Chapter 9 Scarlet Stone?
The sun.
After a long night of fighting sleep, reading, and fighting more sleep, I shower then throw open the curtains.
“Well … shit.” I laugh at the ridiculousness of yesterday’s charade with Thor—Theo.
The curtains don’t cover windows; they cover French doors leading to a small, private balcony and stairs.
He ‘locked’ me in a room with another exit.
The white noise of rolling tides in the distance greets me as I step out onto the deck and ease into the sun lounger with a faded-red seat cushion and a small round table next to it.
A thin layer of sand and salt is caked to the top of it.
“Well done, Nolan,” I whisper. This place is exactly what I need.
Here I can just be. At least that’s what Echart Tolle and Wayne Dyer have been inspiring me to do.
Everyone should stop their forward momentum long enough to contemplate the words of these great spiritual teachers.
It really doesn’t matter where we’re going—it’s about where we are.
I hope here, on this deck or somewhere along the miles of sand emerging from the ocean, I’ll find clarity, acceptance, and … peace.
Too bad Zen wasn’t an “in” thing years ago when my dad presented me with long lists of jobs. Sorry, Oscar … this is my meditation day. I’ll be busy all day nurturing my spiritual health … in a chair … by the pool. We didn’t have a pool, except in my dreams.
If everyone spent more time doing that, I believe we could achieve world peace.
However, contemplating life is not an easy task.
For me, it’s overwhelming right now. It feels like a game that I don’t know how to play.
Is it all luck? Does skill mean anything?
What are the rules? And what happens when it’s over?
I close my eyes and let those thoughts play in my head while seagulls cry in the distance.
“Scarlet Stone?”
I open my eyes and sit up. “Yes?”
The little, old Asian man at the top of the deck stairs, wearing baggy linen trousers, a matching frock-type shirt, and black Tom’s sandals, presses his palms together at his heart and bows. “Good morning.”
“Sorry, uh …” I share, at best, an awkward smile. There’s an uninvited stranger on my deck. That’s … strange. I knew only one of my neighbors in London.
One.
And we only talked on rare occasions and only about the weather.
I’m short, but this man is definitely shorter—five feet max. “So, uh … sorry, how do you know my name?”
“Nolan.”
I nod.
“You come for breakfast. Yes?”
“Uh …” It’s food. Why is my brain hesitating? “Do you live close by?”
He nods and points to the small, pale yellow house over the grassy dune, maybe a hundred meters away.
I look down at my white satin dressing gown. “Give me five minutes?”
A nod and another bow as I stand.
I slip on a long, white T-shirt that used to be Daniel’s, over my rainbow-striped bikini, then shove my feet into my flip-flops.
“I’m at a disadvantage,” I say, slipping on my sunglasses. “I don’t know your name.”
“Yimin.” He moves his hand toward my face.
I pull back a fraction.
“May I?”
After a few seconds, I return a slow nod. Yimin eases off my sunglasses.
“Eyes need a little sun too.”
“O—K.”
He nods once and walks down the stairs. I follow.
I’ve been in Savannah for twenty-four hours, and I’ve experienced weirder—as in complete mad—moments than I have the previous thirty-one years of my life combined: Nolan’s parents, Theo the angry giant, and now the little Asian man leading me to breakfast. People who live in the U.S.
demonstrate more peculiar behavior than I’d imagined.
Yimin slips off his shoes. Then he wipes his feet on a grass mat before opening a warped screen door that resists his first attempt. I kick off my flip-flops and brush the sand from my feet before stepping inside.
“Please. Sit.” He nods to the table by the window with only two wooden chairs: one painted red, the other gold.
“The red one.”
I pause before my bum hits the seat to the gold chair.
“Drink tea.”
I can do this. I like tea.
After moving to the red chair, I wrap my hand around the teacup. It can’t be more than a hundred milliliters and there’s no steam rising from the surface. I bring it to my nose. It smells pungent. Maybe I don’t like tea after all.
“Drink.” From the worktop, he glances over his shoulder with a warm smile and easy nod. He’s quite commanding with his nods.
What if he’s poisoning me? Does it matter? No.
“Oh … wow.” I try to suppress my gag reflex, which is odd because I’ve never had much of one until this tea coated my throat. He’s making me drink his diarrhea. That’s the only explanation for what’s in the cup. “What is this?”
“Herbs. Mushrooms.”
The soft hum of a motor sounds, followed by deeper grinding sounds. Straining my neck, I catch a glimpse of him shoving carrots into a juicer. After a minute or so, he turns it off and glances back over his shoulder.
“Finish tea?”
My nose scrunches. “Not yet.”
“Finish.”
I imagined bacon and eggs, maybe fresh squeezed orange juice, tea with sugar. But this? This is torture. My stomach will not approve of this liquid waste. However, for reasons I can’t understand, I finish the tea with one big gulp.
Don’t gag!
“Good.” He hands me a tall glass of carrot juice.
I’ve never had plain carrot juice, but anything—an-y-thing—is better than that tea.
“Slowly.”
I cease my gulping.
“Chew it.”
I frown. What does that mean? Chew the juice?
Yimin takes a sip of his drink and swishes it a bit then swallows. “Chewing. Assimilating. Digestion starts in your mouth.”
“Are you a doctor?”
He shakes his head. I chew my juice.
“What do you do?” I ask.
“I live.”
“I live” is not an answer, until I think about it. Maybe it’s the perfect answer.
“I guess it’s better than the alternative.” I shrug.
Yimin eyes me, and he then nods slowly. “Mr. Moore should not have let you stay with Mr. Reed. He carries a negative energy. It’s not good for you.”
I laugh. Negative energy from Theodore Reed? Why ever would anyone think that? “No need to worry about it. I don’t think his negative energy will kill me.”
It’s impossible to escape Yimin’s gaze. His look makes me feel like he knows more about me than I do. Is Theo’s negative energy going to kill me? Or just his bare hands wrapped around my neck?
“Do you think he’s dangerous?”
Yimin nods.
Well, shit! I didn’t expect that. In spite of the Nellie and Harold incident, I trusted Nolan to not put me in danger. Clearly my circumstance in life has affected my judgment and all instinct for self-preservation.
“Do you know why he’s dangerous?”
“He doesn’t value life.”
I perk an eyebrow. “His own or anyone’s?”
Yimin nods. I assume that means all of the above.
“Why do you say that?”
“A feeling.”
After a few seconds of attempting to get my own “feeling” about Yimin’s intuition, I narrow my eyes and lean forward. “How well do you know Nolan? Have you met his parents?”
“I know them very well. Nolan is special. He has a heightened awareness.”
“Yes. He told me. Do you believe it?”
Yimin slides my carrot juice closer to me. I take the hint and chew another swig.
“I do,” he replies.
My conscience shakes off the uneasy feeling and the whole weird vibe that lingers around us. “Tell me about his parents.”
“The Moores have been through a lot.”
“You don’t say.” I bite my lips together. That thought wasn’t meant for actual words.
Yimin’s brow draws tight, slaying the curiosity beast inside of me. I stand. I’ve overstepped a boundary, and now I feel uncomfortable.
“Thank you for the tea and juice.” Really just the juice. “I have a few jobs to do.”
“Again, tomorrow.”
“Oh, well …” My objection is weak because I don’t have any other plans for tomorrow or any day after that.
“Here.” He moves past me to the kitchen and retrieves a mason jar from the cupboard, and then he pours the rest of the carrot juice into it. “Drink today.”
“All of it?” My eyes widen a fraction at the filled liter jar.
“Yes.”
“Uh … okay, thank you.” I take the juice. Changing my diet is on my life-changing to-do list. I didn’t see it starting with a juice cleanse—especially since I’m so hungry.
“Tomorrow.” Yimin calls as a dusting of sand from the wooden walkway clings to my feet while I make my way to the beach.
“Tomorrow.”
*
A few beachgoers in bikinis and floppy hats have staked their claim with umbrellas in the sand as the sun spreads along the Atlantic.
Cupping a hand over my eyes, I squint to see what’s moving along the water’s surface maybe twenty meters from the waves breaking into fizzing foam along the uneven shoreline.
At first I think it’s a dolphin or shark, but as the figure nears the shallow waters, it morphs into a human figure, like I’m witnessing a modern-day evolution.
It’s not. As the creature stands erect, fighting the last few waves, I notice he’s wearing trunks. He’s been human for a while. I gawk at his tight, black briefs that hide nothing. Who the hell swims that far out in the ocean in the early morning during prime shark-feeding time?
Long hair slicked back.
Tattoos.
Thor’s body.
Bloody hell! It’s Theodore Reed. Yimin was right—he has no regard for life.
A young woman runs up to him, boobs bouncing with each step. I sprint toward the house, hoping she distracts him long enough for me to grab my handbag and get out of sight before he makes it the rest of the way up the beach.
I run up the deck stairs to my balcony two at a time, shimmy into a pair of denim shorts, grab my handbag, and hustle down to the kitchen to deposit the carrot juice in the fridge.
Unbelievable. I laugh, quite possibly harder than I’ve laughed in a long time. There is a chain and padlock on the fridge doors.
My name is Scarlet Stone and the reasoning behind most everything I do is—because I can.
My grandfather died in prison, but not before he robbed five of the highest security banks in Germany and the UK, only to prove they were not truly ‘secure.’ My father is the great Oscar Stone who could steal the crown from the Queen—while she was wearing it—without anyone knowing for days.
If Theodore Reed thinks his hardware shop padlock is going to keep me out of the fridge, he’s sorely mistaken.
Forty-five seconds.
The first twenty I spend digging through my handbag.
Picking the lock swallows the last twenty-five.
I’m not as fast as I used to be when my father drilled me over and over.
I wasn’t a traditional thief, much to his displeasure.
I chose the gray-hat hacker lifestyle. Now I’m a woman in need of refrigeration for her carrot juice.
“Shit!” I grimace when my face is shoved against the fridge, wet flesh pressed to my back.
“You just don’t get it. One rule. You can’t follow one rule.”
“Am I interrupting?” Nolan’s voice fills the air like a whisper from God.
My lungs search for breath as Theo releases me. I whip around. Nolan’s amused smile greets me, but it’s the death look from Theo that holds my attention.
“She’s a thief. You invited a fucking thief to live in my house.”
Clearly, the humor is lost on both of them. I am a thief. Was a thief.
“Really?” I cough out a laugh. “A banana? Are you going to call the police to whisk me off to jail because I took one of your bananas?”
“And an apple.” He gives me his signature slit-eyed glare.
I wet my lips and nod, taking a quick glance down at the rest of Theodore. Dear god, he’s a wall of muscle and ink. “One bite. And you retrieved it by finger-raping my mouth. So technically, I don’t owe you an apple.”
Nolan’s eyebrows lift and his lips twist into a cheeky grin like he’s watching a comedy sketch.
I sigh, taking a moment to channel some inner peace. Theo and his overprotectiveness of his food doesn’t matter. “But in the spirit of housemates, I’ll replace both the banana and apple. In fact, I was getting ready to go to the supermarket, but I needed to put my carrot juice in the fridge.”
“Theo, man … why is there a padlock on the refrigerator?”
“Where’s your juice?” Theo ignores Nolan, keeping his attention solely on me. Lucky me.
I tip my chin up. “In the shared fridge.”
“How did you get in there?”
“Nice Speedo.” I wink at Theo as I brush by him. Nolan’s presence gives me a jolt of confidence that I have no doubt I will regret upon my return. “So an apple and a banana? Anything else I can get for you while I’m out, Mr. Reed?”
Theo mutters something before sulking off to his room.
“I see you two are getting along well.”
“Sorry?” It takes great strength to keep my control.
“I’m paying double the rent as Mr. I Am The Law.
He is completely bonkers.” I resist the “then again, so are your parents” remark.
“I’ve been locked in my room. Twice. And there’s a padlock on the fridge.
But yeah, we’re getting along wonderfully. Thanks for asking.”
“Carrot juice? I take it you saw Yimin this morning.”
“I … did.”
Nolan doesn’t give anything away in his expression, much like he didn’t yesterday with his parents. “That’s good. You need a ride?”
“I do.”
“You can set up grocery delivery here. Did you know that?” Nolan holds open the door.
“Really?” Perfect. I was considering a bike, but now I have no reason to go anywhere my legs can’t take me, which leaves me more time here with Theo. I might have to rethink my mode of transportation.