The Awakening (15 page)

Carmen was shaking her head. “No more, Victor.”

“Open your mind, Carmen. Look inside. Feel. Feel what happened in the forest. You know it wasn’t me. You know it. You know what I’m saying is true.”

Carmen sat stock still. She could no longer be a part of this conversation. Victor was too much, his presence, his power, his words, all over-whelming her and drowning her. She needed air. She needed to be as far away from him as possible. She wished it was possible for them just to have dinner, to chat companionably, to see if she could fall in love with him but there was always this insane edge to him, his need to push her boundaries every time they spent more than three seconds together. In the country he made perfect sense, but here he sounded deranged. Did he want her or was his purpose to send her insane? How could she tell who was on her side and who was her enemy? Victor caused her far more pain that Andrew, yet she was meant to accept that Andrew and his family were the problem. Perhaps Andrew was right, Victor was losing it.

She stood up, grabbed her coat from the back of her seat. “I’m going home, Victor. Thank you for dinner.”

He stood up. “I’ll get the check.”

“I’m going home alone. I’m going to walk for a bit and get some air. I need air. Space, Victor. I know you understand.”

He nodded. “It makes me so sad when you run from me, Carmen. But I understand. I do. This must be hard for you.”

“What makes it hard is that you speak in riddles. Perhaps if you just told me the whole story I’d understand.” She looked pleadingly at him. “But you can’t can you? There is some secret covenant that instructs you to drip feed me morsels of information. It’s all part of testing my worthiness isn’t it?”

Victor nodded. “You’re certainly coming on, my little bear.”

“And you can stop calling me that. My father called me that.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do.’ She threw her hands in the air. “Good night, Victor. Don’t call me. I’ll call you.”

“As you wish, Carmen, as you wish. Good night.” He watched after her as she headed down the street, walking out as if she was about to break into a run. He was sure that if she’d had her Nikes on she’d have run all the way home. He sighed. He really wasn’t handling her well at all. He paid the bill and went out into the night himself. He looked to the sky, to Ursa Major, for hope and inspiration.

“I’m not doing well,” he said to the sky. He sought the darkness as he walked, avoiding the streetlights, seeking the shadows as he broke into a run, as he assumed his natural shape, found comfort in his natural whiteness and powerful size. He growled softly to himself as he stretched out one giant paw after the other and ran towards home, comforted by being able to be himself, even if only for a short time.

Carmen clambered from the cab outside her building, relieved to be home and well away from Victor’s disconcerting presence. The night was clear and still. She stopped outside the railings to her building and just inhaled the cool night air. She looked across the street to the darkness of the park. Part of her wanted to slip into her shorts and runners and hit the track, but Andrew’s words echoed in her ears about the dangers of the park, especially after dark. She smiled as she thought of Andrew, suddenly missing him a great deal. At least he was real, grounded in the here and now. And, she shrugged, there were worse things than being married to a politician and being part of one of America’s foremost families.

Something made her shudder, a shadow or figure just near by. She could smell cigarettes, but she couldn’t see anyone. She searched for her keys, heard footsteps coming closer. She stood completely still, like she had in the forest last weekend. She listened carefully, sniffed the air. There was a foreign scent: musty, stale, but oddly familiar. It made her nose crinkle in displeasure. She felt the presence move closer. The hair on her neck stood on end. She wasn’t exactly frightened but she wasn’t entirely relaxed either. She drew herself up to her full height, felt for something hard in her handbag but there was nothing. Slowly she turned around facing away from the building, scanning the street, peering into the multitude of dark spaces. Was there anyone there, or was she just imagining it?

A bin fell over, a cat scrambled away up a tree. Her heart beat loudly in her chest. She needed to get inside her apartment but she was afraid to turn her back to the street again, to descend the dozen or so steps into the little alcove outside her front door. It was altogether too confined a space to be caught in. All of Andrew’s warnings about how dangerous the world was rang in her ears and the recent break in made her feel quite unsafe. For the first time in her life she wished she lived with someone else.

Okay, Carmen thought, feel: just feel if someone is really there. She closed her eyes and took an exceptionally deep breath. Yes, there was a man near by and yes, he wanted to hurt her. She considered screaming to see if anyone would come. She looked up and down her street once more but it was completely empty. She stepped towards the darkness near her steps and he was beside her, smelling foul and full of adrenaline. His breath was hot and fetid on her neck. Breath, she thought, just breath, stay calm: he probably only wants money. She readied herself to thrust her elbow into his solar plexus, to kick him hard in the most delicate place. As she turned to hit him, to give herself enough time to get downstairs and inside safely, there was a blur of white, a guttural howl: the man screamed and ran for his life. Carmen looked into the night and saw the man, blood streaming from his shoulder, heading for the park, with, what she swore was, a polar bear right behind him moving incredibly fast. She shook her head, overwhelmed with relief and only a flutter of disbelief. She ran down the stairs, let herself into her apartment and collapsed on her bed, more pleased than she’d ever been in her life to be home. She looked at her phone: there were three messages from Andrew. All declaring love. She smiled. Perhaps he was right. Being married and living somewhere more respectable would be smart.

Zanzibar and Alaska came close, understanding her need for them. They led on the floor of her room, one always half awake, keeping an eye on her, keeping her safe, under their control.

Carmen fell quickly into a restless sleep, and dreamt of heat, sweat and mosquitoes: naked bodies lying under ceiling fans, slipping and sliding over each other. She could see Andrew’s face, hear his words of passion. She could see the smooth strong contours of his body as he moved atop his lover, his narrow hips, the beads of sweat upon his ass, she could smell him, his maleness calling to her. But the face of the woman was not hers. The woman’s skin was dark, as was her hair and her wide open eyes were chocolate brown. Carmen was not part of this scene; she was the watcher, the voyeur. The woman was calling Andrew’s name as he plunged in and out of her, bringing the young girl to the peak of ecstasy before he grunted his load into her and slid off her, satisfied. He laughed as he lay beside the girl, her full breasts heaving and glistening from the athleticism of their coupling. She ran her fingers through his hair and nuzzled into his neck. “I like you, Andy. Again before you go home?” “Give me a minute, doll,” he winked. And Carmen felt in the anguish of the dream, in the pain of the image she had conjured that he was winking through the dream-clouds directly at her, a smug, you-don’t-really-know-anything wink that made Carmen shudder in her bed and cry out. Her pain was real. She had not imagined this. This was real, a scene from the night in Brazil, transmitted to Carmen through her new hyper-sensitive awareness and understanding of the world.

All she had done was think of Andrew as she fell asleep, believing images and feelings about him would help sooth the trauma of the evening. She thought his soft words on the answering machine would make her feel better. Instead her trauma was multiplied. He was betraying her with some South American slut.

She got out of bed and headed to her kitchen for a glass of water. She needed something to clear her head, banish these insane images. Zanzibar trotted alongside her. It seemed as if the dogs had made a pact to never leave her side. Perhaps they could come to work with her and protect her from Victor and his deranged ramblings? No, of course, they liked Victor. How typical! But they didn’t like Andrew. They tolerated him now, but they always growled softly when he arrived, announcing their constant disapproval. She patted Zanzibar’s head and sat on her sofa. He curled up next her, resting his head in her lap. She took comfort from his devoted presence and felt soothed by the feel of his soft fur as she stroked his head. Perhaps the dogs knew more than she did. The images from the dream were strong and clear, as was the feeling of despair and betrayal. Yes, a sharp stab of jealousy had captured her. She felt like shit. Carmen glanced at her cell phone on the coffee table. Should she message Andrew to let him know she knew? No, that would only make her seem totally ridiculous. How could she explain her accusation without sounding like she needed sectioning?

She flicked on the television, surfing mindlessly through the offerings. She glanced at the clock, three am. Was sleep going to be possible this night? The man on the doorstep was too frightening and the dream too real. Why were these things happening? She’d lived here for more than five years and nothing had ever happened to her before. No break ins, no muggers. No betrayals by lovers, either come to that. Her life had been under control. In fact everything had been fine until she’d met Victor. Not Andrew, Victor. She’d been happy with Andrew, pleased to be with him, delighted to be engaged, looking forward to being Mrs Adams, although not as expediently as he or his family wanted. Still, that was a minor area of disagreement. It was Victor and his enigmatic ways that was the thorn in her paw.

She could resign from Great Blizzard. She didn’t need the money. She could focus on charity work, coach. She’d been asked enough. There were all sorts of boards and committees that wanted her. She would have enough to do, generate a bit of income. Perhaps she should just travel. Take off for a while and do absolutely nothing with nobody to tell her what to do, or feel or hassle her in any way. Time away from Andrew was clearly going to be necessary. And she wasn’t going back to Victor’s cabin. No more flights of fancy in the forest, playing games with wolves. Both men just meant trouble.

She made some hot chocolate and settled back in front of the telly. Alaska joined them and Carmen settled on the travel channel, seeing what might be out there for a girl in need of space and peace. Greece was appealing. She couldn’t speak the language and she could rent a little cottage on one of the islands, take the dogs and hide out for as long as she wanted. Tomorrow, when she was more alert, she’d get onto the Net and see what was possible. Forget house hunting, forget reception venues and dresses and designers and most of all forget the fickleness of love.

Sleep never came. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Andrew with the Brazilian woman and she smelt the mugger. It was as if he was in the room with her. As day broke and the light spilled into her basement she got dressed, locked everything carefully, as AA had shown her and took the dogs to the park. Carmen ran and ran and ran. She ran for her life, for her sanity, which she felt was slipping away. Now there was no-one to trust. No-one to turn to. It didn’t seem to matter before. When she was young she’d been looked after. Her coach Todd James and his family had been her family. And she’d had Zanzibar and Alaska since her dad died. They’d been her best friends forever. But now Andrew was too far away and how could she speak to him of her dream. Victor said he was her friend but he was causing her more pain than joy. She knew what he’d say about the dream. Her mother had never offered her any comfort. Perhaps she should have made more of an effort to have a close girlfriend?

Carmen let these thoughts circle in her head as she ran. By the time she was nearly home she was fully aware that she was just feeling sorry for herself. A little frightened after last night, but that was normal. It was not sufficient reason to fall to pieces. She’d always looked after herself. She didn’t suddenly need an army of people to look after her. If Andrew had slept with someone else while he was away on business did it really matter? She’d wanted to make love with Victor and had slept with him. Had she betrayed AA as much as he’d betrayed her? Besides it was a dream. Just a dream and if she said it often enough she would believe it to be true.

Carmen had expected Victor to keep away, at least for a day or so, letting her cool off before he reclaimed her. But just after eleven he stuck his head around her door. “Feeling better this morning?” he asked, his smile as friendly and loving as ever.

Part of her wanted to run across the room and let him enfold her to him. She wanted to feel his heart beat and rest her head on his broad chest and have him sooth away her unrest. Part of her wanted him to head on back to his office and leave her alone.

“I guess,” she said.

He nodded, looking like some sort of dishevelled angel framed in the doorway by the morning sun. Her heart was melting towards him. “I’m sorry. I went too far last night. I shouldn’t push you too hard. It has to be in your time, Carmen. I am your humble servant.” He bowed and she laughed.

She examined his face, peered into his deep wide eyes and wondered how much he knew about last night. If he was as intuitive as she suspected then he knew about the mugger and the dream. Would he volunteer the information or wait for her to open the batting?

“You want to ask me something, Carmen?” He did know. Of course, he did. She would have been surprised and worried if he hadn’t.