The Lebrus Stone (14 page)

His gaze wandered around the room, landing on the bed. He reddened, but he didn't seem angry.

Was he embarrassed? Why?

"I didn't mean what I said," he replied, his voice a gravelly wave of dullness.

My heart pounded harder.

"In the study. I didn't mean to upset you." He sighed and turned his back to me. Beneath his t-shirt, I could see his muscles contract and fold.

I was too tired to figure out why he said it in the first place and why he was making all this effort now. I couldn't bring myself to apologize back. Maybe it was my turn to antagonize him. To distract myself, I walked over to the balcony doors to close them, trying to catch a glimpse of the owl's improbable return. I realized I wanted it back more than I wanted Cray to stay. He would just demean me with his reluctance to accept me.

The light switch clicked on in my bathroom. The sound of running water came from the sink.

I resisted going inside, but Cray was taking a while to leave, I went in and found him stood at the sink, leaning forward with his hands on either side. Water trickled down his nose and chin and into the basin. His eyes were closed and he was frowning. I wanted to go over to him and place my hand on his back. Take away what was affecting him so much. It couldn't be because of me, I thought. There had to something else troubling him.

The bruise on his eye was turning yellow and gaudy, matching his now sallow and gaunt cheeks. He was beginning to look like an anemic awaiting transfusion. But that didn't seem to defer me from how he still radiated with an attractiveness that was always alluring and intimidating. It made the erratic beating of my heart return, reminding me of its temporary recovery.

"Are you here for another reason?" I asked, a part of me not wanting to shake him from his altered state.

He released a breath like he had been holding it the whole time.

"No," he said, almost too quietly for me to hear.

He opened his eyes and peered into the medicine cabinet mirror. His eyes didn't appear to be looking at anything, just somehow beyond himself.

His eyes closed again, he didn't seem to breathe. "I just wanted to…apologize."

"Did Isobel send you to do it?" I couldn't let myself buy the act for a second.

He opened his eyes to look blankly at his reflection again. "No one has sent me."

"Okay, well fine, you can go now." I was finding it hard to be grateful. It was after all, what I had wanted to hear: an apology.

So why couldn't I accept it and just thank him?

I was about to tell him how I really felt, but he dashed by me and headed out the door to silently leave the room, done and dusted with his so-called apology to gain my forgiveness. Something I had apparently given without actually saying it.

He baffled me, made me chew on my tongue in frustration.

Why couldn't he just be normal? Why couldn't I, instead of preferring owls to people right now? Why was I hoping to reach this one person out of the billions in the world?

Why, oh why, did I want the only person who would not give in or let go of his hold over me?

It was because he saw me for who I was, I thought, not who I was scared to be.

And I needed someone like him to save me from myself.

Before it was too late.

"Jared!"

I couldn't hold in my excitement when he called the next morning; my worries and concerns of the last few days vanished as soon as I heard his voice.

"I was just about to call you." It was true. I was going to after my mini meditation on my bed. It was my way of preparing to face the Lockes. It was something my roommate had been teaching me.

"Well, great minds think alike." He chuckled.

His voice rang loud and clear, as if he was sitting next me.

I wished he was, then none of the recent troubles would matter.

"How are you?" I asked.

"Just a little chest infection, that's all; nothing to worry about." I could tell he was smiling. The way he always did when he was covering up something important.

"Are you telling me the truth?"

It fell silent. I was suddenly terrified of what he was about to tell me. I couldn't cope with him being ill on top of everything else.

"It was a heart murmur. Too much caffeine, the doc said."

"Heart murmur? What did he say exactly?"

"The usual, not very much," he replied, probably smiling again.

"He must have said something."

Silence.

"Jared?"

"There isn't much they can say until they've run their tests, poked me till I'm black and blue." He laughed, stiffly.

"Jared, how can you laugh about this? It could be another —"

"Nothing," he interrupted. "It's nothing that no one else hasn't handled."

"Jared, I'm coming home. I have to."

"Oh no you're not, Missy," he almost yelled in the receiver. "You have to stay."

"But why? I don't like it here," I confessed. "Aren't you glad I want to come home?"

"No. You made your choice. I've decided it was the right one. You've been there long enough to prove we have nothing to worry about. They obviously aren't hardened criminals. Besides, what could there be to dislike? The Lockes are rich. You should be enjoying the extravagance." 

I wanted to break down. Tell him everything: the nightmares, the voices, ghosts and shadows. Isobel and Jess's theory. Not to mention a certain person's features sticking out at me like blades that I was allowing to hurt me time and time again.

"Jared," I sighed, restraining myself from shedding a single tear. "I can't cope, not here. Not anywhere that's new. Not unless you're with me. I just feel…out of my depth."

"I'm here, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere." His voice cracked on the last part.

"Then why does it sound like you are?"

"Oh, because we're so far from each other and seem unreachable. You'll be home soon. Besides, you said you
needed
this."

It was hard for me to speak without giving away too much. "I want to come home now, though."

"Just give it a chance, honey. Since when have you ever given up on anything? You're the most stubborn person I know."

"Maybe I'm not as strong as you think"

"Nonsense. The problem is you."

I blinked; astonished

"You underestimate yourself. Your worth. You have so much to gain and so little left to lose. You made the right decision. I was just worrying over nothing. You'll pull through whatever comes at you. Trust me on this."

"O-kay."

"That's my girl." I could tell he was smiling, hopefully with pride.

There was a knock on my door.

"Sounds like you have company," Jared said, sounding just as disappointed.

"I'll ignore it."

"No, no, you see who it is. Could be your aunt, a new friend. Maybe a secret admirer," he teased.

"Hater more like," I mumbled, under my breath.

The door to the store tinkled over the phone.

"Oh, T.J.'s back with dinner," Jared said.

Someone knocked on my door again.

"Crystal, are you in there?" Isobel called out.

"Is that your aunt?" Jared whispered. "It sounds like her."

They had only met a few times, briefly.

"Yes," I whispered back.

"She sounds very…ostentatious today."

I had no idea what that meant, but I had a pretty good idea it summed up Isobel perfectly.

My door drummed louder. I could hear T.J. blithering on about being short changed.

"Well, take good care of yourself, Crystal. We'll speak soon."

It sounded final, inconclusive. I sensed he was thinking the same.

"Alright. You too," I choked out.

"Um…Crystal…," he said.

"Yes."

"Remember. I'm with you." The line disconnected.

He was definitely hiding something, something that disturbed him the most.

My door was pounded on by my wayward aggressor. Isobel's laconic quarreling was interrupted by an equally frustrated man's voice.

I jumped out of bed and unlocked the door, afraid she might have brought Cray along with her.

But it was just Isobel in the hallway. My heart stopped throbbing.

She had her back to me and was dressed differently than usual: in a full length, pleated smock frock. It was totally unfashionable and in critical need of an update. It made her hour glass figure look more like a pitch fork.

A fluff of gray hair that stopped just above her waist was trying to move by her. Isobel turned, and a short man with little leeway to step across the hallway appeared beside her.

I think he was a midget.

"Ah, here we are," Isobel said, straining to smile. "This is Crystal, Dr. Lutnis. My great niece. Crystal this is Dr. Lutnis. The family doctor," she announced, brushing her hands down her bibbed neckline.

It took him a few steps to reach me. His trousers shot up his ankles, revealing Scooby Doo socks.

"How do you do, Princess?" His deep, rumbling voice didn't suit him. The cutesy pet names did.

"Good, thanks." I shook his moist hand.

"Mrs. Locke tells me you've had an anxiety attack."

I wanted to roll my eyes. Instead, I surreptitiously wiped my hand on the back of my leg, smiling like it was the best news I'd heard in decades.

"Well, I had a moment of…" I made silly expressions of pondering,"...what you call…a moment of…ahh…" I pondered some more. At this point, Isobel's eyes grew wide.

"You see, Dr. Lutnis..." I decided reverse psychology would work best. My professional tone could almost be believed as being normal. "We all have our moments of vulnerability, at times, we have an intellect that takes us beyond our own rational minds. We become impartial to perceiving certain images the way we require, not how they are in the real, philosophic life." I had no idea what I was spewing at him.

He nodded as if to understand. "You are quite right, Miss Delgado. In fact, you've taken the words right out of my mouth."

Nobody was more shocked than I. Isobel's face seemed to have a spasm as she stepped forward.  As for my surname, I didn't bother to correct him. I was sure Isobel would have insisted he call me Delgado.

"Shall we conduct a routine check, Dr. Lutnis?" Isobel asked, over sweetly.

He rubbed his chin with small fingers, then looked at me and shook his head. "No, I think Miss Delgado has everything under control. She seems stabilized from her recent, minor condition." Isobel's eyes bulged again, a lot like a buffalo.

"But, she is not well." The way Isobel pronounced "not well" sounded like an alternative for crazy.

Dr. Lutnis noticed the silent exclamation in her comment, the kind that was pointing at a strait jacket facilitation center. A grin spread across his rosy cheeks.

"She looks very well to me," he confirmed, tapping her arm, perhaps a reassurance I wasn't losing it just yet.

"Very well," she said, not taking kindly to hearing I wasn't a proposed lunatic. "We only want what is best."

"As do we all." Dr. Lutnis smiled, turning to hand me his card. "If you need me, just call," he said, his light blue eyes conveying a silent gesture of apology on behalf of Isobel.

Something told me he was genuinely concerned.

"I will. Thank you for calling by, Dr. Lutnis. Have a safe journey." I smiled back, keeping up with my confident well-bred speech. Maybe acting was my niche. I had pretended enough in life to be worthy of an Oscar.

"I will see myself out," he said. "Goodbye, Mrs. Locke."

He descended the stairs, scurrying down them like a mini vessel before sweeping soundlessly out of the manor.

Isobel eased me into my room and set me down on the bed. Then carefully fixed the bun on her head that hadn't moved an inch out of place. And probably never would unless beaten with a hammer.

"Crystal," she began.

"Yes."

"Are you…taking drugs?"

I tried to keep a straight face. The look on hers was monumental. I could take this. There had been worse accusations.

"No, Isobel. I'm not."

She arched her back to look up at the ceiling; her pert bosom shuttled out like two cones.

Her head then shot back to me, eyeing me suspiciously with renewed insight. "Then what were you doing in here earlier, Crystal. Answer me that. Please, for the good grace of God explain."

I wanted to explain. I did. If only I knew what she was talking about.

She was about to recite her prayers. I had to think.

"I was lying in bed, Isobel"

"What else?"

"Um, talking to Jared."

"What about after that?" she asked, ignoring a personal piece of information about my life that she was so-called interested in. I knew it was just spoon fed baloney. None of them really cared.

This time I rolled my eyes. She was driving me to new heights of frustrated.

"I would explain, Isobel. But I can't figure out what you're trying to say"

She paced. "You were talking." She waved her hand, struggling to find the correct vocabulary. "In some kind of mythological language." She stopped pacing, her one hand held up into a clenched fist.

"It's called meditation, Isobel. I was chanting my mantra."
You should try it sometime
, I wanted to add.

She looked imperial to the meaning.

"It helps you relax," I added. "My new roommate taught me. She's a herbalist," I concluded, for pure emphasis. "You can call and speak to her if you like."

I held up my cell phone. Isobel looked at it like it was a ticking time bomb, a detonation switch with a Nickleback ringtone.

"I believe you," she replied, clearly unconvinced. "I do. I believe you." She rubbed her hands together like she was cleaning them with an invisible bar of soap. The silence was needed.

With a sigh she said, "You must eat. You must be hungry."

Her caring tone didn't mask her underlying thoughts. She was determined to catch me red handed with something. Maybe she was going to run tests to prove I was clean, drug-free.

I laughed inwardly at the thought. I was stupid, but not that warped to pump myself with cocktails the equivalent of rat poison. My love for art and designing was my drug. It was my way of diminishing bad thoughts. Nothing could beat the natural substance of creativity and a product of your imagination put to paper. Nothing could compete with the way it came to life with each commitment to its process.

I decided I should paint here. Back home, it was what I did sometimes to relax. It would bring me back to some degree of normal. It would energize me and give me the strength and will to investigate Isobel's and Jess's story.

"Would you like Sydney to bring you something to your room?" Isobel asked, bringing me back from thoughts of a craft I had come to miss like rain during a major drought.

"I'll eat downstairs," I said. "Maybe I could help Syd with dinner tonight," I added, faking a smile.

Isobel must have been biting her tongue but complied. "If you wish." She walked over to me with her arms outstretched and catapulted me to her chest, running her hand down my pony tail.

"Such glorious hair you have," she said. "Just like Sophia's. Everything will fall into place, You'll see," she whispered, a reassurance to perhaps herself.

"Isobel," I finally said, spitting lace from my mouth.

"Yes."

"I would like some paint."

She leaned back, and frowned with possible concern at receiving such a random request.

"Can I ask why?"

"To paint," I smiled. "I like to paint sometimes."

Her apprehension vanished with understanding, and she smiled like Isobel, beautifully strange. I didn't want to ruin it by mentioning that I wanted it to help me delve into the story about my mother. I had no idea how I was going to begin and in what way. I had no idea who could really help.

Maybe I could just forget about it and make a go of enjoying my trip.