Chapter Two
I stepped into the bathroom for a shower. As I undressed, I tried to sort through my jumbled thoughts. Were these odd feelings coming from me or were they a residue of Eloise’s own jumbled emotions? Despite the otherwise beautiful evening, I had the thought that life altering could just as easily be bad as it could be good. But thinking of the complacent existence my life had become, any change would be welcomed.
A sense of agitation suddenly made me shiver. Recently, I’d had the oddest sensation that something inside of me was coming awake and wanted to claw out through my skin. This sensation was often a prelude to my migraine-like headaches. It was during these fitful times that I would have the most vivid dreams. I never remember them when I woke, but I’m always left drained and feeling anxious. I tried one time to talk to Thomas about it, but he never seemed to have time, nor did he ever really seem to want to hear about anything other than how content I was.
My thoughts drifted over to Thomas and his absence on my birthday. He’d been away on business, and he hadn’t even bothered to tell me he was leaving. I didn’t even know how long he’d been gone, and I struggled to remember the last time I’d seen or heard him. It had been days.
Why didn’t he just come by to tell me he was leaving? Was it too much to ask that he notify his wife that he was going to be away? I didn’t even try to suppress the annoyance. I’d had just about enough of his putting work first. When I got back from my walk, I was going to wait for him to get back from wherever he was, and then he and I were going to have a talk. Things needed to change. This was technically my estate, and I was overdue to assert some demands.
Thomas was a large man and could be intimidating when he wanted to be, but I’d known him my entire life, and he did not intimidate me. His temper, however, was another story. Not often was I witness to his fits of rage, but I know he had them. I’d heard them, but luckily, I’d never been the instigator of his anger, and I hoped I never was, but he and I needed to talk whether he wanted to or not.
I showered quickly and dressed in the warm clothes I’d pulled from the wardrobe. I combed through my thick black hair weaving it into a part twist-part braid that my mother showed me how to do. Thinking of my mother, I recalled a jeweled hair band she’d given to me just before she died. I hadn’t seen it in ages. Where was that?
I looked through the drawers in the bathroom but didn’t find it. A thorough examination of my desk drawers resulted in nothing as well. I wasn’t sure why, but I had to find that band. I walked around with one hand holding the end of my hair and the other rummaged through every drawer I could find, but I couldn’t find the jeweled band. Sighing, I walked back into the bathroom and secured the end of my hair with a black rubber band. I would have to look for the jeweled band when I got back.
Walking over to the open wardrobe door, I pulled the pair of binoculars from a hook on the inside wall. Horace had given them to me months ago when I inexplicably began to get restless inside the house. The sensation began the same time I began feeling more emotions. He’d told me that we weren’t meant to be caged in a stone prison, and our inner beast longed for the freedom of the woods. I didn’t understand what he meant, but it almost felt as if some inner beast was itching to be outside tonight.
I reached in the back of the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of hiking boots. I’d purchased them over the internet on a whim, thinking that one day Thomas and I might take a vacation away from here, but, of course, that has never happened.
After my father died, I asked Thomas why I wasn’t allowed to leave the estate, not even to attend my father’s funeral. He explained to me that the estate was in the middle of a dangerous forest. Not only were there many wild animals that could injure or kill me if I wandered in the wrong area, but there were also a lot of hunters. He said I could get injured from a stray bullet or some other weapon they might be using to take down their prey. I never questioned it before, but today I wanted out.
As children, Thomas and I would run to the imposing stone perimeter wall that surrounded the estate grounds. We would climb the large maple trees near the back of the estate and look out over the wall. I never saw any wild animals or hunters. Thomas was obviously allowed to leave, and I know other people came in and out of the estate grounds. Surely, they were in just as much danger as I would be in. Yet, they could come and go as they wished, and I was a prisoner here.
As I laced up the boots and tied them, I made the decision to walk to the stone wall surrounding the property. I’d not been out to the perimeter wall in years. Why had it been so long? It felt as if I’ve been wasting away sulking in my bedroom these last six months. The agitation of my complacency overwhelmed me, and I was suddenly filled with the urgent need to go.
Right now, I was craving freedom, and though I knew I wouldn’t get that, I could do something rebellious and head back to the perimeter wall. Maybe I’d even be adventurous and climb a tree, look over the wall, and wonder what it’s like to not be a prisoner.
I stood and looped the binoculars around my neck. I really hoped I didn’t run into anyone because the need to leave was so desperate, I might have ignored whoever stopped me. Luckily, no one seemed to notice me as I hurried through the house to the back. I heard Eloise and Rosemarie talking in the kitchen as I neared the back entrance. They were discussing something in their native language. I didn’t understand them, but I heard my name several times and knew I was the subject of at least part of their conversation.
On any other day, I would have stopped and tried to listen in on what they were saying to see if I could pick up on a word here or there, but not today. I could see the back door and the agitation inside of me was getting worse the closer I got to the outside. I peeked around the corner of the doorway and saw that both women had their backs to the hallway, so I hurried past them unnoticed. My heart thudded loudly in my chest and to me it sounded like a drum in my ears, but thankfully, no one else seemed to hear.
Finally, I was at the back door and a wave of relief swept over me when I opened it and stepped out into the brisk evening. I could see my breath when I exhaled, and the pounding of my heart seemed louder in my ears. It was drowning out most of the rest of the evening noises. I stepped down the six steps to the stone walkway and began walking out to the garden. If either Rosemarie or Eloise saw me though the window, they would think I was heading there to reflect as I often did, but I would not be stopping there today. I couldn’t remember how far away the perimeter wall was, but I was determined to get there. It was a driving need that gave me focus.
I wandered through the garden and tried to avoid catching the eye of the gardener, Claude Devereux. He was always so suspicious when I was outside, watchful, and seemed to keep an eye on me. Often, Horace would walk with me and when Horace was about, Claude seemed to leave me alone. But Horace was back at the house, and if Claude saw where I was heading, he might follow me or alert someone and reaching the perimeter wall might be delayed or prevented. I flexed my fingers into fists in the attempt to calm my frazzled nerves.
I heard Claude humming, but he was on the other side of the garden. As I opened my mind, I sensed that he was content and generally in a good mood as he hummed along to the rhythmic clip-clip as he trimmed the bushes. I wasn’t looking down at my feet, and I heard Claude stop humming and snipping when my foot stepped on and broke a twig. Without waiting to see if he’d noticed me, I closed my mind and hurried through the shrubs out of his sight. I exhaled in relief when I heard him resume snipping the bushes.
Just beyond the garden was the apple orchard. This time of year, the apples were ripe and sweet. Unable to resist the temptation, I plucked a shiny, red apple from a low hanging branch as I walked by. The apple was cold but refreshing and seemed to calm my frazzled nerves slightly. The urgency was still there to get to the perimeter wall, but I now felt as though I could enjoy the walk out there. I stepped from the orchard as I finished off the last of my apple, chucking the core off to the side for the smaller critters to feast on later that night.
Past the orchard, the trees grew dense, and the moonlight seemed muted, being filtered through the thick canopy of the maple trees. Off to the one side, I saw a beautiful owl sitting majestically on one of the branches. I lifted the binoculars and focused on the image. I flipped the switch to turn on the night vision and could see the owl looking directly at me. I’ve always been able to sense the emotions of other people but only within these last few months, I’ve noticed that, on the rare occasion I’m outside, that I can almost sense the emotional state of mind of the wild animals around me when I concentrate.
Animals don’t have the same emotional mindset as humans do. They tend to be more simplistic and natural in their feelings. Animals don’t sit and ponder whether the large dog sitting in front of them is going to pounce and attack, the animal just knows it will and leaves. It’s purely survival. Whereas humans tend to think things to death, and the palette of emotions is a whole lot more complex.
As I focused, I sensed the bird was leery of me but didn’t sense that I was a threat to him. He was perched on the branch surveying the area for mice. He was hungry and was a little irritated that I was standing there because with me there, no mice would come close.
To avoid irritating him further, I lowered the binoculars, preparing to continue on my journey. As I let the binoculars drop and bounce off my stomach, I inhaled, and the faintest scent of cinnamon tickled my nose. My thoughts drifted back to the nights I’d spent with my mother. She would tell me about Gypsy folklore, and we would keep warm from the blazing fire in the fireplace. On special occasions, my mother would burn wood chips from a cinnamon tree, and as the bark burned, the room was filled with the delightful smell of cinnamon. The scent brought me peace and comfort.
Why had I never smelled that we had cinnamon trees growing on or near the estate? I’d walked in these woods countless times for thirty years. I never smelled cinnamon before. Inexplicably, my heart began to race as if I’d hiked kilometers rather than the short distance I had. Something was off. I could feel it. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and some inner beast, as Horace put it, stirred, and urged me to move. Get back to the perimeter wall. I locked my shield back up and took off in a jog, startling the poor owl to the point that he flew away to find another branch to perch on.
The cold, grey, stone wall came into view, and my breath clouded in front of me as I huffed with excitement. I’d never been beyond the perimeter wall, and the thrill of being so close to where I was forbidden to go, along with the odd sensations of anxiety, curiosity, and apprehension from earlier, made me pause just short of the stone surface. Forgetting the slight cramping of my feet and legs from the unexpected jog, I stepped up and touched the cold, rough surface.
The wall had obviously been constructed after the forest had been established because even though the estate was old, looking up, I could see the tall, thick tree trunks beyond. The trees were old and majestic, and the perimeter wall seemed to dissect the forest separating the older trees from the smaller ones inside the estate boundaries.
My breath, at last, seemed to slow but the delightful scent of cinnamon seemed stronger, as if there was a forest of cassia trees just beyond the wall. Determined now to find the source of the smell, I walked amongst the brush, running my fingertips along the rough stone surface as I went.
My mother would often tell me stories about the forest surrounding the outside of the estate. From her vivid descriptions of the thick tree trunks and the troves of colorful wildflowers, I knew at one point, she’d been off the estate. When she would tell the stories, I would close my eyes and could almost see the green leaves and the thick moss. I could feel the happiness inside my mother at those memories, but when I would ask when she was out there, her mood would turn sad, and she’d change the subject.
My toe caught on something, jolting my thoughts back to the present as I almost fell face-first into the bush in front of me. Looking down, I saw a large stone littering the ground. The stone was the same color as the wall. There was another stone a few steps beyond and more beyond that.
About fifty paces from the first rock, I came to a crack in the wall. A crack might not be the right word, almost a fissure in the wall. Leaning forward and running my fingertips along the jagged surface, I could see tool marks. Someone had made this breach deliberately. But who? Why?
The opening was too small for an adult male to squeeze through, but it was just the right size for me to slip through if I held my breath and turned slightly to the side. I took a cautious step to stand directly in front of the opening. I could see the forest beyond the estate. My heart again pounded in my chest. This was a way for me to explore the land beyond the wall.
Should I go? I turned, feeling suddenly as if I was not alone. Had Claude seen me and followed me? Or maybe it was the person who had chiseled the opening.
I listened for a full minute, but the only sounds I heard were my own shallow breathing and the pounding of my heart in my ears. I turned back to the opening. I could slip through and just explore the immediate area. When I was done, I could simply slip back inside. No one would know that I had been outside the estate.
I lifted the binoculars and adjusted the focus to view the trunk of a near-by tree. The textures were almost a form of art in the way the design was so jagged and the way the moonlight played off the bark, making the scene look almost enchanted. The trunk of the tree had to be nearly a meter. I doubted that I could grasp my wrists if I were to wrap my arms around it.
I moved the lenses up the trunk to the beautiful leaves. This was a maple tree. I could tell from the shape of the leaves. All the rain this last week seemed to bring out the colors. The cooler weather had caused the leaves to begin changing for the season and the faint smell of burning leaves assaulted my nose. But over that was that delightful scent of cinnamon. Where in the world was that coming from?
I brought the lens back down and caught movement of something behind the tree. It was just a scrap of something black that ducked out of my sight.
I gasped. It could have been a squirrel or some similar animal. I opened my mind to see if I could pick up on the animal’s primitive emotions, but what I sensed was not quite as instinctual as an animal nor was it as complex as a human. Inhaling, the scent of cinnamon was so strong it was as if a new handful of chips had just been thrown on the fire and my mother was settling in to tell me how her ancestors had made the voyage from far off Romania to the remote island in Canada she’d told me she was from.
What was out there? Extending my senses farther, the emotions I was sensing told me the movement wasn’t a figment of my imagination. Something was behind the large trunk of the tree, something with the emotional state not quite as simplistic as an animal and not as complex as a human.
I lifted the binoculars and focused in on the area where I first saw the movement, and I waited. I was leaning. My body filled the crack in the wall, and my head was on the other side.
When I saw a face peek out from behind the tree trunk, I nearly dropped the binoculars. The image was there and gone so quickly I couldn’t make out any specific details other than the figure was a man.
“Bonjour, monsieur,” I said into the empty space. There was no reply, but I knew he was still there behind the tree. I kept my mind open, so I’d be able to sense if he posed any threat.
I didn’t consider myself brave, scoffing in the face of danger and thriving on the adrenaline rush of life-threatening risks. I’d never had to be. I was protected and sheltered by my father, and after his death, by Thomas. I rarely watched movies on television that would get my active imagination hearing noises when the lights went out, nor did I engage in books that had a similar response. I pretty much led a safe, boring life, which was why I was so startled by my own desire to squeeze completely through the crack and walk around the tree to see who was back there.
For all I knew, this man meant me harm, but I didn’t sense aggression or anger from him. I sensed curiosity and more interesting was a swirling combination of emotions I’d never sensed before. Chill bumps broke out on my arms and the stirring inside me that urged me to come back to the wall practically screamed at me to go to the man.
“Bonjour?” I called out again. “Hello?” I tried in English when again I got no response.
Determined to potentially endanger myself, I sucked in my breath and squeezed through the crack to stand fully outside the perimeter wall for the first time. The feeling of freedom would have to be pushed down so I could focus on the man behind the tree. Something about him drew me. I took a cautious step struggling to calm both my quivering knees and my erratic breathing.
I managed a dozen steps before I paused. Just as I was about to move closer, the figure stepped from behind the tree and looked at me.
The man was larger than me but not quite as tall as Thomas. Ha had a stockier in physique. His thick legs were encased in dark jeans and hiking boots. His powerful arms and chest were covered with a large black sweatshirt. The hood of the shirt was pulled over the man’s head so I couldn’t make out any of his features other than his brilliant eyes. He had the most vivid green eyes I’d ever seen. They were as green as the wet moss on the ground, and they seemed to glow in the dim forest floor light. I could feel his eyes on me, watching me like a predator watched its prey.
I opened my mouth to speak but my voice had left me. I wasn’t exactly scared, more apprehensively cautious. My grip on the binoculars weakened and they again crashed into my belly and bounced off my sweater.
The man sniffed the air as an animal would, and the odd combination of emotions I felt from him intensified. I could almost feel the tension radiating off him, and the rigid way he held himself still looked as if he had an invisible tether keeping him from coming any closer to me.
“Bonjour,” I said again in a quiet, wobbly voice.
A deep, low primal growl erupted from his throat, and I swallowed the fear that rose in me. The sound was something that would come from a wild animal, and I suddenly was afraid for my safety. The man removed his large hands from the pocket in front of his shirt and held them at his side. His thick, muscular legs were shoulder width apart, and I knew there was no way I could win if this man decided to attack me.
What had I been thinking by leaving the estate? Hadn’t I been told my entire life that it was dangerous beyond the wall? And what had I done? I’d gone and put myself in danger at the very first opportunity. I could only hope this wasn’t the life-altering event my mother had warned me about because I had the feeling this man … this animal that looked like a man … was going to eat me for breakfast.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw that I was only about a meter from the opening in the wall and the man was almost twenty meters away from me. If I made a run for it, I could squeeze back through the opening to safety. The man was much too large to fit through the crack after me.
I took a deep breath and turned, making a dash for the opening. Just as I ducked my head down to squeeze back through, I felt an arm grab me around the waist and a hand covered my mouth just as the startled squeak erupted from my throat. I was pulled back against a hard surface only to realize the hardness was the man’s body. He held me against him, my feet dangling off the ground.
As his skin contacted mine, I was flooded with the most intense jolt I’d ever experienced. It felt like a lightning strike. Not that I’d ever been struck by lightning, but it was as I imagined it would feel to be struck by lightning. I stiffened as this stranger’s emotions mingled with mine and practically bombarded my mind.
There were too many things going on inside this stranger for me to process. His emotions were intense, magnified ten times greater than anything I’d felt from anyone else. They were so overwhelming, my own emotions seemed to short-circuit with the sudden influx. My body began tingling where our skin touched, and that scared me since I’d never felt emotions this strong before.
I struggled and cried out against the hand covering my mouth, but he was too strong and his grip too tight.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he hissed in my ear. His face was right next to mine, and I could feel his hot breath on my skin. He spoke in English. His voice sounded gravelly, as if he used it infrequently, and held an accent that I didn’t recognize. It was like Horace’s but not quite.
His body was so much bigger and stronger than mine and the way he held me so effortlessly off the ground made me wonder if he spoke the truth or if I was going to die. No one knew I was out here, and no one would come looking for me until I didn’t show up for dinner.
“Do you understand,” he asked. The sound right against my ear made me flinch. The scent of cinnamon was overwhelming my senses. It had to be coming from this man. A strange soap or cologne to wear. I tried to calm myself enough to read his emotions to know if he spoke the truth or if he meant me harm, but the fear coursing through my veins was all I could focus on. My heart pounded in my chest, and my breath came in terrified puffs from my nose.
“Do you understand,” he asked again slower and softer.
Slowly, I nodded my head.
His grip over my mouth loosened slightly, and he slowly lowered me so that my feet were touching the ground. As soon as I felt the grass, I began to struggle and his grip around my waist tightened again.
He bent to press his cheek against mine and rub as if he were a lover and we’d been reunited after many years apart. As he held me, he inhaled, his nose right against my skin, the action more erotic than aggressive. He held me tightly against him and when he lowered his face to my neck, I lost all ability to move. Who was this man and why had I stopped struggling to get away from him? A virtual stranger was holding me, and I was doing nothing to rebuke his actions. I should be screaming for help instead of softly sighing into the still forest.
My heart pounded, only now it wasn’t from fear but out of desire for this cinnamon-scented stranger with the beautiful green eyes. My blood pounded through my veins and my breath huffed out in gasps. Everywhere his skin touched mine, small tingles of sensation shot through me, and I was embarrassed to admit that I could feel my body weeping with arousal.
“What’s your name?” His lips brushed against my neck and his breath warmed my skin. He moved his hand away from my mouth and slid it across my chest to cup my shoulder, his arm fully in front of me and the arm around my waist securing me in an intimate embrace.
I opened my mouth to speak but no sound came out. The sensations were building, and I swear my body began moving against his like a wonton lover.
“Tell me your name,” he urged, his voice softer, raspier.
“My … my name is Céline.”
A sense of agitation suddenly made me shiver. Recently, I’d had the oddest sensation that something inside of me was coming awake and wanted to claw out through my skin. This sensation was often a prelude to my migraine-like headaches. It was during these fitful times that I would have the most vivid dreams. I never remember them when I woke, but I’m always left drained and feeling anxious. I tried one time to talk to Thomas about it, but he never seemed to have time, nor did he ever really seem to want to hear about anything other than how content I was.
My thoughts drifted over to Thomas and his absence on my birthday. He’d been away on business, and he hadn’t even bothered to tell me he was leaving. I didn’t even know how long he’d been gone, and I struggled to remember the last time I’d seen or heard him. It had been days.
Why didn’t he just come by to tell me he was leaving? Was it too much to ask that he notify his wife that he was going to be away? I didn’t even try to suppress the annoyance. I’d had just about enough of his putting work first. When I got back from my walk, I was going to wait for him to get back from wherever he was, and then he and I were going to have a talk. Things needed to change. This was technically my estate, and I was overdue to assert some demands.
Thomas was a large man and could be intimidating when he wanted to be, but I’d known him my entire life, and he did not intimidate me. His temper, however, was another story. Not often was I witness to his fits of rage, but I know he had them. I’d heard them, but luckily, I’d never been the instigator of his anger, and I hoped I never was, but he and I needed to talk whether he wanted to or not.
I showered quickly and dressed in the warm clothes I’d pulled from the wardrobe. I combed through my thick black hair weaving it into a part twist-part braid that my mother showed me how to do. Thinking of my mother, I recalled a jeweled hair band she’d given to me just before she died. I hadn’t seen it in ages. Where was that?
I looked through the drawers in the bathroom but didn’t find it. A thorough examination of my desk drawers resulted in nothing as well. I wasn’t sure why, but I had to find that band. I walked around with one hand holding the end of my hair and the other rummaged through every drawer I could find, but I couldn’t find the jeweled band. Sighing, I walked back into the bathroom and secured the end of my hair with a black rubber band. I would have to look for the jeweled band when I got back.
Walking over to the open wardrobe door, I pulled the pair of binoculars from a hook on the inside wall. Horace had given them to me months ago when I inexplicably began to get restless inside the house. The sensation began the same time I began feeling more emotions. He’d told me that we weren’t meant to be caged in a stone prison, and our inner beast longed for the freedom of the woods. I didn’t understand what he meant, but it almost felt as if some inner beast was itching to be outside tonight.
I reached in the back of the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of hiking boots. I’d purchased them over the internet on a whim, thinking that one day Thomas and I might take a vacation away from here, but, of course, that has never happened.
After my father died, I asked Thomas why I wasn’t allowed to leave the estate, not even to attend my father’s funeral. He explained to me that the estate was in the middle of a dangerous forest. Not only were there many wild animals that could injure or kill me if I wandered in the wrong area, but there were also a lot of hunters. He said I could get injured from a stray bullet or some other weapon they might be using to take down their prey. I never questioned it before, but today I wanted out.
As children, Thomas and I would run to the imposing stone perimeter wall that surrounded the estate grounds. We would climb the large maple trees near the back of the estate and look out over the wall. I never saw any wild animals or hunters. Thomas was obviously allowed to leave, and I know other people came in and out of the estate grounds. Surely, they were in just as much danger as I would be in. Yet, they could come and go as they wished, and I was a prisoner here.
As I laced up the boots and tied them, I made the decision to walk to the stone wall surrounding the property. I’d not been out to the perimeter wall in years. Why had it been so long? It felt as if I’ve been wasting away sulking in my bedroom these last six months. The agitation of my complacency overwhelmed me, and I was suddenly filled with the urgent need to go.
Right now, I was craving freedom, and though I knew I wouldn’t get that, I could do something rebellious and head back to the perimeter wall. Maybe I’d even be adventurous and climb a tree, look over the wall, and wonder what it’s like to not be a prisoner.
I stood and looped the binoculars around my neck. I really hoped I didn’t run into anyone because the need to leave was so desperate, I might have ignored whoever stopped me. Luckily, no one seemed to notice me as I hurried through the house to the back. I heard Eloise and Rosemarie talking in the kitchen as I neared the back entrance. They were discussing something in their native language. I didn’t understand them, but I heard my name several times and knew I was the subject of at least part of their conversation.
On any other day, I would have stopped and tried to listen in on what they were saying to see if I could pick up on a word here or there, but not today. I could see the back door and the agitation inside of me was getting worse the closer I got to the outside. I peeked around the corner of the doorway and saw that both women had their backs to the hallway, so I hurried past them unnoticed. My heart thudded loudly in my chest and to me it sounded like a drum in my ears, but thankfully, no one else seemed to hear.
Finally, I was at the back door and a wave of relief swept over me when I opened it and stepped out into the brisk evening. I could see my breath when I exhaled, and the pounding of my heart seemed louder in my ears. It was drowning out most of the rest of the evening noises. I stepped down the six steps to the stone walkway and began walking out to the garden. If either Rosemarie or Eloise saw me though the window, they would think I was heading there to reflect as I often did, but I would not be stopping there today. I couldn’t remember how far away the perimeter wall was, but I was determined to get there. It was a driving need that gave me focus.
I wandered through the garden and tried to avoid catching the eye of the gardener, Claude Devereux. He was always so suspicious when I was outside, watchful, and seemed to keep an eye on me. Often, Horace would walk with me and when Horace was about, Claude seemed to leave me alone. But Horace was back at the house, and if Claude saw where I was heading, he might follow me or alert someone and reaching the perimeter wall might be delayed or prevented. I flexed my fingers into fists in the attempt to calm my frazzled nerves.
I heard Claude humming, but he was on the other side of the garden. As I opened my mind, I sensed that he was content and generally in a good mood as he hummed along to the rhythmic clip-clip as he trimmed the bushes. I wasn’t looking down at my feet, and I heard Claude stop humming and snipping when my foot stepped on and broke a twig. Without waiting to see if he’d noticed me, I closed my mind and hurried through the shrubs out of his sight. I exhaled in relief when I heard him resume snipping the bushes.
Just beyond the garden was the apple orchard. This time of year, the apples were ripe and sweet. Unable to resist the temptation, I plucked a shiny, red apple from a low hanging branch as I walked by. The apple was cold but refreshing and seemed to calm my frazzled nerves slightly. The urgency was still there to get to the perimeter wall, but I now felt as though I could enjoy the walk out there. I stepped from the orchard as I finished off the last of my apple, chucking the core off to the side for the smaller critters to feast on later that night.
Past the orchard, the trees grew dense, and the moonlight seemed muted, being filtered through the thick canopy of the maple trees. Off to the one side, I saw a beautiful owl sitting majestically on one of the branches. I lifted the binoculars and focused on the image. I flipped the switch to turn on the night vision and could see the owl looking directly at me. I’ve always been able to sense the emotions of other people but only within these last few months, I’ve noticed that, on the rare occasion I’m outside, that I can almost sense the emotional state of mind of the wild animals around me when I concentrate.
Animals don’t have the same emotional mindset as humans do. They tend to be more simplistic and natural in their feelings. Animals don’t sit and ponder whether the large dog sitting in front of them is going to pounce and attack, the animal just knows it will and leaves. It’s purely survival. Whereas humans tend to think things to death, and the palette of emotions is a whole lot more complex.
As I focused, I sensed the bird was leery of me but didn’t sense that I was a threat to him. He was perched on the branch surveying the area for mice. He was hungry and was a little irritated that I was standing there because with me there, no mice would come close.
To avoid irritating him further, I lowered the binoculars, preparing to continue on my journey. As I let the binoculars drop and bounce off my stomach, I inhaled, and the faintest scent of cinnamon tickled my nose. My thoughts drifted back to the nights I’d spent with my mother. She would tell me about Gypsy folklore, and we would keep warm from the blazing fire in the fireplace. On special occasions, my mother would burn wood chips from a cinnamon tree, and as the bark burned, the room was filled with the delightful smell of cinnamon. The scent brought me peace and comfort.
Why had I never smelled that we had cinnamon trees growing on or near the estate? I’d walked in these woods countless times for thirty years. I never smelled cinnamon before. Inexplicably, my heart began to race as if I’d hiked kilometers rather than the short distance I had. Something was off. I could feel it. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and some inner beast, as Horace put it, stirred, and urged me to move. Get back to the perimeter wall. I locked my shield back up and took off in a jog, startling the poor owl to the point that he flew away to find another branch to perch on.
The cold, grey, stone wall came into view, and my breath clouded in front of me as I huffed with excitement. I’d never been beyond the perimeter wall, and the thrill of being so close to where I was forbidden to go, along with the odd sensations of anxiety, curiosity, and apprehension from earlier, made me pause just short of the stone surface. Forgetting the slight cramping of my feet and legs from the unexpected jog, I stepped up and touched the cold, rough surface.
The wall had obviously been constructed after the forest had been established because even though the estate was old, looking up, I could see the tall, thick tree trunks beyond. The trees were old and majestic, and the perimeter wall seemed to dissect the forest separating the older trees from the smaller ones inside the estate boundaries.
My breath, at last, seemed to slow but the delightful scent of cinnamon seemed stronger, as if there was a forest of cassia trees just beyond the wall. Determined now to find the source of the smell, I walked amongst the brush, running my fingertips along the rough stone surface as I went.
My mother would often tell me stories about the forest surrounding the outside of the estate. From her vivid descriptions of the thick tree trunks and the troves of colorful wildflowers, I knew at one point, she’d been off the estate. When she would tell the stories, I would close my eyes and could almost see the green leaves and the thick moss. I could feel the happiness inside my mother at those memories, but when I would ask when she was out there, her mood would turn sad, and she’d change the subject.
My toe caught on something, jolting my thoughts back to the present as I almost fell face-first into the bush in front of me. Looking down, I saw a large stone littering the ground. The stone was the same color as the wall. There was another stone a few steps beyond and more beyond that.
About fifty paces from the first rock, I came to a crack in the wall. A crack might not be the right word, almost a fissure in the wall. Leaning forward and running my fingertips along the jagged surface, I could see tool marks. Someone had made this breach deliberately. But who? Why?
The opening was too small for an adult male to squeeze through, but it was just the right size for me to slip through if I held my breath and turned slightly to the side. I took a cautious step to stand directly in front of the opening. I could see the forest beyond the estate. My heart again pounded in my chest. This was a way for me to explore the land beyond the wall.
Should I go? I turned, feeling suddenly as if I was not alone. Had Claude seen me and followed me? Or maybe it was the person who had chiseled the opening.
I listened for a full minute, but the only sounds I heard were my own shallow breathing and the pounding of my heart in my ears. I turned back to the opening. I could slip through and just explore the immediate area. When I was done, I could simply slip back inside. No one would know that I had been outside the estate.
I lifted the binoculars and adjusted the focus to view the trunk of a near-by tree. The textures were almost a form of art in the way the design was so jagged and the way the moonlight played off the bark, making the scene look almost enchanted. The trunk of the tree had to be nearly a meter. I doubted that I could grasp my wrists if I were to wrap my arms around it.
I moved the lenses up the trunk to the beautiful leaves. This was a maple tree. I could tell from the shape of the leaves. All the rain this last week seemed to bring out the colors. The cooler weather had caused the leaves to begin changing for the season and the faint smell of burning leaves assaulted my nose. But over that was that delightful scent of cinnamon. Where in the world was that coming from?
I brought the lens back down and caught movement of something behind the tree. It was just a scrap of something black that ducked out of my sight.
I gasped. It could have been a squirrel or some similar animal. I opened my mind to see if I could pick up on the animal’s primitive emotions, but what I sensed was not quite as instinctual as an animal nor was it as complex as a human. Inhaling, the scent of cinnamon was so strong it was as if a new handful of chips had just been thrown on the fire and my mother was settling in to tell me how her ancestors had made the voyage from far off Romania to the remote island in Canada she’d told me she was from.
What was out there? Extending my senses farther, the emotions I was sensing told me the movement wasn’t a figment of my imagination. Something was behind the large trunk of the tree, something with the emotional state not quite as simplistic as an animal and not as complex as a human.
I lifted the binoculars and focused in on the area where I first saw the movement, and I waited. I was leaning. My body filled the crack in the wall, and my head was on the other side.
When I saw a face peek out from behind the tree trunk, I nearly dropped the binoculars. The image was there and gone so quickly I couldn’t make out any specific details other than the figure was a man.
“Bonjour, monsieur,” I said into the empty space. There was no reply, but I knew he was still there behind the tree. I kept my mind open, so I’d be able to sense if he posed any threat.
I didn’t consider myself brave, scoffing in the face of danger and thriving on the adrenaline rush of life-threatening risks. I’d never had to be. I was protected and sheltered by my father, and after his death, by Thomas. I rarely watched movies on television that would get my active imagination hearing noises when the lights went out, nor did I engage in books that had a similar response. I pretty much led a safe, boring life, which was why I was so startled by my own desire to squeeze completely through the crack and walk around the tree to see who was back there.
For all I knew, this man meant me harm, but I didn’t sense aggression or anger from him. I sensed curiosity and more interesting was a swirling combination of emotions I’d never sensed before. Chill bumps broke out on my arms and the stirring inside me that urged me to come back to the wall practically screamed at me to go to the man.
“Bonjour?” I called out again. “Hello?” I tried in English when again I got no response.
Determined to potentially endanger myself, I sucked in my breath and squeezed through the crack to stand fully outside the perimeter wall for the first time. The feeling of freedom would have to be pushed down so I could focus on the man behind the tree. Something about him drew me. I took a cautious step struggling to calm both my quivering knees and my erratic breathing.
I managed a dozen steps before I paused. Just as I was about to move closer, the figure stepped from behind the tree and looked at me.
The man was larger than me but not quite as tall as Thomas. Ha had a stockier in physique. His thick legs were encased in dark jeans and hiking boots. His powerful arms and chest were covered with a large black sweatshirt. The hood of the shirt was pulled over the man’s head so I couldn’t make out any of his features other than his brilliant eyes. He had the most vivid green eyes I’d ever seen. They were as green as the wet moss on the ground, and they seemed to glow in the dim forest floor light. I could feel his eyes on me, watching me like a predator watched its prey.
I opened my mouth to speak but my voice had left me. I wasn’t exactly scared, more apprehensively cautious. My grip on the binoculars weakened and they again crashed into my belly and bounced off my sweater.
The man sniffed the air as an animal would, and the odd combination of emotions I felt from him intensified. I could almost feel the tension radiating off him, and the rigid way he held himself still looked as if he had an invisible tether keeping him from coming any closer to me.
“Bonjour,” I said again in a quiet, wobbly voice.
A deep, low primal growl erupted from his throat, and I swallowed the fear that rose in me. The sound was something that would come from a wild animal, and I suddenly was afraid for my safety. The man removed his large hands from the pocket in front of his shirt and held them at his side. His thick, muscular legs were shoulder width apart, and I knew there was no way I could win if this man decided to attack me.
What had I been thinking by leaving the estate? Hadn’t I been told my entire life that it was dangerous beyond the wall? And what had I done? I’d gone and put myself in danger at the very first opportunity. I could only hope this wasn’t the life-altering event my mother had warned me about because I had the feeling this man … this animal that looked like a man … was going to eat me for breakfast.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw that I was only about a meter from the opening in the wall and the man was almost twenty meters away from me. If I made a run for it, I could squeeze back through the opening to safety. The man was much too large to fit through the crack after me.
I took a deep breath and turned, making a dash for the opening. Just as I ducked my head down to squeeze back through, I felt an arm grab me around the waist and a hand covered my mouth just as the startled squeak erupted from my throat. I was pulled back against a hard surface only to realize the hardness was the man’s body. He held me against him, my feet dangling off the ground.
As his skin contacted mine, I was flooded with the most intense jolt I’d ever experienced. It felt like a lightning strike. Not that I’d ever been struck by lightning, but it was as I imagined it would feel to be struck by lightning. I stiffened as this stranger’s emotions mingled with mine and practically bombarded my mind.
There were too many things going on inside this stranger for me to process. His emotions were intense, magnified ten times greater than anything I’d felt from anyone else. They were so overwhelming, my own emotions seemed to short-circuit with the sudden influx. My body began tingling where our skin touched, and that scared me since I’d never felt emotions this strong before.
I struggled and cried out against the hand covering my mouth, but he was too strong and his grip too tight.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he hissed in my ear. His face was right next to mine, and I could feel his hot breath on my skin. He spoke in English. His voice sounded gravelly, as if he used it infrequently, and held an accent that I didn’t recognize. It was like Horace’s but not quite.
His body was so much bigger and stronger than mine and the way he held me so effortlessly off the ground made me wonder if he spoke the truth or if I was going to die. No one knew I was out here, and no one would come looking for me until I didn’t show up for dinner.
“Do you understand,” he asked. The sound right against my ear made me flinch. The scent of cinnamon was overwhelming my senses. It had to be coming from this man. A strange soap or cologne to wear. I tried to calm myself enough to read his emotions to know if he spoke the truth or if he meant me harm, but the fear coursing through my veins was all I could focus on. My heart pounded in my chest, and my breath came in terrified puffs from my nose.
“Do you understand,” he asked again slower and softer.
Slowly, I nodded my head.
His grip over my mouth loosened slightly, and he slowly lowered me so that my feet were touching the ground. As soon as I felt the grass, I began to struggle and his grip around my waist tightened again.
He bent to press his cheek against mine and rub as if he were a lover and we’d been reunited after many years apart. As he held me, he inhaled, his nose right against my skin, the action more erotic than aggressive. He held me tightly against him and when he lowered his face to my neck, I lost all ability to move. Who was this man and why had I stopped struggling to get away from him? A virtual stranger was holding me, and I was doing nothing to rebuke his actions. I should be screaming for help instead of softly sighing into the still forest.
My heart pounded, only now it wasn’t from fear but out of desire for this cinnamon-scented stranger with the beautiful green eyes. My blood pounded through my veins and my breath huffed out in gasps. Everywhere his skin touched mine, small tingles of sensation shot through me, and I was embarrassed to admit that I could feel my body weeping with arousal.
“What’s your name?” His lips brushed against my neck and his breath warmed my skin. He moved his hand away from my mouth and slid it across my chest to cup my shoulder, his arm fully in front of me and the arm around my waist securing me in an intimate embrace.
I opened my mouth to speak but no sound came out. The sensations were building, and I swear my body began moving against his like a wonton lover.
“Tell me your name,” he urged, his voice softer, raspier.
“My … my name is Céline.”
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