Criss Cross (2 page)

Evelyn briefly looked up. She stared at Quentin as though she had never seen him before. In truth she hadn't. Shock contorted every limb in her body.

The monster in Quentin had unleashed before her eyes. It had replaced the man that she thought she might love. Standing in front of her was a total stranger. It was a stranger who was in possession of a dark and lethal power. He was not of this world. Evelyn recoiled in shock.

Searing, white-hot, glittering flashes of light exploded in her brain. She searched the crevices of her mind desperately for a place to hide. There was no refuge. There was nothing for her to cling to.

A chord of deep fear struck within her. She babbled out loud, “Jesus Lord, Jesus Lord, Jesus Lord.”

The sound of her babbling added fuel to Quentin's fire. He burned a flaming “X” into the wall. “I AM THE LORD! I am your Lord, Evelyn!” Softly switching gears he said, “Though my name is not Jesus.”

His eyes burned a hole through her shirt. It sizzled but didn't burn her skin.

Returning to his former state he said, “Don't you ever forget that I AM THE LORD! I am Lord over both life and death. I will not be forgotten. Do you hear me? No one will ever forget me. Everyone will know I was here.” Quentin fixed his twin holes of blackness on Evelyn.

Evelyn sobbed. She gulped air. Raw fear held her in its grip. Astonishment was her new companion. She could feel Quentin crawling around in her mind, poking, feeling. He found it all. Every secret. Her mind lay spread-eagle naked before him.

His presence was a live wire as he insinuated himself into her thoughts. “My Lord.” The words rushed from her lips as if they belonged to someone else. She was barely aware of speaking them.

Quentin laughed. “You're coming along, Evelyn. You're coming along nicely. It pleases me when people use my title.”

Evelyn went mute. She was struck dumb by the supreme arrogance emanating from this creature.

“I am a Prince, Evelyn. The Prince. You've heard of me. You've read about me. Yet you don't believe in me. Few people do. It's what makes me powerful. You're a perfect specimen of the stupidest species to inhabit earth. I know animals smarter than you.”

Quentin threw his head back and roared, “I am what I am! Can't you see me?! You don't believe your own eyes?! Well, here I am! In the flesh! I am my own MAKER!”

He paused. “I am also YOURS!”

He pointed to the masterpiece he had seared into the wall. The flaming “X” glowed with a light of its own.

“This is my legacy, Evelyn. It is my mark. It will travel through the generations of my seed to come. It is a life force. It is what makes me eternal. Didn't they teach you all about that in Sunday school?”

He stooped down so he could be at eye level with Evelyn. “Take a look around, because you will spend a great deal of time on these very premises, Evelyn. You will never leave this house again. Oh, no. You will not ever leave. Because if you do . . .” He reached for a handful of her wet hair. He forced her face up to his.

His gaze bore into her. “If you ever try to leave you will die! You will die a death more vicious than the wildest imagination can conjure up. Painfully and slowly, I will release life from your body. Until you beg for death. Until you seek its face. I will kill you and anything you love. Understood? Look at the mark.”

His voice now held the musical tempo of soothing waters. “Look at it I said.”

Evelyn struggled to rip her gaze from him. She looked at the flaming, spirited “X” seared into the wall. The mark swam like a watery illusion before her eyes.

“You've been chosen to be the carrier of my legend. In your womb the seed of the “X” will be implanted for generations to come. You, Evelyn, will raise a warrior. Remember the number six. Don't forget it because it's a very important part of your future.” His words echoed through the chambers of her being.

Venom rose from the depths of her belly. Hatred swelled inside her. Refusal bubbled from the depths of her soul at the despicable evil. It spewed forth from her lips. She warred with him in a single word. “No!” She pushed him so hard he stumbled backwards.

The tail of a reptile leaped from his eyes. It lashed around her neck choking her. It left a trailing red welt on her skin. As quickly as it emerged, it withdrew. Evelyn gagged. She wet herself.

Quentin was unperturbed. He got up and in her face just a little bit closer. Calmly he told her, “Yes.”

He turned his attention to the “X.” It burned brighter under the heat of his satanic gaze. Light streamed from his eyes.

He looked at her. Hot sensuality replaced the light streaming from his eyes, an animal scent of musk rose from the heat of his body.

Quentin slowly licked the outer parameters of Evelyn's lips. He was all lithe sensuality as he gently stroked her wet hair. He kissed the tears from her cheeks.

Evelyn rebuffed his very touch. Her skin crawled from the touch of the beast. Her insides heaved. Then something inside her cracked. It broke down. It disconnected. She lost the last of the tentative hold. She couldn't handle it.

Once again she reached out seeking solace in a corner of her mind she never knew was there. This time the corner embraced her with warm and welcoming arms. It was a place of peace, quietness and refuge.

She floated away as the beast mauled and devoured her body.

S
ome weeks later, Evelyn sat in the warmth of her parlor staring across at Reverend Erwin Jackson. It was a lavishly appointed room, spacious and encompassed by high ceilings.

The wallpaper was decorated with astonishing hand-stenciled details of vines and birds.

The fireplace created warmth in the room as the flames crackled, although heavy brocade drapes were pulled against the windows, keeping out the day's sunlight.

The room was scattered with sofas, chairs, footstools and tables. Collections of recordings of music by Frederic Francois Chopin, Ludwig Van Beethoven, and Franz Liszt sat with a book of poems by Emily Jane Bronte.

Evelyn inherited the wonderful collection from her parents. On a normal day she would sit in this room, listening to Chopin, Beethoven, or Liszt while writing longhand on her yellow legal pad.

However, this was not a normal day. Her collections were silent. The silence was loud, almost unbearable. She thought of the collections as her friends. They had been there in her times of need. It seemed as if somewhere along the way in their instrumentation, they had drawn for her a musical pattern that would shape her life, with their peaks and valleys.

Today there were no symphonic poems and melodies being released. Today there were no crashing crescendos playing to match the rhythm of her pen.

The composers had composed their last notes, she supposed, laying the final groundwork for this stage. Now it was her cue. “Reverend Jackson, thank you for coming on such short notice . . .” Her voice trailed off on an uneven note as though she had suddenly lost her thought.

The reverend observed her closely. “You are free to call me, anytime, day or night. You are aware of that.”

“Yes. I know. Thank you,” Evelyn sighed. She lapsed into her own thoughts. The room had always provided her with a special feeling of belonging and passion.

The parlor had, in the past, inspired her to great heights. The very feel of the room, its atmosphere, helped her to discover an existence and connect to her writing at a level and depth she hadn't known was possible. Now it seemed as if it had withdrawn its comforts from her.

Of every room in the house this room was her very favorite. At times she could hear the laughter and joy of the past that was now sealed, solid and frozen, in memory only, within the walls. Within those walls was life, the foundation of her life from a different time.

She shivered in the shawl draped around her shoulders. The room no longer held that special warmth for her. It was as though a vacuum had sucked it all out. She tried to bring her vision in focus.

Fragments of words swirled as though she were on an international call listening to the faraway echo of a voice on the other end, which had suddenly been disconnected.

Groping for something to say, she leveled a stare at the reverend. “How are things at the orphanage?”

“Fine. In fact we have a new little boy who has taken quite a liking to me. He's been helping to clean the chapel. The child sits at my feet while I'm preparing scriptures. I've been reading to him.” The reverend shook his head. “Amazing little fellow he is. Who knows? Maybe he'll grow up to be a missionary. He comes from a tough background but he's eager to hear about the Lord, so you never know what will happen.”

“No. I guess you never do,” Evelyn replied.

The muted lighting in the room cast a faint glow and Evelyn found her attention wandering to watch the kaleidoscope of colors dancing from the stained glass figurine sitting on the table between her and Reverend Jackson. She reclined in her seat, crossing her legs at the ankles.

The reverend studied Evelyn. He wondered at the turmoil and conflict that were trading places across her frozen features. He had been her minister since she was a child. Never before had he sensed such despair in her. Nevertheless he was a trusted confidant, a servant of God. So, he sipped from his cup of coffee and waited patiently.

“Reverend Jackson, there are some changes taking place and I, umm, well, I wanted to talk to you about them.”

“Of course. What sort of changes are you speaking about?”

Evelyn's attention strayed. She didn't answer right away. Finally, she struggled to pull her gaze from the dancing colors of the glass figurine. She took a sip from her cup.

She looked at the reverend. Her throat constricted and went mute. Her vocal chords froze and not a word came out. She cleared her throat. The reverend didn't rush her.

She knew there was no way to cushion what was on her mind. Her need went beyond the very grain of all she believed. She needed the endorsement of Reverend Jackson although, in her wildest fantasies, she didn't imagine she would receive it.

However, she was determined to press forward. She drew her shoulders straighter. Then they slumped and she faltered. Indecision rose up in her. How could she go on? How could she tell the reverend? She must. Pinpricks of rage stabbed at her brain. She was obsessed by the knowledge of the monster that was growing in her womb. Her hands trembled.

This thought spurred her on. The very idea of ridding herself of the monster had temporarily stayed her fear. She imagined what it would feel like if she could beat Quentin, even at the risk of losing her own life.

In this one act, she could take away from him the very thing that he wanted. She looked at the reverend. At last she said, “I'm pregnant. I can't have this baby. I need an abortion.” The words tumbled out of her mouth after being pent up for so long.

When she uttered the words, a high-pitched screech sailed through the air that only she could hear. A low growl emitted from the fireplace.

Reverend Jackson blinked. He reined in his astonishment. Evelyn had always been so upright. It was all he could do to imagine her in an unwed relationship.

He considered the early loss of her parents, the accidental death of her maiden aunt, her last living relative. He supposed it was not surprising that she had sought companionship. Her announcement of pregnancy was vividly shocking.

Nevertheless, he assumed a calm air of solidarity. This was a steadiness that had served him for many years. Any trace of the surprise he felt was expunged from his voice before he spoke. “Evelyn, you know I can't advise the termination of a pregnancy,” he said.

Evelyn shifted to the end of her cushioned chair. She fought hard to ignore the screeching, the growling. “You don't understand Reverend. The relationship, it isn't . . . it just isn't . . . I just don't want it. I have to get rid of this baby.”

The glass figurine beckoned to get Evelyn's attention. There were no longer muted colors of beauty streaming from it. The figurine had been turned upside down on its head. The tail of a reptile was choking its neck. The only color streaming from it was red. Red blood.

Evelyn bit her lip to keep from screaming. She bit it so hard she broke the skin and could feel the blood seeping into her mouth.

The reverend was taken aback by the venom-tinged words: “I have to get rid of this baby.” Evelyn sounded like a stranger.

He didn't condone this pregnancy. But considering the girl was alone he would have expected a different reaction. Her vehement rejection of the child growing in her womb was quite disturbing.

He placed a soothing hand over Evelyn's. Her hands were ice cold and rock hard. They were trembling with the force of an earthquake.

He said, “I can't give this my blessing. I can't advise the termination of a pregnancy. It just can't be done under any circumstances. God has a way of working things out, my child. Let Him do it. In His time and in His way.”

Risking a glance at the figurine Evelyn found it had righted itself. Once again it was glowing with a rainbow beauty of colors. There was no tail of a reptile choking its neck. The neck of the figurine was flawless in its slender elegance. The screeching and growling had stopped.

Evelyn pulled her hand away. She was unable to control the trembling that robbed her of her agility. She wanted to pick up her coffee cup but found that her thought processes had disconnected from her limbs. She lacked the ability to complete such an innocent task.

Willing her mental processes back into control over the physical, she smoothed her skirt and felt relieved at the simple movement.

She wished she could believe the reverend's words. She wished she could remember all she had been taught. But lately it seemed as though whatever knowledge she once possessed had deserted her. It was as if thieves had broken in and stolen it.

Reverend Jackson's God, who used to be her God as well, suddenly held no comfort for her. She desperately wanted to believe. She couldn't. She had found she was sorely lacking the ability to see anything except the darkness that had shrouded and invaded her life.

“Reverend Jackson, there must be some exception.” She stumbled over the words, almost gagging on them.

The reverend gave her his most comforting look. When he spoke his words were tinged with a hint of authority. “I'm sorry. There aren't any exceptions, Evelyn.”

Evelyn sighed. She was deeply disappointed, abandoned and scared. She didn't argue or dispute the reverend. She had expected exactly this.

A sense of pure desolation washed over her at the reverend's words. She knew somewhere in her religion there was a cornerstone, a rock, but she didn't know how to get to it. Those thoughts seemed to belong to someone she used to know, like a best friend she had lost contact with.

Her face crumbled for a fraction of a second. The reverend watched her war with herself to win back her composure. He sighed deeply.

Finally, drawing on sheer willpower, Evelyn arranged her posture to reflect a strength she didn't feel. “If I am left with no choice, then there is something I need to share with you. Something that must not ever be revealed outside of this room.”

Evelyn could taste the bitterness, rising like bile in her throat. She was about to subject herself to a scrutiny she wasn't sure she could handle.

Quentin was the outward visible sign of her worst fear, manifested in the flesh. He was the ultimate culmination of every fear she had ever known. He was a full-blown breathing nightmare.

Reverend Jackson was one of the most solid people she knew. Yet, even he would be hard-pressed to believe her story. It didn't matter. There was no way she could carry the weight of this alone. So she decided to cast her line out onto spiritual waters.

Evelyn looked around the room. She lowered her voice to a whisper. She said, “Never, Reverend, never can my words leave this room.”

An involuntary tremor passed through the reverend as her words were spoken. As though the very finger of God were touching his soul. He was drawn as if by a magnet to stare at the blazing flames in the fireplace.

He blinked. He had never experienced such an eternal feeling. The reverend searched his mind for scriptural support, which was always the support he sought. Finding none, he stared at Evelyn while taking a deep breath.

Looking beyond her, he suddenly knew he was unprepared for the magnitude of the burden she was about to lay at his doorstep. Just as he'd always known instinctively that one day his ministry would become pivotal to some event not of his making.

He allowed himself the briefest moment of solace by closing his eyes. When he opened them he looked directly at Evelyn and said, “Speak, child.”