Devil's Touch
Authors: Tina Lindegaard
Devil's Touch
Tina Lindegaard
Mousejournal
Copenhagen, Denmark
Copyright © 2015 by
Tina Lindegaard
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Tina Lindegaard / Mousejournal
www.mousejournal.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Original title: I djævlens vold
This book is translated from Danish and edited by
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Devil’s Touch / Tina Lindegaard
. -- 1st ed.
ISB
N
978-87-995568-5-4
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He holds the door for her, and the young woman carefully gets into the car. Stuart's eyes shamelessly search every inch of her body.
"How old are you now?"
"Turned 21 a couple of days ago."
She removes a strand of blonde hair from her face and smiles, but doesn't look up at him. She feels how her tight, black dress moves up her thighs as she slides over in the seat. She knows that her lace underwear is showing and, with an involuntary movement of her hand, she tries to cover herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him smile, and it makes her feel tense. A shy smile briefly covers her face. She knows that she’ll have to push off with one leg, and that her thighs will then spread before she can pull down her skirt again. She squints a little, but the moment she slides over, her eyes meet the driver's in the rear-view mirror and he grins at her. She looks up, but Stuart is busy staring at her legs.
Evy is sure he must have noticed her staring at him. But he doesn't look up at her. "
I'm a good girl! I'm a good girl. I'm a good girl."
She whispers these silent words to herself, but she can't feel them in her heart. Goose bumps run over her arms like a thousand ants.
"There, I think you're settled now."
Stuart's sudden, hoarse voice surprises Evy. He slowly slides down in the seat beside her – his thigh touching hers. He looks at the driver, who smiles politely.
"Let's take the young lady home."
Stuart isn't talking to the driver, but still the limo starts moving. The car moves slowly in a moment that seems to go on forever. An unpleasant silence fills the limo and only the faint sound of the tires can be heard in the distance. After a long time, Evy dares to look at Stuart. Absentmindedly, he smiles at her. The warmth he has showered her with all evening is completely gone. He had chatted with her and never let her out of his sight. Brought her one drink after another and told her little funny anecdotes. He had vividly told her the story about how he had obtained his wealth and success, and told her about his youth and his dreams of becoming rich and respected. He had paused at times, as if he was remembering. Evy had felt honored. She knew how many high profile social events he attended, and all the attention he had given her seemed unreal. Sitting there beside him in the limo, she suddenly felt a strange connection to him - as if he was no longer a stranger.
"Evy."
"Yes."
Evy is a little embarrassed, fearing that her voice gives away her thoughts. She smiles at him. In his smile she rediscovers the attention and warmth of the previous hours.
"I have been wanting to ask you a question all evening. Can I ask you now?"
His tone of voice makes her feel safe, and her muscles seem to relax one by one.
"Yes, of course."
"Evy, do you remember me?"
She looks at him – no longer smiling.
"Remember you? No."
She gently shakes her head and a feeling of guilt overwhelms her.
"From when?"
"Do you remember the playground you and your sister used to go to? It was always in the shade."
It's as if he wonders whether he should go on.
"The crowns of the four trees were so large that their shadow almost covered the entire playground."
Evy slowly nods.
"I remember the playground."
"How old were you? Nine?"
"I'm not sure when exactly you mean. We came to the playground a lot."
"Your sister... Linda?"
Evy nods silently.
"You were holding each other, crying, and suddenly Linda ran away and left you there alone."
Stuart looks out the window and seems to choose his words carefully.
"I used to go there a lot when you and Linda were there, but suddenly you stopped coming."
The limo stops at a red light, and Stuart watches a beautiful woman as she picks up a bag of apples she has dropped.
"Ten. We were ten that day. I remember."
Evy looks down at her hands.
"I was sitting on the bench as usual. I don't know what happened, but suddenly you were both crying. You were left alone, and I walked over to you and took you in my arms."
Stuart no longer looks her in the eye.
"We sat down on the grass behind the trees so I could comfort you."
The tense feeling suddenly returns and makes her gasp. Her thoughts travel back in time, but can't seem to find their way. She looks at the driver in the rear-view mirror, but he only stares at the road ahead.
"You don't remember me at all?"
"Stuart, what happened at the playground?"
Stuart looks straight at her.
"Nothing."
The lines in his face are prominent in the dim light and form a contrast to his pale, almost ice blue eyes. He looks at her, and an unpleasant chill runs through her.
"We're almost there."
The driver's voice is toneless. Evy's eyes focus on the road ahead, and a cold feeling of despair takes hold of her as they drive down a road with small houses. She knows that her mother will be in her chair in front of the TV, collapsed and most likely asleep.
Stuart looks at her.
"Shall we continue the party?"
Stuart touches her thigh lightly - almost as if by accident, and suddenly the memories from the playground so many years ago make their way to the surface. She looks down.
"Hmm, should I pull over here?"
The driver sounds impatient.
"Shall we continue the party, Evy?"
Stuart grabs her chin and turns her face toward him. Evy tries to smile in spite of her discomfort.
"Shall we continue the party?"
His tone of voice has changed, and his cold eyes seem to strike something inside her. She suddenly realizes that she really doesn't want to go through the door of the small yellow house with the white windows, and find her mother asleep in front of the TV.
The rain hits the floor-to-ceiling windows of the old villa which is both his home and his law firm office. He shakes his head.
"I've already had too much coffee."
Petra looks at him, and she realizes that the three years that have passed since his wife died have left their mark on his physical appearance. That was also the time when he decided that he no longer wanted to go into the city every day, and the rebuilding of the house had become almost an obsession.
"It has to look professional."
He had said, over and over.
"Professional and expensive."
That's also when the fireplace had come into the picture. She adds more wood to the fire. It crackles and sends more heat into the room. He clears his throat, trying to hide another burp. He smiles self-consciously at Petra and whispers.
"Too much coffee."
He looks at the desk behind him. He knows that the pills the doctor has prescribed are in the top drawer, but he hesitates.
”It will only seem unprofessional. Maybe even be perceived as a weakness."
He quickly turns to face Petra who is now at the door.
"Is there anything else?"
Her voice seems to fill up the room. He straightens his black jacket and smiles. From the first time he met her, he had liked the pleasant sound of her voice. He nods as he looks at her.
"No, it's fine."
Then he straightens his sleeves and nods again. She answers him with a small motion of her head, shows in the young woman, and closes the tall doors behind her. He stands in silence with his eyes on the doors - her voice seems to linger sweetly in the room. It goes well with the English manor house style he has tried to achieve. He notices the heat from the fireplace getting stronger. He still can't really define what it is he feels for her. The daughter he never had, human compassion -
or something else that he doesn't want to put into words given the age difference and their close working relationship.
He forces his eyes away from the closed door and his inner warmth seems to leave him - the darkness outside is suddenly obvious. The woman is still thirty feet away from him, and suddenly he feels very small. She has only just entered the double doors before stopping. Drops of rain from her elegant red patent leather jacket fall silently on to the thick, dark red carpet. He looks at her jacket and thinks: Paris. Then he smiles and meets her eyes.
"Evy Schmidt. Thanks for coming with such short notice. The matter is rather urgent. My letter didn't explain much. My name is Nathan Wilkins".
She smiles a little and the red color of her lips reminds him of a billboard he saw last week when driving into the city. The poster was bigger than usual. A woman with bright red lipstick, flaming eyes and horns that were covered in red glitter - a flaming red color that wasn't tacky, but elegant and daring. He blinks - "and sexy". There's something about the woman's eyes that he can't quite define - a touch of arrogance and a promise of more. He puts his hand in his pocket. "
There's something about those eyes".
He pulls his hand back up.
"Hmmm, something obliging, but also aggressive".
He remembers the billboard again, and recalls how he had thought that the sexual symbolism was wasted on him. He had felt worn out that day, reluctantly making his way to the office. The long nights at the hospital when his wife was dying had been devastating to his own health. He had felt worn. He had stopped and looked at the poster for a long time. Several people had looked back at him as they passed. He was sure they saw a dirty old man, but he didn't care. He had sighed and slowly let the air leave his lungs. A strong wish to never breathe again had taken hold of him. He became dizzy and his body gave in and gasped for air, while he almost fell over. No one had tried to help him, but only looked at him skeptically - one shop owner, who had been keeping an eye on him, even looked disgusted. How was he to know that this poster was going to follow him into the future, and become almost real in the woman standing before him now? He sighs, but the woman in the red patent leather jacket, that has probably cost more than most people make in a month, doesn't move a single muscle in her face. He can’t help wondering if it’s botox or if she’s really that much in control.
Every time it rains he's reminded of that night three years ago. He had felt that the darkness that night was darker than usual - a little bit like this evening. He remembers looking out the window. Only a single lamp was shining on his wife's face. The window was black and only very few lights could be seen outside in the darkness. He was terrified by her gasps and the way her body jerked forward due to lack of oxygen. Instinctively, he had pulled away from her, but regretted it immediately. Finally, he had leaned over to give her one last kiss on the cheek, struggling to form the words he wanted to say.
"Goodbye Denize, my love."
The woman is still smiling as her eyes calmly meet his. He fights back the impulse to shake his head and smiles routinely back at her.
"As I said, I'm glad you're here. It makes a lot of things easier for everyone."
Her body doesn't look like she has had any children, and her skin looks well-cared-for, her make up discrete and meticulous. A handsome woman that he wouldn't be surprised to meet in one of the most expensive restaurants in the city. His eyes once again dwell on her face, and he begins to suspect something.
"I don't know anything about you, and I must confess that I haven't investigated further. It's clear in the will that you are to inherit, and that your inheritance must be paid out immediately and without involving the family."
She tilts her head a little, and her blonde hair falls over her face. The glow from the fire makes her hair look bright and silky and gives it a faint red sheen.
He breathes and resists the urge to reach out and remove it from her face. She smiles a little and slowly removes the strands of hair herself, still looking at him.
"I don't want to pry, but how did you know Stuart Pettersson?"
"Hmm."
She turns away from him and looks into the fire.
"I didn't know he was dead. I saw him two weeks ago. He was going away."
She shrugs.
"I don't know him very well."
She looks at him. He raises his eyebrows slightly, studying her face, surprised at how honest she looks.
"Like I said, I didn't know he was dead. We weren't close."
"Hmm."
"How did he die?"
"Well, you must have known him since he's leaving you money. He died of a heart attack. It was very sudden."
"Was it natural?"
Nathan looks at her inquisitively.
"Natural?"
She smiles.
"Was it a natural death?"
"You mean if it's being investigated as a murder?"
She nods.
"That's a strange question."
She shrugs.
"Again, I didn't know him that well, but a man in his position must have many enemies."
"Enemies?"
She shrugs her shoulders again.
The limo stops at the curb. Stuart looks at Evy, who stares with empty eyes at the yellow house with the white windows and door frame. She imagines what it would be like to walk through the door to her sleeping mother and a TV with the sound turned up just a little bit too high. ”
Anticlimax. It would be a huge anticlimax after all the attention, the party, the caviar and the champagne.”
She tries to pull out of Stuart's grip on her chin, but he holds on.
"Come on, let's party."
His voice is still cold and he doesn't let go of her chin, even when he turns toward the driver.
"The apartment."
"Yes, sir."
Slowly, the limo turns around and the yellow house disappears silently into the darkness behind them. Evy can feel herself breathing, but she can't hear it. She tries to escape his grip once more, but this time he holds on stronger and presses his mouth against hers, his tongue forcing her lips apart.
"Hmm."
It sounds like a question this time. Her head moves slowly to one side and the sound of the rain seems to fill the room. There's a faint smell of burning wood from the fireplace.
"Stuart's death is the reason I’ve asked you to come."
The words hang in the air between them. She slowly moves toward him, and when he moves back a step, he realizes that they are the same height.
"Can I sit down?"
"Of course. I'm sorry, I didn't think of that. Please."
He nods at the chair in front of the desk and turns to go sit behind it.
"Wait a minute."
Surprised, because she's now right behind him, he turns to face her. His instinct takes over and he once again draws back.
"One moment."
She looks at him and steps very close to him. She waits but this time he stands his ground.
"I just noticed this."
She reaches out and removes a small, white feather from his left shoulder.
"An angel is watching over you".
He feels a faint cold run over his skin as a strong wind hits the window and makes the flames in the fireplace flicker. Her face remains calm, and her smile gets bigger.
"It's from the wing of an angel."
She laughs quietly. A girl's laugh, mild and engaging. This time the cold he feels doesn't come from the window, but from inside.
He knows perfectly well that the feather comes from his pillow when he took a nap earlier. But getting caught is something else completely. He feels her physical presence acutely and is forced to turn away. He's motionless for a second before he walks away from her abruptly.
"You know..."
As he passes the corner of the massive oak table, he looks at the window and the cold takes hold of his body as her voice disappears. His wife's face is like a reflection in the darkness of the window. He quickly turns to face her. She's still smiling.
"Oh, Denize."
The words found their way from deep inside him, a deep despair in every sound. He had stayed and looked at her for a long time before going out to find a nurse. When the doctor had pronounced her dead, it was as if something inside him just stopped. He couldn't move - not even when he was being pushed around by people because he was standing in the middle of the corridor. The nurse had taken over and taken him to the cafeteria to buy him a cup of coffee. They had hardly spoken, but just sitting there with another person had been enough. When they came back up, his wife was in a fresh bed and her hair had been brushed. The room was still only lit by a single lamp. Everything was visually the same as when she died, but the feeling in the room was different. He had sat down heavily in the chair beside the bed, and the nurse had left him with a pat on the shoulder - letting him know that she would be right outside if he needed her. The fact that the doctor had had to pronounce her dead before he had reacted to his grief had been overwhelming. He didn’t understand why he had needed confirmation from a stranger in such an important situation instead of trusting his instincts.
He's still not sure how long he stayed in the chair looking at Denize, but he had finally managed to get up and take his wife's hand. Her skin felt as soft as usual, but it was cold. Not cold as when she had been sitting in a draft and her skin was chilly. But cold with a finality that told him it would never be warm again. The word
”final”
had returned to his thoughts over and over again. He had looked down at the hand he had held so many times, but if felt different. Maybe the skin felt a little drier. He had put her hand down gently and had left the room.
She's standing next to him. He looks at her as if from far away as he leans against the massive oak desk.
The dark eyes, the blonde strands of hair that fall over her porcelain-like skin are suddenly the most beautiful things he has ever seen. This surprises him and he strongly feels that it is wrong. He lets his eyes rest in hers,
”there’s something familiar about her...”
The moment becomes uncomfortable because she doesn’t break their eye contact either.
"Oh, I think we have met before."
She speaks the words slowly as if she has read his mind. She looks closely at his face.
"Yes, we have. It was at one of Stuart's parties - at the marina."