Misconceptions : Gothic Short Story

Part 1

Remember to vote ----->

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had been waiting there for a couple hours, looking down at his watch. Two hours and sixteen minutes to be exact, just for her. Already the dank smells and incessant noise on the back streets of Webb had begun to grate his nerves, but still he waited; waited for her.

The streetlamps provided enough light with which to glimpse her stepping out of the bright red Suburban and then trip over the neighbor’s carelessly abandoned football. Her shadowed face seemed almost ethereal in the silver glow of the full moon that now and then slid out of the light clouds gathered overhead. The incandescent glow allowed him to view the curve of her lovely cheek and the movement of those lashes as she blinked looking for her keys.

She bent gracefully down to pick up the keys that had slipped from her slender fingers and looked around cautiously, as if she sensed a presence unseen, then hurried up the dark cement steps to her front door. She dusted off the brown coat, purchased only an hour ago, and unlocked the heavy door to step inside. His view is momentarily blocked as she shoos her tawny cat out of the way with a bit of crass profanity and closes the maple door. 

But, never mind…he knew what would follow.  Her routine played perfectly, like a litany in his mind.  She would head up the gracefully curving stairway for the upper, left bedroom where she performed her usual bedtime ritual.

His breath now comes in visible, short little puffs in the chill night air as he waits just a moment longer and is rewarded with the soft glow of her bedside lamp through the semi-opaque but still revealing window shade that hides almost nothing.  Undress, critical look of disappointment at her comely figure in the bedside mirror, slip on the rose red flannel nightgown and finally, one Lunesta tablet washed down quickly with a splash of cognac, courtesy of yours, truly….  

How I wish I had been with her there. There, beside that lovely silhouette to comfort all of her fears and doubts and fill her lonely hours. Fears and loneliness that only my loving presence would have soothed. Yet this coward of a heart chains my every yearning and desire for her within. A desire barely consoled by night visits too soon over…

I startled jerkily as a loud ringing pierced the quiet of my journaling.  What?  Oh, the telephone….I grabbed the offending instrument and nearly shouted into the mouthpiece, hardly able to contain my frustration.  It was one of our suppliers checking on our last order.  I slammed down the receiver just as someone approached my doorway….

What now?

“Mr. Morder, are you alright?”  my young intern asked curiously. “You sort of got entranced by that book there for a minute, and did those suppliers call yet?” 

“Never mind my journal, Jerome.  I am quite fine and that was the supplier now with more excuses about our order,”  I lied, keeping my tone business like. It was just too easy to lie.

He handed me a stack of invoices for my signature and strolled away, probably looking for the lounge so he could indulge in an early morning smoke.  Anything to avoid work! Taking a deep breath and letting it out carefully, I began to relax again.  My thoughts drifting back to the enticing memories within the pages of my journal.

…Oh yes, yes Araballa, that’s where I was. Arabella, Arabella, Arabella... Her radiant midnight hair, feather soft skin, or so I imagined, and those violet blue eyes that haunt my visions … eyes that seem to see straight through your very soul. At times it seemed as if she knew every thought I’ve ever had, but I know that can’t be.  I’ve been too careful, oh so careful. Though sometimes I cannot help but leave a longing glance trailing here and there when she strolls through the room or inhale the rich aroma of Cashmere Mist that drifts tantalizingly on the air as she passes by. A scent that had branded itself in my mind..yes, and in my mind with such ease erased all that I had once held significant, now because of her, all ashes, ashes in the wind. Did she enjoy doing this to him, masquerading all through his thoughts? Destroying anything decent within and hautily replacing it with herself?

 Hide it. Here she comes.

“Good morning, Mr. Morder!  How are you today?  I’m running a bit late because I was chatting with John over breakfast and didn’t pay attention to my time.  I did manage to grab your pumpkin spice latte, though. I know you love them.”

John? Who was John and what was he doing with Arabella, of all women, Arabella.  She is mine.  How can he not know that?  MINE!!  

 I must calm myself.  I can’t let her see how distressed I am.

 “Oh, don’t worry, Miss. Shade, time always seems to run faster when one is enjoying themself and thank you for the coffee.  It is indeed my favorite!”  I struggle to keep my features pleasant so she will not detect my ire and slide the journal with my foot underneath the desk.

 “It was the least I could do, being late and all.  I am going to pay closer attention to the time from now on, but you know how easily I can become distracted when I start talking.  I’ll have to ask John to remind me of the time after this.  Well, I have some paperwork to file. If you need me, I will be at the front desk.”

 So she knows him well, or well enough that she sees him every morning. Had I seen him before? Perhaps crossed paths with him on my morning strolls by the house or even witnessed him during my nightly watches. Hmmm, he must be sneaking in after she is asleep. Hmm. 

A few faces come to mind, men I have seen near her, but which is John? Which of those unworthy pieces of despicable filth was John? And Arabella!… the betrayal. Had I, the unconditional lover, not been faithful, not loved her and only her? Yet she would be as deceitful to consort with another man, not consider my affections for her. Never did I think this day would come but now here it is mocking me, as if saying I told you, I told you.