Amaranthine and Other Stories (2 page)

“Your book will be ready for collection next week,” I informed Mr Johnson, one of my new clients. He was an older man, perhaps in his sixties but looked like someone who took great pride in their appearance.

“Can't it be done sooner?” He frowned and pierced me with a sharp glance.

I shook my head in defeat, “please, you must understand that this is a delicate custom order and special attention to detail is required…”

“Very well, call me when it's done!” Mr Johnson barked and marched out of my shop.

Ah yes, my emporium of odd curiosities. I inherited it from my father, who was a book binder for most of his life. In his declining years, he opened a small bookshop of his own but sadly didn't live long enough to see it prosper. A heart attack killed him six months later. He was swiftly cremated and I displayed the urn in the shop to keep his memory alive. I tried my best to keep the business going but there's not much hope for independent bookshops or rookie businessmen these days. The shop was losing money rapidly and I knew that drastic change was needed.

I missed my father and wished daily that he was still alive, if only to offer guidance. I didn't want to let him down by bankrupting the shop he'd worked so hard for. I had to do something…innovative.

The bell above the door rang and a new figure approached the reception—a lanky woman with jet black hair, pale skin and cherry red lipstick. “I trust you received my e-mail,” she began in a foreign accent.

“I did indeed, you must be Ms Muller,” I replied whilst scrolling down the contents on my monitor.

The woman revealed a smile of crooked teeth.

“That's right, I brought you the materials you requested,” she said and handed me a plastic bag smeared with blood.

I stared at the bag, mildly surprised at the poor presentation and total lack of care.

“Erm, thank you. As you know, this is a special custom order and due to our recent hectic schedule—your order will take several weeks.”

Unlike Mr Johnson, Ms Muller seemed content with the lead time.

“That's perfectly understandable,” she said and removed her dark sunglasses, “as you're the only specialist in the area. I'll be in touch.”

She departed and I was glad to watch her leave, as her Gothic presence had created a certain sense of melancholy in the shop.

I snatched the plastic bag and tied a tag around it with Ms Muller's name.

Where was I? Oh, yes! I had to do something innovative to reverse my fortunes. The torment of my father's death provided inspiration for my new business expansion. I wanted to keep him with me at all times but his ashes weren't enough…

What if cremation wasn't the only method of keeping your loved ones with you? What if you could actually keep a
piece
of them? An everlasting token that you could touch and
feel
…

A new idea was born, and my Lord, how the clients poured in!

Of course officially, I was just an average shop owner and had to keep up legit appearances but on a black market, behind the scenes I was quite a celebrity for my unique services.

The technique itself was popular in the 16
^th
century and I was determined to revive the trend, as book binding ran in the family after all. Anthropodermic bibliopegy, or the practice of binding books in human skin was my forte and I assure you—the practice is in high demand…even today.

His crystal clear eyes bore into hers. Alexandra sat on a mahogany settee, hands folded in her lap—mesmerised by his stare. Nonchalantly, she stood to slip out of her silky gown, his melodic voice commanding so. A wet tongue slithered over her half-erect nipple. The mysterious wanderer uttered words of instruction whilst she obeyed, spellbound.

His voice infatuated, penetrated every thought. Under his dark tunic, the monk stroked his member, feeling it grow in his calloused palm. The flame of the candle swayed with his rhythmic moaning. Her mental state altered, she registered the mystic's unflinching eyes as they drank her exposed flesh. Soon, his volcano erupted with burning drops landing as far as her bosoms. 

Still she sat, eyes wide open and tongue silent. Grigori wiped away the sloppy, white explosion with his soiled tunic—his devilish gaze probing her soul. He clicked his fingers. A satisfied grin stretched across his bearded face. Alexandra, the last Tsaritsa of Russia, awoke from hypnosis. She blinked then gasped, shocked at the sight of her own nudity.

“What have you done to me?” she asked.

His pupils dilated as he shifted away from the candlelight and closer to her face. Kneeling, the mad monk clutched her quivering knees. “My child, those who deliberately commit fornication and repent bitterly will be closer to God,” he answered.

She treaded water in the deep end, observing screaming brats with quiet distaste. They circled the pool, pushing, splashing and causing havoc. Eva's eyes lingered on Sophie. She swam by herself in the abandoned corner of the shallow pool, dunking her head beneath the water and emerging again after several seconds like a seal pup.

Eva rubbed her forehead, blaming the migraine on the over-chlorinated water. She despised swimming. Only Toby, the charismatic young lifeguard she befriended, made the weekly ordeal worthwhile. He patrolled the other side of the pool now, his eyes alert and ready for action. She admired his trapezius muscles, bursting out of his aureolin T-shirt and his masculine thighs, concealed beneath the scarlet shorts.

To quench her lust, she sank below the surface like an anchor, feeling the increased pressure as her feet brushed against the bottom of the pool. Eva opened her eyes under water, bathing in the blissful silence, watching the children's silhouettes kicking but no longer screaming. The water drowned their voices.

One of the drains caught her eye. A long tuft of black hair, very much like her own, floated from the tiny hole. Her fingers stretched towards the entangled filament but she could hold her breath no longer.

When her head popped up, the baby-faced Toby beamed at her. The colour of the pool matched his eyes and she wondered what it would be like if she could bathe in them, swim in them, every day.

“Aren't you supposed to be watching Sophie instead of exploring the bottom of our pool?” He asked, crouching and chuckling.

Eva rested her elbows on the edge of the pool.

“Why do I need to watch her when you're here?” she said, producing her most seductive smile.

He sheepishly averted his eyes. Eva's sexy, melodic accent caused the embarrassment rather than her smile, which he also found agreeable. “You're not very passionate about your job, are you?”

“Honestly? No, I'm not. I only applied to be an
Au Pair
because I wanted to experience a different culture,” said Eva, shrugging her shoulders, “Bulgaria is such a backward nation, full of simpletons and I always dreamed of visiting sophisticated countries like England or America. Of course I come from a poor family so my parents could never afford to finance my trip. A friend of mine recommended a student agency that specialised in placing young girls into families abroad, to help them with childcare, light cooking etcetera.”

“So you're basically a servant?”

Eva frowned at the term. “I hate to admit it, but yeah. The agency also failed to mention how fucking spoiled this child was going to be. English kids are so poorly disciplined. That's the biggest cultural shock I had so far, I think. Bulgarian children might be poor but their lives are enriched with simple happiness and activities, like running around in a forest, climbing trees, playing games—not shacked up in their rooms, Skyping on their iPhones all day. Their parents are practically robbing them of childhood by supporting this brainwashing technology age we live in.”

“I know what you mean,” Toby sighed,” I grew up like that. My folks are outdoorsy people too and most of my childhood was spent outside, playing sports. Guess it depends on the parents rather than nationalities.”

“True,” she nodded, “but Sophie
is
spoiled, plus she hates my guts. Gerard, her dad, told me that her mother died of leukaemia last year and obviously he needed domestic help. He works in London as some kind of a Sales Executive and is hardly ever home. He decided to hire an
Au Pair
because he also wanted his daughter to learn about other cultures. I taught her that the city I'm from is almost spelt the same as her name,
Sofia
. She liked that. I knew the job would entail cooking, cleaning, taking and collecting Sophie from school - but most people never read the small print, like washing Gerard's shit-smeared boxers.”

Toby blew his whistle. “No running!” he yelled at the boys on the other side of the pool. The display of authority, the sudden change in his voice, that savage dominance made her heart skip a beat.

“Why does she hate you?” he countered, smiling down once more.

“Well, my theory is that she's jealous of the attention I get from Gerard. After the death of her mother, she got used to the fact that she was the centre of his universe. She didn't have to compete for his attention. But now, when she sees us joking, laughing together—she doesn't like it.”

Eva glanced at the giant clock above the pool. “Shit! Is that the time? We're late! Gerard's picking us up today,” she announced, climbing out of the pool.

“Okay, see you next Saturday?”

Eva nodded, collecting Sophie and smiling warmly. “By the way, you might want to check out your drains, there's loads of hair down there.”

Her accent thickened and he failed to understand the full sentence but grinned anyway. His eyes devoured Eva's voluptuous body as she walked away.

Like a hen, pecking corn off the ground, Eva pecked dirty clothes off various places in Sophie's pink room, cursing quietly in Bulgarian. The little girl observed her slave, smirking.

“Did you have fun swimming today?” Eva asked, picking up a dirty sock.

“No, I don't want to go anymore. The pool scares me. Morgen scares me. He was mean to me today because of you. He hates you.”

The tropical temperature in the room intensified Eva's on-going migraine. She sat on the bed, next to Sophie. “Who's Morgen? Why would he hate me?”

“He's my friend and he just does.”

“But I've never even seen him!”

“It doesn't matter. He saw you. And he doesn't like you,” Sophie mumbled.

“Who is he? One of the other kids? Perhaps you can introduce me to Morgen next week, if he's there, and I'll show him how nice I really am.”

“I don't want to. He's scary. He's always there…in the pool.”

“I'm sure he's not as scary as you think, Sophie. We'll talk to him next week. Now get in bed and I'll tuck you in.”

Eva closed the door behind her and strolled into the not too distant living room. Why would Sophie say such horrible things to her? Was jealousy really the root of the problem? She searched her memory but did not recall seeing Sophie talking to anyone new. Perhaps she'd missed something while she was flirting with Toby?

Gerard nestled on the couch, his eyes spellbound by the telly. He did not even register Eva entering the room. She immediately knew why. A bottle of
Kraken
, his favourite black rum, stood on the table, a quarter already consumed.

She lingered there in the shadows, watching him. He looked sad. Eva assumed he still missed his wife. His static eyes seemed far away, the program mere background noise. After a while she realized it was the dancing flame of the candle that mesmerized him. She cleared her throat and sat next to him.

“Heeeey! There she is! How are you? How did the swimming go?” Gerard asked, his voice dulled with liquor.

“Fine, thanks. I see you're having fun by yourself,” said Eva, trying not to sound bitter. Gerard fingered the glass on his lap. The high-pressured job, reflected in his many wrinkles, troubled her. She noticed his daily alcohol intake had increased, too.

“How can I have fun when you're not here?” He countered, giggling and sipping his sedative.

Eva removed the glass from his grasp. “Listen, we need to talk. It might not be the best time for it but I need to get it off my chest,” she began, watching his eyes struggling to focus, “Sophie's been acting strange these last couple of weeks and she doesn't want to go swimming anymore. The pool scares her.”

“Of course it scares her,” Gerard mumbled, “she's nine years old. Every child is scared of water. They're scared of drowning.”

“Well, she doesn't seem to be scared of drowning. Apparently she's scared of Morgen.”

“Morgen? I take it that you're referring to one of the other kids and not the Welsh water spirit?” he grinned.

“Water spirit? What are you talking about?”

“I used to read stories to Sophie when she was little…about Morgens,” he slurred. “They were known to lure men to their deaths by their sylphic beauty or with glimpses of underwater gardens with buildings of gold and crystal.”

“Shut up, Gerard. This is important. I think she's not coping with this scenario very well, you know, us being together. She's obviously still upset about Cynthia's death and is not comfortable with the idea of me replacing her mum.”

“I know, I know, “he said, stroking her thigh, “but we're taking things slowly, aren't we? The longer you're around the more she'll get used to your presence and might accept the fact that you're a part of this family.”

“And if she doesn't? Will you discard me like a piece of garbage?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Look, it's obvious that Sophie loves you dearly and doesn't want to share you with anyone else, especially me. I wonder if she invented this Morgen character as a way to express her hatred for me. Or maybe she feels isolated so she created an imaginary friend. Sophie is a very solitary child; she's not interacting with the other kids as much as she should,” Eva continued.

“There's nothing wrong with a bit of solitude. I was isolated as a child and I turned out fine. Isolation will give her the opportunity to read books; it will help her to focus on other things - significant things, not slacking outside and getting corrupted by outsiders. Maybe she's slightly jealous of us being together but she'll get over it soon enough, you'll see. Just ignore it,” Gerard said, waving his hand dismissively.

Eva sighed and crossed her arms. Six months had passed since she became a part of this family and only two months since she began sleeping with Gerard.

She loved him, despite the shocking age gap. She preferred older men. They were wiser, more settled and definitely more skilled in the bedroom.

“Let me brush your hair,” Gerard offered, out of the blue.

He adored her hair. They reminded him of the ethereal
Rapunzel
, from the fairy tale by brothers Grimm.
Rapunzel's
hair was so long that she could wrap it around a hook beside the window, dropping it down to the prince so he could climb up to her lonely tower, except they were blonde – not raven black like Eva's. Gerard ran the brush through her rich mane, sniffing a strand in his hand that still reeked of chlorine.

“I've got this awful premonition,” said Eva suddenly.

“Don't be silly! Sophie likes you very much, as do I. She just needs a bit more time to adjust, that's all,”

Eva attempted a smile but it was not sincere. She dreamed the darkest of dreams that night.

They entered the swimming area and Eva's eyes immediately locked on the lifeguard seat. It wasn't Toby who sat on it. Disappointment spread through her like a plague of locusts. She grasped Sophie's hand in hers and walked towards the pool, avoiding a bunch of screaming kids who shoved past them.

“I'm scared, I don't want to swim today,” Sophie groaned.

“What are you scared of? Of yes, I remember,” Eva slapped her forehead, “you're scared of Morgen, right? Is he here today? Show him to me.”

Sophie bowed her head, nibbling at her lower lip.

“He's always here. Hiding in the pool.”