Terran Times 18 - Emerald Envisage (24 page)

PHANTOM PERSUASION

Celia Jade

Brigit tossed her mail where she always did—on the end table next to the sofa. The cozy living room was her favorite place in her apartment so she’d eventually get to the mail at her leisure. She pulled the curtains to the side and observed the quiet neighborhood street as she sipped a dark roast coffee. The delightful liquid loosened the muscles of her throat, pumping energy into her veins. Spring was enthusiastic this year, ignoring the lingering chill of February with an emergence of hardy blooms and lively birdsong.

Turning away from the window, she let out a lazy yawn. Thank God it was Saturday, she thought and walked over to the sofa. She placed the mug on the large, dark-stained coffee table and sunk into the soft cushions, folding her pajama-clad legs sideways. She tuned in to a morning travel program that was featuring the Italian countryside and couldn’t help sighing at the majestic scenes of lush vineyards and rolling green hills. Brigit was in love with Europe, particularly the Mediterranean. She often dreamed of owning a country home with a decent size backyard in which to grow a variety of plants—perhaps even have a greenhouse. Her mother had blessed her with a green thumb, evident in the houseplants that occupied every corner and free space in her small, Dublin apartment.

At the commercial break, Brigit turned to the envelopes on the table. She reached out for them, three in all. The first was a telephone bill, which she tossed back onto the table. She quickly scanned the literature of the second one—a credit card offer. This one went next to her on the sofa. Her eyebrows arched as she looked down at the last one. A pink envelope addressed to her with no return address and surprisingly, no stamp. She ran her fingers along the front of the envelope and brought it up to her nose. Not quite understanding the urge to do so, she breathed in the soft spicy scent of the paper, then pulled away in surprise. Frowning, she worried her bottom lip. Turning the envelope over, she saw that it was plainly sealed. Once again, she smelled it, closing her eyes briefly. Without doubt, the scent was masculine…and very pleasant, stirring her senses with innate longing. Heat suffused her face…including those extra-sensitive parts of her body.

She cleared her throat self-consciously. This was an odd contrast—pink envelope, masculine scent. Carefully, she tore along the flap and extracted a letter. It was neatly folded in half and felt like good quality parchment. She unfolded it and looked at the handwriting briefly. The style was even and neat, slanted slightly to the right. After hours in front of a computer at work and the ongoing obsession with emails, it was refreshing to receive an old-fashioned letter. It, too, carried the spicy scent of the envelope. The structure of the letter was not typical. Her name was not addressed at the top nor was it signed. But this only added to her curiosity, so she started to read.

I ask that you take the time to respond to this letter, honestly and genuinely. Once you respond properly, you will be blessed with good fortune in the near future. Please do not show this letter to anyone or discuss it in any way. This is your secret.

On this paper, you shall write three things that bring you joy and three that bring you sorrow. Separate these into two columns—one on the left and one on the right. Be careful not to make any mistakes. When you are done, return the letter to its envelope and place it in your dresser.

Brigit was puzzled by the bizarre instructions, not sure whether she should laugh and toss the letter into the trash or take measures in case she was being stalked. Not that she’d really know, but it didn’t come across as a stalker type letter. Also, who’d want to stalk her? She was just a simple young woman with a simple bank job who lived in a modest neighborhood. After a thoughtful pause, no one came to mind.

She sighed and gave a shrug, placing the letter on the end table. With a quick trip to the kitchen, she disposed of the credit card offer. Over the next hour, she fussed over her plants, watering seven out of ten and applying controlled amounts of fertilizer while treating them to brief conversation.

She always had a late breakfast on weekends and finally got round to cooking up an omelet and whole grain toast with jam around eleven. The phone rang when she was halfway through her meal. She located the cordless.

“Brigit, good morning!” Fiona’s familiar voice chirped up on the other end.

Brigit swallowed a mouthful of omelet. “Mmm, morning to you too—and it’s a sunny one today.”

“It sounds like you’re eating,” her friend commented.

“Yes, you know I usually eat around this time on weekends.”

“And I tend to interrupt your breakfast.” Fiona laughed and Brigit joined her. “How was your week?”

Brigit took a sip from her second cup of coffee. “Exhausting. I set up twenty new client accounts.”

“Ooh, that is hard work. Claire gave me a call last night. Says she’s going out with the usual bunch to that new pub on Suffolk. Are you up for it?” Fiona asked.

A tiny frown curved Brigit’s mouth. Tension wearied her muscles. “I don’t know…”

“Come on Brigit, you don’t have any plans tonight.”

That was true, not that she minded. Brigit glanced toward the living room and thought about the pink envelope. She really wanted to tell Fiona about the letter but refrained. “Um, I think I’ll pass tonight, Fiona. I honestly could use a rest,” she finally replied.

“All right…but you won’t be off the hook next week.”

Brigit smiled. “Sure, I’ll call you tomorrow to get the scoop on the pub. Have fun.”

“I plan to,” her friend added with an eager chuckle.

After a quick call to her mom, Brigit chose a CD from her classical collection. Vivaldi’s
Spring
spilled into the apartment, the motivational notes guiding her through some light housework. Later, she stepped out for a few hours and returned with several grocery items and a movie rental.

That evening she received a call from her married sister, Kate, who invited her over for Sunday lunch. Brigit gladly accepted, always happy to see her little nephew. She settled on the sofa with a plate full of homemade spaghetti and meat sauce and started the spy movie. Russian and American espionage at its finest—covert operations, double agents, violence, sexy, smooth-talking men—all the good stuff.

Brigit poured herself a little more red wine once the movie ended and slipped her legs under a cotton throw. She turned her gaze to the strange letter and picked it up. She read it more carefully this time. It certainly didn’t seem threatening. On the contrary, the mention of
good fortune
seemed silly, the handiwork of a practical joker.
One who’d managed to slip into the apartment building without a key
, piped the little voice of reason.

On impulse, she reached under the coffee table and pulled out a wicker basket to rummage for a pen and notepad. She placed the letter on the notepad and clicked the pen.

“Well, if I’m silly enough to respond to this, no one will find out,” she said.
Three things that bring me joy.
Respond honestly
. She looked around thoughtfully. Her plants brought her joy. But she’d really enjoy gardening, if she had a garden. Her teeth chewed her lip gently while the pen moved across the paper.

Taking care of my plants
.

Oh, and there was her passion for classical music.

Listening to classical music
.

She drank some more wine and searched her mind for something to complete this column. Well, she’d had her differences with her family in the past, but she adored them.

My family
.

She got up from the sofa and paced the room. Being a cheerful person, she normally didn’t dwell on unpleasant things. She swirled the contents of the wine glass as if she’d find answers within the deep-colored liquid. Images of recent documentaries took shape in her mind’s eye, taking her back to the letter.

The suffering of all creatures
.

Within ten minutes, she’d added two more items.

Kindness that goes unrecognized
.

The thought of never finding a man who I can love for the rest of my life
.

“There. All genuine, all true.” She tucked the envelope’s flap inward and placed it in the top drawer of her dresser. The fact that she had carried out the letter’s request in a serious manner dawned on her. An embarrassed giggle escaped her and she shook her head. Perhaps she should have gone out with Fiona.

As she entered the washroom, she thought about her latest failed relationship. Now when was that? Oh, right—just a few days before her sister’s birthday, last October. Making that almost five months ago. She sighed heavily and, in light of the letter in her drawer, said, “Yep, time for a new man Brigit.”

That night Brigit slept more soundly than ever before. She woke, arching her body into a feline stretch and smiled. The smile felt goofy, but it didn’t matter because she felt utterly at peace and so refreshed. As if the previous week hadn’t taken place. She was content to gaze at the light that filtered softly through the bamboo shade at the window until her limbs urged her out of bed.

As she splashed water on her face, she marveled at the lively energy that coursed through her so early in the day. Even after a considerable amount of coffee there was no comparison.

She showered and wrapped herself in a thick towel, humming a song while combing the tangles out of her long, golden blonde hair. She dried it until the ends curled naturally toward her face in a youthful frame. Studying her face in the mirror, she noticed how unusually wide and bright her eyes were, the dark brown spheres glowing with inner radiance. She ran her fingers over her smooth, light complexion, the delicate shape of her jaw and softly rounded chin. She pressed her full lips together briefly. Although her sister insisted Brigit had an almost perfect nose, she felt it was unremarkably straight, though not narrow, ending in a rounded tip and slightly flared nostrils. Her features reflected an even mixture of her parents’ youthful genes. At twenty-six, Brigit was often told she looked younger.

She padded into her bedroom and stopped before the dresser, opening the top drawer as if expecting the letter to have vanished. But it was there, just as she’d left it. She sighed and got dressed in a light turtleneck sweater and corduroys before heading into the kitchen. She was about to brew coffee, but hesitated—the habitual craving was barely appealing. I must have
really
slept well, she thought.

Turning on the television for background noise, Brigit picked up a box next to the stereo stand. Since the birth of her nephew, she’d purchase just about anything adorable if it caught her eye. Kate complained that she’d spoil him rotten, but Brigit couldn’t help herself. After all, he was like a son to her. She was certain the
Finding Nemo
bath toys would thrill two-year-old Michael. She removed the merchant stickers and carefully wrapped it in colorful paper.

The clock on the wall behind the sofa indicated half past nine. Lunch was served early at Kate’s so she’d be there around twelve.

Brigit spent most of the afternoon at her sister’s, enjoying Michael’s eagerness to play. She left feeling lighthearted, Kate’s highly complimentary remarks lingering in her ears.

“
Brigit, you look gorgeous today—I mean, more than your usual gorgeous—there’s this radiance about you
…
You’re not pregnant are you?
”

“No, I’m not.”

“
Well, you’re glowing from inside out
.”

“Thank you, although I don’t feel much different,” Brigit had lied and felt color stain her cheeks.

She squeezed her car in the narrow driveway, which she shared with her neighbor, and bounded up the two flights of stairs to her apartment. She entered, hearing the swish of paper under the door. She stared down at the floor for a few seconds. It was another pink envelope. When she picked it up, she couldn’t help bringing it to her nose. Same masculine scent.

She crossed the short corridor to the living room, dropped her purse onto the armchair and opened the envelope without removing her suede coat. There was less humor in the situation this time.

Please take the time to answer this question, honestly and genuinely. What are the most meaningful things you have done?

Respond on this letter, put it in the envelope and place it in your dresser with the first one.

She forced air out of her lungs and dropped the letter onto the table. Shrugging out of her coat, she decided to speak to her neighbors downstairs. Perhaps they’d noticed something unusual. They were an elderly couple, lovely people. Making her way down the curved staircase of the old, two-story building, she rang the doorbell and waited only a short time before Francis Nolan’s voice came through the door.

“Mrs. Nolan, it’s Brigit—do you have a minute?”

A door chain was released and Mrs. Nolan’s moist gray eyes smiled at her. “Brigit, love, come in…we’ve lost you lately,” the seventy-six-year-old woman said with a chuckle.

Brigit stepped into the apartment, a mirror image of her own apart from the dated, flower print furniture, antique pieces, huge fluffy rugs and an endless collection of bric-a-brac. Nonetheless, she’d known this couple for two years and felt comfortable in their home. “I apologize for my absence. This new job’s been taking a lot out of me,” she replied sincerely.