A Fine Cast of Characters - J. Dane Tyler [47]
Later, I discovered a window well cut around a pane in the wall when sunlight trickled into our den of iniquity around its shutters. The shutters were heavy slats and cleats, roughly nailed together, as if made from lumber left over from the lighthouse’s construction. Light spilled delicate through the gaps around them, and I saw her in clarity for the first time as she slept. Her hair spilled over the pillow in a pool and ran down her back. She had a rough woolen blanket pulled over her against the damp of the musty cavern-room.
The sun poured onto the bed just beyond her, and she faced the wall on her side. She seemed like a shadow at dusk, almost gray-blue, like the dingy sheets and charcoal blanket tinted her skin.
I smiled, and the sensations of her rushed back to my memory. I rummaged for my clothes, finally found my jeans and pulled them on. Then a sound sent a shiver down my spine.
I was sure she made it, but it was choked, strangled, as if...
I turned to her. It sounded like she was drowning.
I went to see if she was all right. I touched her shoulder and yanked my hand back as if bitten by a viper.
She was cold. Ice cold. Cold as a puddle in a mausoleum, cold as a frozen lake. My retreating grasp pulled her and she rolled onto her back.
She stared with unseeing eyes, a white cataract over them, her lips black and purple, her swollen blue tongue lolling in her gaping mouth, teeth jaundiced against her grayness. A flaccid strand of kelp twined like a gruesome ribbon through her hair, and movement in her mouth, deep within, sent me scuttling toward the wall as I fell, movement from clicking, hard-shell scavengers, clawing and digging at the flesh of her mouth, feelers wiggling and legs clacking.
I opened my mouth to scream but terror took the wind from my lungs. My blood ran icy and I shut my eyes, cringed away, shielded my face from the mask of death, and then—
I heard the music again, the lilting melody of her voice.
“What’s wrong? What is it?”
I forced my eyes open, forced my face to her, and it was her. Just her, more beautiful for the diffused light in the dust-mote clouded room, propped on one elbow, full breasts against the mattress, her voluptuous curves raising rolling hills under the ratty, thread-bare blanket.
Lines in her face showed worry, fear. I let my breath out slow, but the shiver twisting down my spine made it come out in spurts and gasps. She sat up, radiant and picturesque, like the brush strokes of a great master. She pushed the blanket away, her nakedness vulnerable as she came and hunched before me, took my face in her hands.
“What is it? What’s the matter? Tell me.”
It was just her. Gorgeous, warm, soft, desirable. I threw my arms around her neck and pulled her to me, enfolded her and clung, buried my face in her sweet, flowery hair.
“Nothing,” I whispered. “It was only a dream. A bad dream.”
She held me, her hand stroked the back of my head, her arm crushed me to her. We sat that way for a time, my heartbeat slowed, my breath became calm at last. She pulled away.
“Tell me your dream,” she sang to me, and I almost did. Almost. But I caught myself before it spilled from me under her spell.
“It’s nothing. I’ve already forgotten it.”
“You’re not telling the truth.”
“I am, I promise. It was nothing.”
“Don’t you dream of me?”
I managed a smile and prayed it reached my eyes. “I will forever now.”
Her fingertips traced my cheek. “Where are you going?”
“Going?”
“You’re getting dressed.”
“I’m hungry. You must be too.”
She sighed, laid her head on my chest. “Not now. Maybe later. Will you be gone long?”
“I hoped you’d come with me.”
“No. I’m tired. Do you mind if I rest while you’re gone?”
I stroked her hair, my fingertips light as a zephyr on her skin, I moved my hand until gooseflesh raised on her.
“No, I don’t mind. I’ll be back soon, unless ...”
She waited for me to finish. “Unless?”
“Come home with me.”
She was quiet. I thought I’d made a mistake.
“I-I’m sorry, I meant if you want to.”
She put