Inferno Anthology (143 page)

“Hush, I can’t hear.” Kathryn swats at my leg and I promptly close my mouth. A reporter in front of the historic library is covering the story.

“This evening around seven p.m., Tom Duffy, Executive Director at Kings Capital, and his wife Lois, were confronted by Simon Edwards. Edwards, a former executive partner at Kings who was recently fired, confronted the couple as they were exiting their vehicle to walk the red carpet into the New York City Library Gala, held at Bryant Park. Sources say Edwards allegedly approached the couple with a gun drawn and pointed directly at them.”

One shot was fired but the bullet embedded in a nearby car and no one was injured. Edwards reportedly fled the scene by the time authorities arrived. One eyewitness said they heard Edwards shout threats at his former partner, Tom Duffy. What those exact threats were isn’t being disclosed by the NYPD at this time. However, there is speculation that Edwards’ forced departure from Kings may have fueled tonight’s attempted assault.

Police cordoned off the area and shut down the BDFM subway line for more than two hours. The search for Edwards remains active.

An NYPD spokesman had this to say about the investigation.”

My mind races in disbelief as I try to comprehend what I’m hearing. Simon wanted me dead. He could’ve killed Tom and Lois. Or Tom and then left Lois to raise their unborn child by herself. The child would’ve been just like me, fatherless. The thought sickens me.

The camera cuts away to an interview with the police spokesman. I put aside the thoughts of what could have happened, for now.

“The investigation continues as we try to locate Simon Edwards. We have reason to believe he may have left the New York City area. Currently, the remarks he made during his assault have led us to conclude that his target tonight was specific, not general in nature.”

The police spokesman’s clip is brief and still leaves many questions unanswered. The reporter reappears on the screen and finishes her report by summarizing the events.

A photo of Simon flashes on the screen. It’s Kings Capitals’ official publicity photograph of him. The man I have known since I was nineteen is someone I never really knew at all. How did I not recognize his obviously murderous hatred of me? Surely there were signs before his betrayal, but nothing comes to mind. The reporter continues in her description of Simon.

“Simon Edwards is a thirty-two-year-old Caucasian male, six feet tall with dark brown hair. If you see Edwards, police ask that you call 9-1-1 immediately. Do not approach this individual on your own.”

The evening’s annual library gala was delayed more than an hour as police combed the building, but the show did go on as planned. The gala hosts for the evening, Ron and Nancy Smyth, reported a record-setting night of donations, indicating the incident outside didn’t deter those gathering to support the New York Public Library. Susan Masters reporting live at Bryant Park for Channel 4 news. Back to you, Melissa.”

“Thank you, Susan. In other news…”

The anchor’s voice fades away as I reach for the remote and push the off button. I’ve heard and seen enough about this whole clusterfuck to last a lifetime, but the words of the reporter and the photo of Simon’s face replay in my mind.

I rest my forehead in the palm of my hands, with my elbows digging into my thighs, supporting me as I collapse, mentally drained. Whatever mask I normally wear in these situations is nowhere to be found. My controlled life is falling away. These vulnerable feelings can’t be disguised anymore.

Why did Simon snap? Why does he want to kill me? He wasn’t one to show any emotion, ever. Love or hate were not passions in his vocabulary; he was a man of indifference. Nothing seemed to penetrate his cold disposition. What has occurred tonight is a display of sheer hate directed toward me alone.

“I’m so sorry, Kingsley.” Kathryn’s words soothe me. She places her hands on my slumped back and begins to gently rub circles. Her fingers lightly skate over the fabric of my shirt, marking a needed trail of comfort against my skin.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks me, her voice barely above a whisper.

Raising my head off my hands, I bend my neck slightly and look into her familiar blue eyes. A man could lose his mind staring into them. I've never needed or wanted a friend more than I do right now. And I couldn’t ask for a better or more beautiful one than Kathryn. 

I take a deep breath before I answer her. “What would’ve caused Simon to react so violently toward me? He was already planning on leaving the company to join the one he was giving secrets to. So when the reporter says his recent firing was the cause of tonight’s assault, well, it doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Something definitely triggered his behavior. I’ve seen people respond violently in my practice before, although not this dramatically. Occasionally, individuals who snap from reality can become desperate and lash out at people. You may be the person he blames for his misery, even if you had nothing to do with his situation.”

“I hope you’re right.” I run my fingers through my hair and shake my head in an attempt to free the weight of our discussion from my mind. Turning my attention back toward Kathryn, I smile warmly at her, hoping she’ll let me change the subject.

“I’d rather not discuss Simon and his craziness anymore. It seems pointless to keep rehashing it until we know more about his motives. However, there is something I would like to talk about. Something I’ve been wondering all night.” I lie back against the couch’s cushions. They welcome me, and my upper body relaxes into them, looking for a modicum of rest from the tension. Kathryn appraises me curiously.

“There’s something different about you, Kathryn, in a good way. You’re confident, serene, and seem to have a strong, unflappable inner peace. I’m curious to know if it’s a result of you practicing Tantra?” I prepare myself for her response, as I have no idea how she’ll answer my query. She gazes at me with a sweet smile. She appears to be happy with the question. Hopefully she’ll accommodate me with an answer, because I’m dying to know. 

“Are you curious because it involves sex? Or are you wondering why I chose to practice it?” Her question makes me contemplate my motive. What is the reason behind my curiosity?

“I’ll be honest with you. I am interested in the sex angle, and why you practice it and the effects it has on you.”

“Fair enough.” She looks at me with a keen understanding and shifts closer to me. “I think most people wonder the same thing when I tell them about my association with Tantra.”

She glances down at the couch, as if she’s collecting her thoughts before continuing with her explanation.

“A few years ago I was in a dark place personally. I mentioned my late husband last night at the bar when you asked if I was French. Remember?”

She pauses and looks at me to answer her.

“Of course, I remember. You surprised me with that answer. It was definitely unexpected.” Part of me wants to tell her I’m sorry for her loss, sympathetically acknowledge his death. But I remain silent because she appears ready to resume talking.

“Before I continue, how much do you know about Jean-Paul? You seem to know almost everything about me, and I don’t want to bore you with details you’re already aware of.”

Without thinking, I glance over to the bookcase where Kathryn and Jean-Paul’s wedding picture sits along with the encased silver medal. I turn back to her, and I can see that her eyes have followed mine. She realizes I looked at her memorial to him when she left me alone earlier.

“Okay.” I start my confession on the extent of my knowledge concerning her late husband. “I know he was an Olympic skier who died a few years ago in a skiing accident. I have to admit I looked through your pictures and saw your wedding photo. You two seemed very happy.” Her eyes gaze beyond me like she’s leaving the here and now in a dreamy way. I know she’s reminiscing about him and what they had together. I watch a slow smile form on her lips as she remembers him.

“We were very happy.” She turns back to me now. The smile still lingering on her lips. “I was gutted when he died. I sank into a deep depression. Even getting up to go to work was too much most days. His death was traumatic for me on so many levels. It left me shaken and all alone. From the day he and I met, we were inseparable. He was my life. We were each other’s worlds.”

I want to envy him, hate him even, but I can’t. The feeling doesn’t come to me. Instead I feel sad that she lost someone so dear to her. After my mother’s death, I know losing someone you love deeply is nothing I’d wish upon anyone. I reach for her hand as her eyes fill with tears. When our fingers connect, I realize how much I missed feeling her soft skin against mine.

“He died skiing in the French Alps. An Olympic skier gliding down a semi-steep hill should’ve been nothing out of the ordinary, but he must have hit an unseen mogul. He lost control and veered off course and headed straight into a thick patch of trees. I was watching his movements from above as I skied down toward him.”

She closes her eyes; a few tears fall down her pale cheeks. I move on instinct and wipe them from her face. Their presence is too much for me to stomach. She opens her eyes again and forces a smile through her tears. I want to pull her into my arms and soothe away the pain, but I hold off and wait, choosing to comfort her with words.

“I’m so sorry, Kathryn. I can’t think of anything more horrible than being witness to the accident.” I think back to my nightmares, the ones that still haunt me, and wonder if she has anything similar to them. Imagining the pain Kathryn went through watching her husband die right in front of her eyes; it’s horrific.

“Thanks, Kingsley. I’m sorry to drag you back to that dark place with me. But that’s when I discovered Tantra, or when it saved me. It brought light back into my life.” Her tears are dry now, but I’m still holding her hand, not wanting to let go.

We’ve moved even closer to one another. Our bodies turned toward each other on the couch with our legs now touching at the knees. We’ve once again succumbed to the magnetic pull between us, an unseen energy we can’t seem to control.

She takes a few deep breaths, trying to regain her composure. Her eyelashes still wet from her tears, but her face doesn’t show a trace of the sadness she expressed a short moment ago.

“So Tantra helped you get beyond his death?” I ask, encouraging her to continue.

“It did. The man you met today at the café, Jacques LeBaron, was a fellow psychologist with me in Paris. We’ve known each other since our doctorate studies and remained friends after graduation. Jacques worried that I was withdrawing from life after Jean-Paul’s death, and he feared I wasn’t coping with my loss. I knew he was right, but I had no idea how to feel again. I was very numb at that point. Going through the essential motions of existing. Jacques had practiced Tantra for several years and persuaded me to come to a meeting with him. I agreed to go, but just as friends.”

My jaw tenses at the mention of Frenchie’s name. Jean-Paul is a ghost from her past, but this other man is here in her present. And I don’t care for him being in her life now, sticking his nose in her business like he did earlier when I was with her. I don’t like it, or him, one fucking bit. Over the course of twenty-four hours, I’ve turned into a green-eyed monster. It’s a foreign feeling to me.

“So is this when you began seeing him? After your husband’s death?” My brows pull together; I can’t conceal my feelings for Jacque. 

“Jacques and I have never been together in the true sense of the word. This may be hard for you to hear, but he and I have practiced Tantra together for the past two years. Jacques is very special to me, but I will never love him beyond being my dear friend. Our relationship lacks chemistry, that spark needed for love and a basic attraction. It’s missing, and we both acknowledge it. We respect and care for each other, but without that deep chemistry we’ll never be more than occasional lovers.”

Part of me wants to punch the couch pillows beside me. The other part wants to shout for joy that she doesn’t feel anything more for him than she does.

“I can tell you’re having a hard time with me mentioning Jacques’ name. But enough with the double standard, Kingsley. I’m looking past your countless one-night stands right now.” She crosses her arms over her chest, standing her ground.

“Touché,” I agree with her assessment and throw my hands up in surrender. “Please, go on.”

She brings her arms back down to her lap and leans toward me. The same stance she had before I went all caveman.

“Let me tell you what happened to me emotionally and spiritually when I started practicing Tantra. I’ll leave out the physical part with him. It seems to make you uncomfortable.”

“You picked up on that, did you? Perceptive woman.” My sarcastic laugh follows, lightening the mood between us. “I’d appreciate it. Besides, we have some wild chemistry, don’t you think?”

“You’re winning me over in that department, Mr. Kingsley.” Her eyes dip to my lips, and for a moment I think she’s inviting me to kiss her. But her eyes rise again to mine and her plump, tempting lips move instead. “There is definitely something going on between us. My conclusion on what it is exactly is still pending.”

“All right. The lady finally confesses.” I pump my fist a few inches in the air like I just scored a touchdown.

Her eyes fill with laughter as she giggles. “Back to Tantra, you distracting man.” God, I love to hear her giggling. It’s music to my ears.

“Please continue. Seriously, I want to know how you became the emotionally strong woman you are today.”

“Charmer has to be your middle name.” She teases while reaching for my hand and squeezing it lightly. “Back to my story. During my first meeting, I was so much like you. Curious but unsure what Tantra was about. Also my mood was foul that day. I had grueling counseling sessions with clients and just wanted to go home and sleep. The thought of hanging out with a bunch of people talking about feelings, sex, and love was the last thing I wanted to do, but I went anyway. More like I dragged myself there.”