Alicja
Dradam.
That's what this man was. A Dradam. He scooped me up back there like I was a toy and hurtled six foot fences like they were speed bumps. He ran faster than most traffic.
And I was marked with him. What did that mean to him?
We were at the front door of his home, I guessed it was his home, and I was suddenly filled with terror. My hands began to shake and I didn't know if I could walk through that door. I felt certain that if I did, I would never be walking out again. Not as a free woman.
I couldn't fight him. I couldn't outrun him. I could scream but who would hear me? It didn't seem like there were other homes on this floor. We were so high, too.
Whatever I did, I couldn't let him know how scared I was. 'Get a hold of yourself', I scolded. Stop shaking!
"Hey, hey," he suddenly crooned, as he quit opening the door and turned to face me. "It's alright, nothing and no one is going to hurt you. I swear."
His hands were on my shoulders and he was bent over looking into my eyes. He had such beautiful green eyes. Impossibly emerald. Could a monster have such beautiful eyes? Of course he could! Isn't that how vipers paralyze birds? With their beautiful, sparkling eyes?
"Alright, look," he said, as if seeing my panic. "I'll take you wherever you believe you'll feel safe. Just name the place and we're gone, right now," he said, then he looked at the mark on his wrist. It looked exactly like mine. "Damn thing. I don't blame you. What the hell is this? Do you know where these marks come from?"
Looking back up into his emerald eyes, I shook my head as I trembled.
He sighed and straightened up, "Neither do I. You know, when I first heard about these, I was only a boy. Perhaps ten, maybe. They made it sound like it was magical and wondrous, but I didn't think it was anything like that. It scared me, and pissed me off that someday I would get a mark, and that would be it. My life would be chosen. Never mind if I had already found someone, or I didn't like the person chosen." He stopped and looked back down to me, and with a shrug said, "I'm sorry. I... it's been a long day."
"No, it's alright," I heard myself saying, wondering at the same time if it was alright. "I just — I mean, I just lost my Oma, and like you said, it's been a long day. Maybe we could sit for a while. If I feel uncomfortable, you'll take me ...?"
"Wherever you want to go," he assured me.
I didn't want to bring those men into my clan's life. I could go to Sean and Mal's place, but those men had guns. So, I nodded my head and straightened up.
He nodded in return and then opened his door and we went inside.
To say that the space that opened before us was luxurious is a flagrant use of an indulgent adjective, and perfectly accurate.
Luxurious in a minimalist design, which felt at once pristine and inviting. Long sectional couches, one tan, the other off-white, were puzzled together in the center floor, with long black lacquered tables to each side. No curves in the furniture or carved legs. No decorative embellishment of any kind. But on the dining table there was a vase with a short leafy bow of quaking aspen. The round, deep green leaves drooped from the curve of the branch to accent the room.
The room felt as though you could be yourself, it wouldn't hamper you in any way. There was nothing to break or damage or spill on, which couldn't survive the event. Yet it was all alarmingly expensive; elegant simplicity.
"Back this early? Glad I don't have someone with me," Ocean said, as he turned the corner from the hallway, "Whoa, but you do. Hello," he said, stopping to take us in. "Anyone behind you?"
Ocean wore pants. Slacks. Nothing else, except for a towel draped across his neck.
Dear god he was gorgeous. He was like the room. Flawless. Light passed across him without any part of him catching the eye, no facets to twinkle, everything in proportion, so you were forced to look at all of him, at once. The perfect symmetry of man.
"Not that I'm aware of?" he said.
"Apparently Victor, you weren't aware of them before," Ocean said, accurately summing up our evening. "Let me get some clothes on," he said, turning back down the hallway. "There's lemonade, whiskey and gin."
I looked up at Victor, and he nodded, "I know. It's irritating. He wakes up looking like that."
The way he said it, with a grumble of such depth and annoyance, I laughed. It just pounced out of me.
He grinned with my mirth, and asked, "Drink?"
"Yes, please. I'll have the whiskey, if you don't mind, with a splash of the lemonade."
And now I was in luxury with two men I didn't know, who were being chased by men with guns, and I was bonded to one of them.
Ocean didn't have wings. That was certain. Victor, however, looked like he could have them. Like they wouldn't look out of place. Where Ocean was flawless, Victor was marred. His flaws, the creases cutting a map of character and experience across his face, and the back of his hands were weathered, and felt as though they described him, but more like a musical score might than a story in braille.
His countenance felt serious, but at ease with what he faced. However many challenges stood against him, he looked ready to face more. He was the captain of a ship on a course of misfortune, who sailed without hesitation or complaint, because his harbor was worth the voyage.
Victor took off his jacket, and hung it on a hook the same color as the wall. He then motioned to a high table near the door, "You can put your things there if you like."
I set my purse down, and took off my jacket, and then removed the scarves from my head. Of the three of us, I was undoubtedly the plain one.
He had already walked across the room, toward what looked like a kitchen area.
"This place is so big," I said. "It's just the two of you?"
I heard ice dropping into glass, and then the sound of liquid pouring across the ice.
"Yes, just us. You're right though, it is big. Many rooms, two kitchens and three living-room areas. We have the whole floor. Most of it is covered in sheets, because we'll never use it, or want to."
"But you decorated it all," I said, as he came back into view.
He paused and then said, "See, that's the way I felt about it. Why bother to furnish it all if we'll never see it?"
"Because, now is not the future, nor do we know what the future might bring," Ocean called down the hall. "For example, having an extra room ready was not in the plans, but obviously plans have changed."
Victor looked at me, shrugged and then brought me my drink. "I let him decide. All of this is his doing." He had nice shoulders for shrugging. Round and thick. Expressive.
"Yes, praise me!" Ocean said, as he came back into the room, wearing a silk shirt and loafers on his feet. "I showed a woman a picture from a magazine, and said, 'like this.' It was sheer artistic genius on my part."
"I doubt that," Victor said, sitting down on one of the sectional couches. "He's never said only two words to someone in his life."
"Careful, my life has more history than you imagine," Ocean said softly. Then in a normal tone, "What news then? I can divine the basics, you were ambushed. What's the story?"
"You first," Victor said.
"Ok. The two of them were arraigned today. They pleaded not-guilty and then made bail. A group of their associates picked them up with a herd of F-150s and drove off. I followed them for several miles out of the city. They were heading for the Baton Rouge area. We already know what's out there, so I turned back and caught a shower. Now, your turn."
"Not-guilty?" I asked. "Are we talking about the two men who broke through my door with guns?"
"The same," Ocean assured me.
"How could they plead not-guilty? The cops found them on my floor, with the broken door?"
"Ah," Ocean said, nodding with understanding, "you were expecting the criminals to tell the truth, were you?"
"Well..." put like that, it did sound a bit silly. "Huh."
"Now, your turn big man. And I want details. I always miss the fun stuff. How did they catch you off guard?"
"Huh," Victor grunted. "I was distracted."
"By what?"
"This," he said, and held up his wrist.
I thought Ocean was going to hiss like a cat, the way he jerked back from the mark.