My Soul Immortal (10 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

To my dismay, Ed calls early the next morning. I’ve just hopped out of the shower. Wrapped in only a towel, I stand in the middle of my living room. I drip all over the carpet while Ed prattles on about burnout and how Sally mentioned I had worked every day since he’d hired me. I argue, but Ed dismisses each attempt. By the end of our conversation, thanks to Sally’s interference and Ed’s generosity, I’ve earned myself a day off, whether I want it or not.

Since I don’t have any plans, the day drags, and I find myself counting the hours until seven. I debate stopping by Old Port Java to see Leah, but that reeks of desperation. The last thing I want to do is scare her off. I’m completely out of my depth. Times have changed, and I’ve adjusted, but not in this area. Courtship in the nineteenth century was so different. There were rules to follow. While I despise the prejudices that accompanied them, I miss the manners and the courtesy. So instead of going to the coffeehouse, I spend the morning reading, or rather, trying to read. By noon, I give up and focus on forgotten chores. After I make my bed, I think of her. I think of her while I’m doing the week’s worth of dishes and while I throw out the trash.

I carefully choose my clothes for the evening, settling on dark-washed jeans and my blue-and-black striped button-down. Finally, close to six thirty, I roll my sleeves up to my forearms and tuck in my trailing shirttails before running a comb through my hair. I show more concern with my appearance tonight than usual. With summer hinting at its arrival, I leave my leather jacket hanging over a kitchen chair.

Hustling down the four flights of stairs, I skip every other step. The man who lives in the apartment across the hall clings to the banister on the second landing. As I barrel past him, I call out an apology but keep going. His grumbles follow me. The protest doesn’t end until the front door swings shut behind me, leaving nothing but the city hum in the air. I catch myself whistling. Nothing can change my mood. Not tonight.

Winding through the streets with purposeful speed, I round the next corner, and the theater comes into view. Waiting patrons spill out the double doors and onto the crowded sidewalk. I weave through the swarm, eagerly scanning the faces for Leah’s. When our eyes finally meet, Leah breaks into a wide, eager grin. On its own, my gaze dives to the hemline that just touches her knees.

Stop gaping at her like the village idiot
. “Is everyone else inside already?” I ask, glancing around.

“No. Rachel and her boyfriend, Tom, decided to go clubbing, and Grady is home sick with some bug. So, it’s just you and me.”

I swallow hard as a flock of seagulls replaces the butterflies in my stomach. Catching sight of a pair of tickets in Leah’s left hand, I grimace. I notice the other women around us have followed the same practice.
Rule change
. Back in my day, the game of courtship came with a different set of rules. Leah’s simple gesture would have sparked gossip, and the scandal would have blackened the girl’s fragile reputation for life. However, those days have long passed, and if I hope to have a chance in hell with this modern-day woman, I need to learn the new etiquette and fast.

“Ready?” Leah asks.

I look up to find the crowd filing into the theater. “Sure.” I can’t disguise the apprehension in my voice.

Leah laughs. “I told you. It’s not going to be that bad.”

I hurry ahead and grab the brass handle, holding open the tall bright-red door. Instinctively, I bow at the waist as she passes. Leah studies me before following the crowd. Inside, I try to convince Leah to let me buy the snacks. “You bought the tickets,” I coax.

She shrugs and leans against the wall. “Fine. I’ll wait here.”

The shrug is a very non-committal gesture that implies a variety of meanings. That’s probably the reason I use the gesture so often. In line at concessions, I find myself overanalyzing Leah’s shrug.
Anger, indifference, annoyance?
I glance in her direction. To my shock, the sapphire-eyed devil is talking to Leah. A stab of sharp panic quickly turns into a frantic need to get to her. I elbow my way through the crowd. The mass of people keeps me away. I jostle against the throng, earning several complaints. I zero in on him as he removes a slender cigarette from a pack. He lights it and takes a long drag, never removing his focus from Leah. The smoke billows over his head as he exhales. She says something with a cool expression, causing him to chuckle and then walk away.

“What did he want?” I ask, trying to sound casual, but my voice cracks.

Leah’s expression shows nothing but confusion.

“That man.” I point to the door, but he’s gone.
Again. Gone!
My mind spews curses, but I hold my tongue tight.

“Oh, him? Nothing. He asked what movie was playing, and I told him he couldn’t smoke in here. Is everything okay?”

“Wait here. I’ll be right back. Please.” My tone is a bit more composed. Still, I must look like a lunatic, but I can’t let go of the fear that he’s now targeting her. Of all the women here tonight, he chose to speak to Leah. That can’t be a coincidence. If that sapphire-eyed devil is planning to hurt Leah in any way, I’ll let loose my inner monster. It can have its way with him.

Outside, I catch a glimpse of him. The sidewalk is too congested for speed, so I swerve into the street. Brakes screech, and a horn blares. I pay them no attention. I weave around cars to get to the opposite sidewalk, where I launch into a run. He disappears into the shadows. My breath comes up too short, and I can’t haul a full gulp of air into my starving lungs. Hands on my knees, I bend to catch my breath.

The first wave of hysteria dissipates, giving me one moment of clear thought before the next breaker crashes over me. My adrenaline spikes. Maybe he wanted me to leave and assumed I would follow. Maybe he doubled back.

I change direction. My pace accelerates as my feet thud against the bricks, urging me to go faster. Traveling those six blocks I came takes forever.

My eyes dart around the lobby. No Leah. Fear thrashes in my chest. I check the two screening rooms, where I earn a couple of choice words when I call her name. She’s nowhere to be found. I charge for the ladies’ room. The door swings open and out walks Leah.

She’s okay. She’s okay
. The wintry tremors subside, replaced by a warm relief, and the rage subdues. I compose my expression then saunter to her side. “Sorry about that. Thought he was an old friend, but it wasn’t him. Could’ve been his twin, though.”

I half expect her to tell me I’m a nutcase and walk off, but she doesn’t. “They say everyone has a
doppelgänger
. Are you ready? The movie’s about to start.”

I nod.

We find two seats in the back of the theater. The lights fade. The monster reveals itself in the opening scene, slaughtering a young, horny couple in a spray of crimson. The beginning of the film holds my attention, but soon, I’m absorbed in thoughts of the couple from the bar two weeks ago. I remember how their eyes stared at me from the picture in the article.

Gentle warmth presses against my leg and drags me out of my grim, bitter thoughts. Electrifying heat races through me. The darkness emphasizes the attraction between us. I debate with myself then reach out and take her hand. A little smile touches her lips. Here in the dark, I make a pledge that nothing will ever harm Leah. No matter the cost.

Before I realize the movie is over, the lights slowly come back on.

“So, what did you think of the movie?” Raising her eyebrows dramatically, Leah tilts her head.

“Hum, it was good.”

“Liar, you weren’t even paying attention.” She laughs.

Busted
. “Of course I was.”

“Okay then, what happened?”

I give her the generic description I heard on a TV ad last night.

She rolls her eyes. “You memorized that from the trailer.”

I grin, throwing my hands in the air. “Okay, you caught me. I missed most of it.”

A playful smile appears on Leah’s face. “Why?”

Her smile makes me bold. “Because there was a beautiful woman sitting next to me. I’m sure not a man in the theater remembers what the movie was about because of you.”

She laughs again. “Please. Is that the best pick-up line you got? It sounds like a line out of a Jane Austen novel. You need to work on your material, but don’t ask Grady. His are even worse.”

I shrug. “I’ve seen it work… in London.” In college, Lydia’s brother was the master of sweet-talking the ladies.
Of course, that was one hundred fifty-three—maybe fifty-four—years ago. Leah’s right, I’m going to need new material.

Leah takes my hand and leads me out of the theater.

I smile.
Or maybe I won’t
.

Out in the cool night air, we walk in silence for several blocks, until I break the quiet. “So you love horror movies. What else do you love?”

“Lots of things. But my all-time favorite is lobster ice cream. They make it for the tourists, but I can’t get enough of the stuff.”

I wrinkle my nose.

“Have you tried it?”

“No.”

“Then don’t judge. Maybe we can go to Lizzy’s Ice Cream, and you can try it sometime.” She smiles. “Well, here we are.”

“I’d like to see you in if you don’t mind.”

Leah nods.

I shadow her into the building, through the lobby full of rowdy students enjoying their night of freedom.

A freckle-faced boy steps into our path. His bloodshot eyes snap to me and then returns to Leah. “Hey, I was waiting for you. This party is epic. You should come down later.”

“No. I don’t think so. Not tonight,” she says.

“More like never. Come on, babe. You’re breaking my heart here.” The boy slurs his words and teeters. He reaches for Leah’s hand but misses.

I imagine the exact sound his snapping neck would make, and a smile tugs at the corners of my lips. I stare down the inebriated boy. I’m able to tame the growl creeping up the back of my throat, but the lingering effects from the incident at the movie theater are still playing with my temper.

Freckle Face steps back, hands flying up as if to surrender.

With a shake of her head, Leah walks up the stairs, and I follow.

“Who’s he?” I ask, looking over my shoulder to see the boy stagger into the crowd.

“Nathan. He’s in the room across the hall.”

“Nice guy.”

“He’s only a moron when he drinks. Nathan’s harmless.”

Uh-huh.

At her door, she fiddles with her keys. Halfway inside, Leah turns. “Thank you.”

“Good night.”

She gives me a penetrating look. My eyes retreat, and her door clicks closed.

Instead of heading back to the solitude of my apartment, I wander the moonlit streets. The air is crisp and clear, but thunder in the distance hints at an approaching storm. I can’t help but see a connection. Despite the happiness Leah has ushered into my life, a heavy cloud of certainty in bruised shades of black and violet looms on the horizon. Heartbreak, abandonment, and loneliness are all certainties. Leah and I aren’t the same. At some point, she will die. Even if I somehow gain her affections, she won’t be mine for long. But that’s the way life is supposed to be—living, breathing, loving, and dying. I’m the screw-up—the anomaly in the master plan. Still, I continue to walk straight toward her like a moth to a flame. My stride doesn’t slow even a little, because somewhere deep inside, I’ve decided the moments with her are worth the unending feelings of loss after she’s gone. My determination is undoubtedly ill-advised, but the course is set. I walk toward my apartment as the first raindrops begin to fall.

Late that night, the sapphire-eyed devil creeps into my dreams. He glowers from the deep recesses of my mind and laughs over Leah’s crumpled corpse, jarring me awake. I kick at my stifling blankets. The thick layers fight against me, then I shove them to the floor.

I get up, yank on my jeans, and grab a T-shirt from the heap in the closet. The four walls are confining, pressing in around me, and I bolt for the door, pulling on the shirt.

After swinging by Leah’s dorm and finding everything quiet, I begin my search for that devil, wandering from bar to bar. With his fondness for expensive scotch, the bars are as good a place as any to start. I know walking into one of the local establishments and finding him lounging at the counter, looking for other lives to screw with, is a long shot. But I have to try.

By closing time, all I’ve found is frustration. I walk down by the wharfs and drink in the calm, cool early morning air. The boats creak against their restraints as briny gusts rattle the rigging stretched along their masts. I perch on the edge of the weathered pier and dangle my legs.

Leah seems to lack the ability to identify danger, wanting to see the good in everything around her—even where it doesn’t exist. Peril could walk right up to her and blow smoke in her face, and she would wish
him
a nice day. Lydia was the same. She saw the good in me, and look what it cost her.

As the night relinquishes control to the coming day, the fishing boats around me sputter and roar to life, shaking me from my dark thoughts. The boats exit the mouth of the harbor and press on toward the open sea. I wonder how I can possibly manage to keep Leah safe.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“T
hanks for doing this for me today,” Ed says as he slides a stack of books onto the counter.

Yesterday, Ed requested a favor. He asks so little of me that I couldn’t say no. So today, a sunny Saturday, I showed up to work in old jeans, ready to paint the storefront of Rare Books a bright, cheerful yellow—Sally’s choice, for sure. I didn’t have any plans anyway. Three words assassinated my schemes: Looming. Art. Assignment. I feel better knowing Leah’s safely barricaded in her dorm room for a few days.

“No problem.” I grab the paint cans and metal scraper Ed left by the door.

Outside, I climb the ladder and begin scraping away years of built-up layers of paint and grime. My motorcycle parked across the street seems to watch my slow progress and beg for an afternoon ride.