’t waste a moment longer, I make my way to the kitchen, grab my belongings, and head for the elevator. Fortunate to find an already parked cab, I am on my way home shortly after exiting the ritzy apartment complex.