Chapter 7 Brielle
Here With You, coldrain
We walk into the omniscient evening air, his large silhouette eclipsing the night sky as I aimlessly follow him to my new home .
Our footsteps pad in unison on the cobblestone road.
Occasionally I peer up to look at Everett, still contemplating if this is a dream—or have I lost my mind?
I reflect on how he came to my apartment just at the precise moment my landlord, Carlton, was drunkenly berating me from outside the door. Then, Everett ordered me to gather my belongings.
I packed what items I had, which wasn’t much , and cautiously followed him .
I’ve brought my regular wardrobe and work uniforms, accompanied by footwear, and my beloved picture.
The picture of a sweet memory I saved before my house went up in flames. My brother and I, standing in front of our dear family pond, where we used to fish for hours at a time as children.
I tried to retrieve my soaps and shampoo, but Everett rudely smacked them out of my hands. “The shit soaps stay with the shithole apartment.”
I attempted to pick up my large duffel bags as we began to leave, but he swiftly grasped them without a word.
“Those are mine. I can carry them!” I muttered with attitude.
He said nothing and strode down the hallway.
“I have my own arms!” I protested.
He quietly commented, “That’s nice.”
Bastard. My thoughts cursed him as a deeper part of me fought feelings of appreciation for someone actually assisting me.
His words repeat in my mind: company nurse .
When did that happen? I simply thought I was helping them for some pocket money. Now all of a sudden I’m on their regular payroll?
We turn toward the south end of town, toward the Den, his large silhouette marching in front of my small frame. He walks with such confidence, long, sleek strides, his head on a swivel as he carries my two bags over his shoulders.
In the corner of my eye, I note a few figures that have been traveling the same direction as us since the beginning of our journey.
Maybe it’s a coincidence?
Or maybe it’s not.
I glance around again to see one man with a flat gray cap pulled low. On the opposite side of the street, keeping pace, is another man in similar attire. He’s directly behind us, sixty to eighty paces away.
“Everett…” I whisper.
He cannot hear me. Either my voice doesn’t carry up his six-foot-four frame or he is ignoring me.
I poke at one of his forearms near where a duffel bag hangs from his shoulder.
“Everett,” I say through gritted teeth.
He glances back at me, one eyebrow raised, then continues to look ahead.
“Everett, there are people following us .” I grasp his bicep.
A couple more quiet strides and he murmurs, “Say that again.”
I’m contemplating screaming up at his tall frame.
“There are people following us,” I hiss through my teeth, trying to give emphasis to the threat looming around us.
This man has the audacity to crack a tiny smile. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it vanishes as he says, “I like how you say us .”
“Everett!” I exclaim.
He chufts, “Relax, they are my men, Brielle. I always have backup nearby. It isn’t a bad idea, especially considering that we are walking the streets at 4 a.m.”
We come upon a line of town houses and Everett shifts one bag to the other arm as he draws out a key from his tweed coat.
“Everett, I… I don’t need a town house. This is too much. I can’t afford this,” I stammer .
No response. He just turns the key within the lock, then pushes the door open with my bags.
The town house is gorgeous, laid intricately with wood and stone. Cozy, not modern like some of the townhomes we passed.
A staircase hugs the left-hand wall, and a hallway expands to a small dining room. On my right is a living room, already furnished with a quaint leather love seat. A small stone fireplace and bookshelves line the walls.
Everett goes through explaining how to turn on the fireplace, then turns to face me.
“I’m going to place your bags upstairs and then leave. Don’t forget you have a massage appointment today.” So stoic with his words.
I gaze at his handsome features, failing to find words due to exhaustion and stumbling from his overbearing spirit.
“My paycheck cannot cover this, Everett. I am saving my money. Don’t you have a smaller apartment that would be more suitable for just me?”
“No,” he states.
“Everett?” I plead, panic starting to build within my bones.
He swiftly walks up the stairs and I can hear the weight of my bags being placed on the ground. Then his figure reappears, almost like he is a ghost gliding down the steps.
“Brielle, this suits you well. You deserve nice things, and it is safer here. Monthly rent is unnecessary. This is a part of your benefits package for working with us.”
“But, Everett…Mr. Afton…I still need compensation! This is wonderful, thank you, but…”
He cuts me off by delicately placing his hands under my chin. “You will still be compensated. Handsomely.” We stare at each other for some time, his amber eyes bright for a moment as we fall into a trance around one another’s essence.
“There are two rooms upstairs. Have a nice long bath. Then get some rest and go get your massage.” Then he lets go of my face, a ghosting touch that I long for to haunt my skin all day.
Everett places the key in my hand and then turns to leave. As he breaches the door frame he states, “There are several locks on the front and back doors. This place will help you feel much safer.”
Then he leaves .
Everything is furnished and the place is stocked with food, more than I could ever ask for.
I make a small cup of warm milk and venture to the second story.
The guest bedroom is decorated in green and blue hues, hinted with small flower patterns.
I turn toward the main suite and let out a small gasp.
My bags have been placed upon a gray ottoman bench.
A mahogany four-post bed sits on the far side of the room, adjacent to the master washroom.
There is a beautiful oak armoire, a leather lounge chair, a side table and an ivory lamp.
Quickly I organize my few belongings around the room and store my clothing.
Then retreat to the washroom to find a deep clawfoot bathtub, lined with luxurious-smelling soaps, lotions and candles. Soft towels are draped over the already heated towel rail.
This is too good.
This is too good to be true.
My mind begins to brace for the impact of my panic, thinking of how easily this could be ripped from my grasp, or if this will be held over my head.
Small breaths.
In .
And out.
I need to calm myself and not let this get the best of me.
After turning the tap on, water flows elegantly into the tub. I feel the flowing water and am surprised to embrace the warm temperature. My old apartment would have never given me the comfort of warm water this quickly!
I strip off my uniform and climb into the tub.
The water climbs across my skin as I pluck one of the fancy maroon glass soap bottles and inhale its calming aroma. The bottle reads “Lavender and Eucalyptus.”
A moan escapes me as I lather my body with its contents.
To my surprise, my moan is accompanied by a lonesome tear escaping my eye.
What is this? I think to myself.
Relief?
Gratefulness?
I give a small chuckle to myself and lie back, immersing my whole body in the heavenly water.
After a glorious wash I slide under the soft, silky sheets, the fabric enveloping me in a comfortable cocoon, kissing my skin. Sending tingles throughout my body.
My body falls like the end of a beautiful crescendo, descending into the most remarkable sleep.
I open my eyes to view the pond from my childhood. The trees rustle as the calm breeze caresses my cheek. I follow the flow of air to find my handsome brother seated by the water. One leg perched by his side as the other is dangled into the small blue abyss.
My breath hitches.
I haven’t had a dream with him in so, so long.
As his name catches in my throat, his eyes turn to me and that playful smile cracks the corner of his mouth in that adorable upturned fashion.
“Hi love.” Then he stands, coming toward the picnic blanket I’ve awoken on within the dream.
I peer around to find the surroundings aren’t identical to those of the childhood pond we once played in.
This place has similarities, such as the pond, but surrounding me is a beautiful garden filled with exquisite flowers of all varieties.
The path set toward the rickety old house with red shutters doesn’t exist.
Marcus gently sits next to me.
“Why do you look so gloomy, huh? Figured you’d be happy ta see me.”
I can feel the brush of his arm against mine, the sensation so surreal it brings tears to my eyes.
“Gosh, you’re so soft,” he states, as his callused hand slightly, playfully nudges my arm.
I playfully return the push and reply, “You’re a wanker!”
We share a small laugh together, until he states, “Yeah, ’course I am. I’m the dead one.”
Then I freeze. “That’s not funny, Marcus. You have no idea how much I miss you. Every damn day.” I turn to face him and he is just staring at me, those emerald eyes engulfing my soul, pulling all emotion from my pores.
“I know, sis.” He moves in closer to wrap a strong arm around my shoulders. “I know. I watch over ya each day.” Then he kisses the side of my head. “You’d be proud though. I did it for a good cause. Our unit came upon an underground bunker with several prisoners of war.”
His body shudders and his face turns pale.
“They were tortured, sis. Tortured so badly in ways I didn’t realize people could and…” Before he has a moment to finish his story, a beautiful chime rings through the air.
We peer around us, trying to identify its location. It continues to chime, getting louder and louder, interrupting my discussion with Marcus.
His warm smile places an ache in my heart.
“No,” I mutter.
Though I know this is just a dream, it is a dream I wish would last. An experience we would never otherwise have as I sit across from him.