Scryer (6 page)

Michael shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Then
he turned his eyes back to me and patted me on my leg through the skirt. “Be a
good girl, Ivy, and get on the bed. I’ll be back in a moment.” He got to his
feet and gave Lake a sleazy smile as he headed into the adjoining bathroom.
Keeping my head down, I walked up the three steps to the level that contained
the bed, crawling onto it so obediently and docile that I absolutely hated myself
for it. I sat amongst the cushions, and finally allowed myself to lift my eyes
to see Lake, who stood unmoving with his eyes trained on me.

“Why do you have to humiliate me more
that you’ve already done?” I managed to ask him without sobbing, although my
voice still sounded desperate and raw.

He waited a beat before answering.
“That’s not my intention, Ivy,” he said quietly.

“Whatever. It’s what you’re doing.” My
voice cracked as more tears slid down my face and fell onto my bare breasts.
Every time, I made a vow to be cold and unfeeling, to not let any kind of
emotion or break in my façade show, but like every time, I failed.

I looked down at my hands that gripped
at the bed coverings. The skin was stretched over my knuckles tightly and my
hands looked like they belonged to some kind of creature, an eagle perhaps, but
that was wrong because I wasn’t the predator, I was the prey.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Michael had
reappeared and I wiped at my eyes as I looked up at him and then forgot my
misery as my eyes widened in horror.

“What’s that?”

 He held a syringe; the liquid inside
was red. “It’s just something that should help everything to go more smoothly,
Ivy.” He reached out for my arm but I tried to scamper away over the other side
of the bed. The voluminous skirt hindered me, tangling in my legs and
effectively trapping me before I could get too far.

“No! You’re not putting that in me.”

Michael cocked his head to one side and
gave me a pitying smile. “Oh, Ivy. You need to do as you’re told. Don’t make
this more upsetting than it already is.”

“No! This isn’t fair. None of this is
fair
.
I don’t want to be here. I don’t want you to touch me,” I sobbed, the words
running out of my mouth without even thinking about them.  I didn’t bother to
look to Lake for help. I knew that I had no ally in him.

My words didn’t move Michael in the
slightest, he merely reached over and grabbed my arm in an iron-like grip and
stabbed the syringe into me. It took just second for him to empty the contents
into my vein. I stopped fighting and sat there helplessly. When he withdrew the
needle, spots of blood appeared on my skin.

The effects were nearly instant. My head
became light and my limbs heavy. If I had anything left in me to say or to plead,
it was too much effort to speak. Michael smiled down at me before joining me on
the bed, gently pushing me down onto my back so my head was nestled amongst the
pillows. His hand ran over my breasts.

“So beautiful,” he said, sounding far
away. “Exquisite. Just like a work of marble.” My nipples hardened under his
touch. “Ivy,” he murmured. “You do like that don’t you?” His head dipped down
to take one of the stiff peaks in his mouth, sucking on it and rolling it
around with his tongue. My back arched up to push it further into his hot, wet
mouth. My body now had a mind of its own. Whatever he had given me made me ache
for touch, made me
need
it.

A gasp escaped me as he began to pay
attention to my other nipple, and then a moan. He laughed softly against me.
There were two people in my head, one telling me that I should be hating this
and fighting every moment of it, and the other telling me to just go with it
and enjoy it.

I felt the skirt loosen and then it was
pulled away from me, freeing my legs. Michael was instantly there, head buried
between my thighs and I gasped again at how wonderful it felt. I felt myself
building up to the inevitable orgasm, quivering and sensations began. I twisted
my head side to side as if I were saying,
no, no, no,
and making some
kind of stand against how I was being treated, but it wasn’t true, and anyone
in the room would know it by the moans escaping me.

I caught sight of Lake just as I
climaxed; his eyes were firmly on my face as it contorted with sensation after
sensation as Michael’s skillful mouth lifted me up to heights higher than ever
before. It must have been the drugs that made me so loose. I wanted him. I
wanted him to come over to me and kiss me and caress my breasts as I came, I
wanted him to tell me his lies like he had before—to tell me how I was
beautiful and that he wanted me always, all to himself, but he didn’t move. He
just watched.

Michael moved away, wiping at my juices
on his face as I lay there panting, my body still shaking from my climax.

“Tell me the bid,” he whispered.

And like a toy, I obeyed. My eyes went
to the discrete mirror on the ceiling and the words began to pour from me in a
wave as torrential as the polluted river that ran through our city. I spoke of
companies whom I had never heard of; used jargon that I did not know while
Michael watched me with his keen eyes and prompted me for more information.
Afterwards, he had sex with me. He was gentle, and it was almost as if he were
making love to me. So much so that I let myself close my eyes and pretend that
he was someone else.

I wasn’t aware if Lake was still in the
room or not. I rode out my orgasm that Michael gave me before drifting off to
dream of better things.

I
woke up later, groggy, with my head pounding. I was still in the room of the
ritual; tucked into the soft bed.

“Here. It’s only water.” Lake stood
beside the bed and offered me a glass as I slowly sat up. I gave him a cautious
look before taking it from him. My mouth was parched, besides, the ritual was
done. They had no reason to do me more harm until next time. I looked around
the room; Michael was gone. Back to his wife perhaps, to discuss what they had
learned and to plot and scheme as they reclined in their marital bed. Or,
perhaps, they lay with their backs to one another, silent and cold with no love
lost between them.

“Did he get what he needed?” I asked,
bitterness and ice in my voice. Gone was the crying emotional girl of earlier.
Deep down, that wasn’t the real me. I was made of sterner stuff.

“Yes.”

I drained my glass and placed it down on
the bedside table. It was still night, and a dim lamp beside the bed gave the
only light. On the floor, the red ritual skirt lay discarded, and that reminded
me of the garland. I reached up to touch my head, feeling the flowers and their
spiky thorns. As I dragged it from my hair, some of those the thorns caught
painfully, but I didn’t stop until I was free of the creation, even as it
ripped hair from my scalp. I let it fall to the floor to settle on top of the
skirt with locks of my hair visible. What did it matter? Every time I entered
this room it was like I left part of me behind.

“Did
you
get what you needed?” I
asked Lake. It would have been wiser not to speak to him; every word that came
from my mouth seemed to be laced with the hurt and humiliation that I felt.

“Yes.” His voice was quieter now, and he
opened his mouth again almost to say something else but then stopped himself.

“I need another drink. A
real
drink.”
I threw the bed covers aside and swung my nude legs from the bed. Who had
covered me? Michael or Lake? Either way, it didn’t matter. I made my way to the
carved armoire that I knew from past experience would hold a robe for me.  Predictably,
it was red, but at least it was soft against my skin, and warm. Wrapping it
around my nakedness, I caught sight of myself in the mirror with my messed hair
and bleak eyes. Why was I born with my most hated color suiting me the best out
of every hue in the rainbow?

Lake was already pouring our drinks as I
descended the steps to sit in the high backed leather armchair. He passed the
strong liquor to me before taking a seat opposite me, as if he knew that I had
no desire to be that close to him. I raised the glass to my lips and tipped it
down my throat; it burned, but I did not let it show on my face.

“Another?” Lake merely asked, to which I
gave a nod. Again, my glass was filled, and I drained it effortlessly. This
time though, he sat on the leather ottoman beside me. His eyes watched me like
I was some type of specimen.

“What?” I snapped out.

“You must have heard of the Scryers who
have been sacrificed. Why don’t you let us protect you? We could—”

“Shut up,” I cut in. “Your ‘protection’
is for solely selfish purposes. Let’s not pretend that this is anything else.”

He stiffened. “You’re understandably angry,
Ivy, but don’t be foolish.”

I felt the heat of anger stain my cheeks
at how he spoke to me, but mostly, I despised his calm voice; it was as if he
were speaking to a stranger when we had been so important to each other; or at
least, so I’d thought.

“I’ll be just fine, Lake Corin. Don’t
you worry about me,” I said simply, managing to keep the anger from my voice. I
stood and walked past him to the bar. I grabbed a bottle and turned to head for
the door; all I wanted to do was get very, very drunk.

But as I swung around, he caught my chin
between his thumb and forefinger. “I am not your enemy, Ivy,” he said quietly,
to which I laughed at his gall.

I pushed him away, and he let go of me
easily as I let out a laugh. “Yes, you are my enemy. You were
born
my
enemy, and you just made it worse the minute you lied to me.” I strode past
him, clutching at the bottle with tense fingers. All I wanted was the quiet of
a room and to drink until I passed out.

“For what it’s worth, I didn’t know what
you were when we first met,” he called after me. I continued on, my face not
showing any indication that I had heard or cared. As I rounded a corner, I came
face to face with Felix.

“I’ll escort you back to your room,” he
said in his cool tone.

“Fuck off. I think I know the way by
now.” Storming past him, I knew that he would follow me all the same until I
was safely back in the assigned bedroom like some kind of pet, locked away in
case of trouble. I took the liberty of slamming my door in his face as he tried
to bid me goodnight. I gained a very slight amount of satisfaction from that.

With the door safely closed, I slid down
the length of the wall to sit on the carpet and began to drink. I should have
showered off Michael’s touch and the shame, but there hardly seemed any point.
A numb acceptance had overcome me long ago and fighting, pretending, or
scrubbing my skin so hard that it nearly bled, made no difference.

As the bitter liquid splashed over my
lips and spilt down my throat, I thought of Anne. She had been gutted with
something like a hunting knife, the newspapers said. Always such a little
thing, it would not have taken long for blood to pulse from her body in red and
black, guts strewn about like an animal’s.

I swallowed vomit—and then drank some
more. As a drunken haze overcame me, my mind involuntarily turned to Lake even as
I tried to think of other things. A small laugh escaped me; my body did so many
involuntary things in the presence of the Corin family. “Traitor, traitor,
traitor,” I chanted drunkenly as the world began to spin. Squeezing my eyes
shut, I let my head rest against the wall.

I met him by the river—that polluted
path of water that one of the Corin family’s factories pumped poisons and waste
into as a direct ‘fuck you’ to any environmentalists. So many groups tried to
take them to court and make them accountable, but the Corins were always one
step ahead, thanks to my curse and me. Their enemies were destroyed—either
through financial ruin or sheer embarrassment. At least one had killed himself.
He had been a pastor having a homosexual affair with a seventeen-year-old male
prostitute. Illicit photographs were emailed to every member of his
conservative congregation, and his wife lost their unborn child not long after.
I tried to avoid the news after that — otherwise the guilt would have driven me
crazy. I started to drink a hell of a lot more, as well.

It was not long after that episode that
I met Lake. There was a park not far from Magdalena’s house that bordered the
river. It had become customary for me to sit on a bench shadowed by a tree and
just stare at the water passing by me each evening after work. I would stay
until the light faded and left everything gray. Then from my purse I would pluck
the silver hip flask that had once belonged to my mother and lift it to my lips
and force foul-tasting liquor down my throat until a lovely invincible feeling came
over me. It was odd that I would keep something so shiny and reflective, but it
was like a punishment each time I drank from it, enhancing my self-loathing.

That day, when the world around me became
deserted by others rushing home to loved ones, I took out the flask. It was
only as I took the first swig that I heard the voice.

“Care to share?”

I choked in surprise. The flask fell to
the grass as I gave great heaving coughs, covering my mouth as my eyes watered.
The interloper sat next to me like he owned the goddamned place. My first
impression, through teary eyes, was to be struck by his good looks. It was rare
to find someone perfectly formed…and so miserable looking.

His hands had been thrust into the
pockets of his long winter coat, and he pulled one free and let it endure the
cold in order to retrieve my flask. He held it up, inspecting it. It was a
valuable piece of silver, that much I knew, and he paused to read the mark
before giving a slight nod of admiration and drinking deeply. My first instinct
was to snatch it back; I wanted to drink all of it and had no desire to share.
But then it hit me that my affair with alcohol was, perhaps, slightly out of
control and to act like that would confirm that I was well over the edge.

So instead I watched him arch his
graceful neck as the silver touched his delicate lips, and he took a long
drink. Beneath his expensive open coat, he wore what looked like a t-shirt and
jeans paired with sneakers. It was a strange combination—a corporate style coat
with casual clothes, as if he were trying to be two different people. And the
casual attempt didn’t fit. His looks were too intense, his face too perfectly formed,
and his eyes were old. Those eyes…they reflected how I felt, or maybe it was
the alcohol in my system, but right at that moment it was like there was a
reflection in those eyes that didn’t fit with the young face, and in them, all
I saw was me.

When he had his fill, he passed it back
to me, and I took it silently, snapping out of my fanciful and ridiculous
thoughts.

“So,” he said as he replaced his hands
back into the warmth of his coat pockets. “What’s your misery?”

His voice was smooth and had the accent
of someone who was well-traveled and privileged. It was the kind of voice that
made you sit up and pay attention.

“What makes you think that I’m
miserable?” It was hard to keep my voice even. I didn’t know what it was,
whether it was his looks or his air of confidence, that attracted me, but all
of a sudden I felt stupid, just like all those girls that I had been to school
and college with who had fawned over men to such an extent that every clever
brain cell in their head had drained.

His pretty lips twisted into a slight
smile. “You’re drinking out here alone in the cold. That doesn’t spell happy.
That spells someone who’s about to throw herself into the river.” He didn’t say
this like he cared, more like he was just stating fact.

“I wasn’t.”

He gave a shrug. “It’s of no consequence
to me what you do. I just didn’t want you to waste good drink, plus, this is a
nice flask. It would look good in my collection.” He took it from my cold hands
to have another drink.

“You have a collection of flasks?”

He handed it back to me. “Not yet, but I
figure everyone needs a hobby. What’s yours?”

“Boxes.” The word came from me
automatically, like I didn’t have a choice. I took a swig then continued, “I
collect ornamental boxes that serve very little purpose.”

As I handed the flask back to him, my
skin brushed against his at the same time that the silver reflected…and there
was nothing. No shimmering, no fog.

I hid a smile.

“Okay, box girl. It could be worse; it’s
better than collecting shoes. I had a girlfriend once who collected shoes.”

“No, shoes are fine. Shoes are useful.”

“So are boxes. They’re good for hiding
things in.” Then he lifted the flask upside down and not a drip appeared.
“Sorry, box girl. I’ve cleaned you out.” He stood and tucked the flask into an
inside pocket in his woolen coat.

“Are you really stealing my flask?” I
raised an eyebrow at him. If he were, I probably would have let him.

“No, I’m just holding it hostage.”  He
reached out and took my hand, pulling me to my feet. “Come on, I’ll buy you a
drink to replace what I just drank, and if you want to still jump in the
river…well…it’s lovely in the moonlight.”

“I wasn’t going to jump in the river,” I
said, half laughing at his nerve. It was like everything was one big joke to
him, and I wondered how much he’d had to drink before coming upon me and my
flask.

“It’s all right if you were. We’ll come
back in summer and go skinny-dipping if you like. It’ll be fun.” Suddenly, he
twirled me around as if we were dancing. “Now, let’s go. We have to find the
seediest bar this side of town, the kind where your feet stick to the floor and
there’s been the same guy sitting at a bar stool for the last twenty years.”

“What’s your name?” I laughed, delighted
at the fact that I couldn’t read him, while also charmed at his drunken, light-hearted
nature.

“Lake.” He did a dramatic bow. “It’s
fucking stupid, I know.”

I thought it was perfect. “I’m Ivy.”

His face stretched in a smile, showing
perfect white teeth. “Ah, Ivy. Then it’s fate. We both have nature names. Are
you a nature lover, Ivy?”

I couldn’t help the frown that came over
me. “No, I’m more of a destroyer.” All the light and fun in him seemed to disappear
as if slowly evaporating into the atmosphere. His smile faded as he tilted his
head to watch me. His eyes were on me so intensely that I had to look away. I
looked down at the ground.

His feet scrunched on the fallen leaves
beneath us as he stepped closer to me. I felt his hands brush against my hair,
and his lips were planted softly on the crease in my forehead. I looked up in
stunned surprise. “Oh, Ivy,” he whispered. “So am I.” Nothing seemed to move
then, it was as if everything were frozen in time. The wind didn’t blow and the
river didn’t run. It was only us. There was nothing but that moment.