The Glass Secret (Chain of Secrets) (36 page)

He spoke again, this time with a gentler and more soothing tone. “You seem scared, I’m not out to hurt you...so, why are you are leaving before the end of act three?” There was a long pause. “I liked watching
you
watch
them
.”

Act three…was he a mind reader?
  No time to think—his audacity and persistence answered my question. 

I should have run then, but instead brave curiosity rose in me. After all, I was a crime mystery writer, always on the lookout for my next hook. I turned in the direction of where I assumed the sound of his voice was coming from.

“Why are you hiding?” I called out.

“Why were
you
hiding in the stairwell?” He mocked me, teasingly.

“I live here, hello!”

“That’s a good point,” he simply said.

“I do not like your line of questions. Besides, you can see me, but I can’t see you. Why don’t you come out of the dark? Show yourself!” I exclaimed demandingly.
 

“Why are you so angry?”
 The voice in the darkness questioned.

“Are you serious! Who are you?” I revolted.
 

“For such a beautiful soul, you are so defensive.”
 

“I am not defensive! And, I am not the one that’s done anything wrong. I was just sitting here…it’s not my fault that my neighbor’s didn’t draw their drapes and choose to have sex in front of their window with the lights on. Geez!” My voice echoed into the high ceiling of the atrium. I hoped I didn’t wake up Dr. Piccart.

He spoke again, “I didn’t say it was wrong to watch. I just wanted to tell you that you are very beautiful. Your face shows such want and need.
You
should be properly loved.”

I noticed he had a slight accent, perhaps, French, but I wasn’t sure of that.

I moved up the staircase, one step at a time, attempting to bypass him on my way to my apartment. The stairs creaked with each unsteady step that I took forward. I tried my best to keep steady.

“Do you live here?”
 I questioned in an attempt to keep him diverted in conversation, and rooted to where he was.

“You could say that,” he said.
 His tone was trite.

“Ok, well, I’ll see you around. I’m going home now. Upstairs.” I pointed to the area just above me. “Do not come near me...or I will…I will spray you with this mace.”

“Mace? I do not know what you mean by mace? Do you mean that you have mice?” His tone seemed sincere, but surely he was trying to be funny. I wasn’t buying his playing dumb routine. Everyone knows what mace is.

“Well, I strongly suggest you don’t come near me unless you want to find out. It burns terribly. Besides, I am sick and I swear if you come any closer, I will spray this in your—.”

“That’s not very neighborly of you,” he quelled. I detected a thread of disappointment in his voice.

“Oh my God—you’re the one hiding in the dark, like some kind pervert! I don’t think you should be preaching to me about what’s proper!”  

“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. My wish for you is to never be sick. Please stay, don’t leave,” he begged with an odd meaningful edge.

Again, I turned in all directions to locate where, and who this disembodied man was that taunted me. I had a need to catch just a glimpse of him. It
was too dark and I could not see him anywhere.

I aimed the mace out in front of me. My eyes darted to the fourth-floor landing above me. He kept himself well hidden. Why? I wondered. This was beginning to feel—very creepy!
 

His energy was nearing. I could feel his very presence pressing closer to me. A gust of wind encompassed me like an invisible fence. It literally pinned me against the wall, then released me when a loud thump hit against the floorboards above me.

My eyes flashed to the ceiling, then a white handkerchief caught in my vision and landed next to my bare feet. The letters BR were embroidered on the corner.
What was that for, an act of chivalry, did he think I was going to cry?
Then in the reflection of the mirror on the adjacent wall I caught a glimpse of his hooded eyes, hollow deep, dark pools of fire burning into me. 

I screamed and nearly flew out of my skin, knowing that he was coming to get me! He must have jumped down to the landing below, and without a further thought I grabbed my boots and purse and raced up to my apartment, unlocked the door and slammed it shut behind me, locking it.

-43-

Sick, Inebriated and Tired

I made a beeline straight to the bathroom, flipped the light switch on and locked myself in. My head was spinning. My stomach had enough excitement for
one night
. I was going to be sick. And then finally I threw up, thankfully, in the toilet. I shoveled back the sheet of hair that stuck to my heated face.

My body slouched over and I fished my cell out of my purse.
Fuck!
It was already four in the morning. There was no way I could call Nuilley at this hour; she’d have a coronary, followed by too many questions.

I wiped my mouth and then pushed myself up from the floor. Then, of course, brushed the hell out of my teeth. My reflection in the mirror was colorless as if I had seen a ghost. I splashed cold water over my prickling cheeks, taking in some to hydrate my parched mouth.

Suddenly, a dark shadow flashed behind me in the reflection of the mirror. I whipped around knowing there wasn’t anyone in there with me. I lived alone, and I had locked the bathroom door when I entered.

My eyes slowly lifted back up into the antiqued mirror, dreading to see someone, or something. There was no one in the reflection of the mirror, just my own makeup-smeared face. I assured myself that the branches outside the window behind me had caused the shadow.

After I caught my breath, and began to undress, I heard a female’s voice, it was more internal than audible.

Things aren’t so bad.

“What?” I gasped out loud. “Oh Lord,” I said while rolling my eyes.
I recognized the voice—it was mine recalling an article in Vogue that I had recently read about getting in touch with your inner siren.

Get a hold of yourself, Brielle. Stop scaring so easily. And, for God’s sake stop running from everything and to everyone.
Why do I do this to myself?
Why you ask? It’s because you are lonely and feeling desperate. Remember, love yourself, and the world will love you back.

“Yeah, right. Easier said than done.” I lashed back at myself as I adjusted the water in the shower.

Dr. Piccart had warned me that it would take a minute for the hot water to reach my place, so I flipped down the lid of the toilet seat and then sat and waited.

At this early hour, the sound of the water snaking through the old pipes amplified in my ears. The plumbing in the old brownstone left something to be desired.

Why do Parisian women seem so together?
I thought.
Because, they love themselves first and they use the power of their inner siren to guide them.
That is according to “Vogue”.

Now, I was talking to myself and answering too; I had become the true definition of a crazy person.

The article said to lighten up, sit quietly and listen to your subconscious thoughts.
That was a concept I have never tried—sitting still.

To be perfectly honest, I have always had a hard time sitting still, so much so that even when I wrote, my feet were tapping in sync to my fingers. Also, I was never one for being quiet.
But, it was worth a try.

Ask and it is given, and trust the universe will provide to you what you want. I closed my eyes but couldn’t help but to feel a bit silly. The sound of the running water made me sleepy. I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs to their capacity.

“Om...Om...Om. I want to find true love,” I whispered, exhaling completely. This had better work. God, I was spending way too much time alone these days.

I removed the rest of my clothing as I continued to carry on a conversation with my inner siren, or as most sane people would say
myself
.

I carefully stepped into the shower stall and washed my hair to get the cigarette smoke out. I allowed the water to cascade over my curves for the longest time, cleansing away the dirty deed of watching my neighbors and my rattled nerves. The hot water helped me to feel drowsy. Nevertheless, I wasn’t ready to get out just yet, so I lay down against the warm tiles of the shower floor, wishing I had a bath to soak in.

Fifteen minutes later, after the hot water ran cold, I wrapped my chilled skin between the folds of a soft scented towel, quickly retreated to my room, allowed the damp towel to puddle to the floor, and slipped between the soft layers of blankets.

Unbidden thoughts of my ex-boyfriend Spencer danced in my head. Suddenly, I missed him more than ever. So, I rode the wave, alone, a sex-starved siren stranded on an island without a ship full of lonely sailors to save me from having my way with myself, which I did. My eyes filled with lonely tears, releasing pent up frustrations.

“Damn you, Spencer!” I cursed my ex. I buried my head beneath a plethora of pillows to shut out the early dawn’s sunrays that crept through my shades. 

-44-

Just my imagination...

      The following day, late in the morning, after
my hangover subsided, I raced down the stairs. Immediately, I looked for the handkerchief in the stairwell. It was gone. Later that evening, I spoke to Dr. Piccart and asked if someone else had moved into the building. He told me no one had. 

The only
tenants in the building were he and I, which I considered ridiculous and a waste of space. The reason he claimed this was the case was because the other apartments had not been rewired for modern
appliances. I found it incredibly odd and somehow off-putting that a twenty-four-unit brownstone housed only two occupants.

I asked him why it was that the other flats were never remodeled.
 

He shrugged. “Tenants never stay long. A couple of them have said the building is haunted.”

I questioned ominously, “Is it?”

“If you believe it is, than it probably is,” he said in a nonchalant tone then looked at me with a significant glare. He narrowed one of his eyes just a fraction, winking at me.

Our conversation concluded with me asking Dr. Piccart to repair the hole in the center of the two carved hearts that I had discovered on the staircase.

“Why?” he asked with his old voice cracking; he was clearly upset. “Why would you want to do something like that?”
 

My lips inadvertently twisted into a purse. I wasn’t expecting such a brash reaction. “Well, someone could fall—of course…” I timidly said, hesitating over my words.
  “I wasn’t suggesting that you cover them completely. The funny thing is, I fell in love with the hearts. I’m so drawn to them, I would never want you—” Dr. Piccart shook his head back and forth, which caused me to pause. 

He spoke very firmly. “I am sure you are drawn to them—who wouldn’t be? The two hearts have been there a long time. I would never think of replacing that step or covering the carving, ever.”
 

I nodded and flashed him a heartfelt smile. “Yes, I agree with you. I would never cover the hearts either, I just meant…Oh, Dr. Piccart. I didn’t mean to offend you.” I winced, hoping I hadn’t.

“You didn’t offend me. But, who knows what implications it would have if we erased such a sentimental message. I think it speaks of the goodwill of this building and that there were once such passionate lovers here.” He winked devilishly. I was happy to see that his lighthearted demeanor had quickly returned. 

“You’re right. You can still feel their love radiating from the walls of this building. It’s so profound that a symbol of their love is nearly untouched after all these years.”

“Yes, their love lives on, I am sure.” 

“Do you know who they were?” I buzzed.
 

“It’s a mystery to me.”
 He shrugged.

“Well…I’m toying with the idea of writing my next novel based on them…whoever
they
were. It could be a fun project for me to write, after I discover who they were, of course. So you really have no idea who they might have been?” I grinned eagerly. “Was it you and some gorgeous young girl?”  I pointedly said, then winked.

“No, not me. But discover…that’s an interesting word,” he said with a meaningful point, changing the subject. “What is it that you love about the hearts? What do they say to you?”

I concentrated on his question for a moment. “The hearts remind me that there’s hope for all of us,” I said and sighed deeply. 

“I feel the same way,” he admitted, hoarsely, clearing his throat. “But this old body isn’t what it used to be, if you know what I mean.” He flashed me a debonair grin. “So, I wrap my life around my collection of vintage movies, and my old friends, and enjoy the days I have left to live the best I can. You are still so young, Brielle, you should never give up on love.”