So, I haven't done this in a while, but I don't own anything. Really, nothing, not Phantom, not The Beatles or the song of theirs I use, and wow, I don't know if any of y'all realize this, but it is really hard to function without a left shift key. Mine fell off, and typing like this is just awkward. Sorry for the delay in updates.
"You only think you've let go. You only think you understand. Poor Kyrie, you'll have to dive in." His voice was its usual deep resonance…profound wisdom. The greatest kindness and empathy, always beneath the stern morality; his form, tall and rigid, proud, sunk slowly into the black water.
She saw the alligator circling like a shark, waiting for the kill.
"What would you think if I sang out of tune?"
Erik's voice teased the lobe of her ear, sending shivers down her spine and simultaneous heat throughout her body. His lips brushed the nape of her neck, and like a surreal cloak, his arms draped around her waist.
She leaned into him, relishing the feeling of his secure body. He took her shoulders and turned her to face him. His eyes were wild orbs of enthrallment; she couldn't look away.
"Would you stand up and walk out on me?" A glorious hand cupped the side of her face and drew her into him. Vaguely, she tried to nod.
His lips hit hers and came to life with the fire of Phoenix. She'd never experienced such passion, and found her hands wandering through his thick, dark hair, or across his exposed chest, desperately seeking more.
He broke off the kiss and leaned toward her ear. "I need somebody to love."
She remembered her grandfather, and pulled away from him, running to the water's edge. "He didn't let me go under. I let him die."
Erik's strong arms pulled her away. "He told you himself, Kyrie, you have to let go."
She awoke with a start; the damp ground soaked through the seat her blue jeans, and her hands were darkened by earth.
Beauregard stared at her from mere feet away, worried about his vulnerable mistress. She smiled at him reassuringly.
She glanced at the sky, dawn had yet to break; if she didn't leave right away, she would never make it back downtown in time for the trial. Awendaw was a good forty minute drive.
Lee looked solemnly at her grandfather's tombstone. William David Lee, husband, father, hero, who could have known that the great man had a heart condition?
She'd never fallen asleep out there before. Though her slumber had been short, it was nonetheless unnerving. That wasn't the first dream she'd had about Erik.
"Next year, Granddaddy."
October the fourth was, inevitably, a bad day for Lee. Had she a choice in the matter, she would have opted to take a sick day. But the case she'd been working was not as hopeless as foreseen, and the defense was sadistically dragging things out, calling far too many character witnesses.
Fortunately when it came to character, the witnesses called by the defense were sketchy at best, and Lee had no problem exposing their moral fiber, or lack thereof, to the jury.
The problem was with the defendant himself. Snider, the bastard, was smart, smarter than his defense attorney, and had a way with words. He possessed a certain charm, which was not lost on the jury. The twenty something blonde in seat ten was a goner for sure; there was nothing Lee could do but rely on the other jurors to sway her.
And then there was the mother. The bitch sided with her rapist boyfriend over her own daughter. It made Lee sick, and if it were up to her, they'd both be thrown in jail.
The trial dragged on. The DA grilled them during deliberation, and the past three days of sleepless contemplation finally caught up with her.
Things were blurred together. Saturday night was the last time she remembered sleeping for more than two hours. She woke up Sunday, still on the couch, but the heat keeping her bare feet warm came, not from her endearing masked man, but from her loyal canine.
He'd started a pot of coffee before leaving, and left her a sketch of a Gladiolus, she didn't know which species. Beside the drawing, in script nearly as inelegant as her own, he'd scribbled a short note.
Wonderful coffee maker, horrible coffee, really, Jack Daniels flavored? I believe you have a problem. I'll be in touch. –Erik
That was Sunday. Now, Wednesday, and he still hadn't been in touch.
Except when she did sleep, and then he was there, in her dreams, singing the most random songs, and tempting her with soft touches, or…that morning…kissing her.
So her sub-conscious was trying to tell her something.
She was suddenly jerked from her thoughts and pulled behind a Corinthian column.
"Cicero had nothing compared to you." His voice was soft and sweet, beneath the flattery was respect.
Lee looked at him, appreciating the sight of his well fitting garb. She was becoming more and more attracted to him, and it wasn't just the clothes. He was…sexy in a James Bond way, and more handsome and suave than the best Bond. Well, in certain situations any way. Sometimes he was awkward, uncertain, and yet, cute.
"Lee, are you alright?"
The concern in his voice surprised her.
"I'm fine. Long day, you know?"
He didn't look away from her. "Would you like to get something to eat?" He paused, and she saw something shift in his unique eyes. "Maybe some take out?"
If she spent the night at home, by herself, she'd drink herself into oblivion. If she spent the night, at home, with him, she'd drink herself into oblivion. It only made her feel guilty. That wasn't the way to honor her grandfather's memory.
"Let's chill at your place. Do I really look that bad?"
"Well, I…you don't…you look ill."
"Yeah, Kirk, the DA, put it a little more bluntly. I believe his exact words were, 'Jones, you look like shit, but you did good. Take the rest of the week off and get some goddamn sleep.'"
"You really were amazing in there. And I thought you were too young to be a good lawyer." His grin was sly as ever and brightened her mood.
"You don't know how young I am." She noticed his eyes widen as he shifted his weight, looking behind her.
"Lee." The twins were in the habit of speaking in unison.
She turned to face them. "BS."
Beatrix was beaming. "Lee, who's your friend?"
"Oh, BS this is Erik. Erik, this is Beatrix, and Sam. Would you believe that they're twins?"
He shook their hands but it was blatantly obvious how uncomfortable he'd become. "Pleasure."
"Anderson, where the hell did he go? Oh well, Anderson thinks we should celebrate your success." Sam eyed Erik carefully, playing the part of the protective brother.
Lee smiled. "Saturday, my place. I'll barbeque some chickens, Chrissy will do up some green tomatoes, and Ramon can fix the spicy stuff. Bring some beer, and not that watered down shit y'all normally drink."
"Great. What are you two doing tonight?" Beatrix was more than a little nosey. "I mean, if y'all wanted to get something to eat, we were thinking of heading down to the Boat House."
"You know I don't eat there; they don't serve sweet tea. It should be against the law not to serve sweet tea in Charleston."
"High Cotton?"
It was tempting. The bartender at High Cotton made a mean Alabama slammer. "Maybe some other time. I'm not in the mood to eat out."
"Fine, we'll see you Saturday. It was nice to meet you, Erik."
"Yes, it's good to know that Lee does have some sort of life."
They smiled politely and trotted down the courthouse steps.
"They seem…nice." He still looked uncomfortable.
"They are. Now, I'm thinking Chopsticks, the Chinese joint, not the piano bar, and then Bones is new tonight, so is South Park."
His expression eased and he chuckled. "Whatever you want."
Erik kept staring at her. It made her nervous, beneath his scrutinizing eye, and when I am pinned and wriggling on a wall…How should she begin?
They'd eaten their won-ton soup, egg rolls, and Mongolian beef in a comfortable silence, sitting, not too close, on his leather sofa, in front of a diminutive TV. Other than a concert grand piano, taking up the entire first floor of his charming, albeit typical, Tradd Street house-not just any house on Tradd, but Ducatt's house, circa 1739-the sofa was the only furniture.
When he rose to clean up the mess and waved off her protests to assist, she took the opportunity to stretch out a bit. Nestling her head on the arm rest, she closed her eyes and waited for him to return.
He returned, and that's when the staring commenced.
"Are you sure you're alright?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
"I'll be fine. Don't let me go home, and for Christ sake, don't let me drink anything, and I'll be fine."
His curiosity was obviously sparked. "Why don't you want to be at home?"
She didn't really like to talk about it, but Lee felt she owed him some sort of explanation. "Today, the memories in that house only serve to depress me, and I find that it's incredibly shallow for someone as well off as I am to be depressed."
"Well, you certainly look depressed. Have you slept at all this week?"
She let out a heartless snicker and shook her head softly. "Not much. I've just got a lot going on." Not to mention, the few minutes of sleep she had attained were filled with dreams of him.
He reached out toward her and carefully picked up her feet. While Lee sat in utter shock, he removed her shoes and placed her feet in his lap. "I…tennis players have ugly feet." She immediately berated herself for being a complete moron.
"Do you play tennis?" He was rubbing the sole of her right foot a little too lightly.
"I…used…" Lee could no longer contain herself; she was a very ticklish person and soon reflexes took over.
Erik rubbed his jaw after disdainfully dropping the offending foot. "You could have warned me."
"I tried."
"No. You said that tennis players have ugly feet. Perhaps my English has failed me, but I wasn't under the impression that that sentence should mean, I'm ticklish and will kick you."
She found herself smiling and yawned lazily. "Sorry." It was a sincere gesture, though it confused her immensely. She didn't think he thought of her in a way that included a foot rub.
Lee glanced up and found Erik staring at her again. A distraught expression on his face, he was clearly trying to figure out what to do. His concern was touching. "Why don't you go lay down, and I'll wake you up when Bones comes on?"
"I doubt I'll be able to sleep."
He was looking at her feet again, still in his lap. "They're not ugly."
"Awww, you know something Erik? You are sweet enough to be the sugar in my tea."
He blushed and looked away. "That was the perhaps the corniest, most original pick up line I've ever heard, especially considering how damn sweet that syrup you call tea is; I think I'll use it sometime."
"That's ok; I know I'm not that sweet." She shot him an award winning wink.
"No, that's why I wouldn't use it on you."
"You're still mad at me for kicking your ass the other night?"
He opened his mouth to say something but stopped suddenly, and gave her a look that was absolutely devilish. Without warning he grabbed her feet and tickled viciously.
Lee kicked and squirmed and laughed uncontrollably, but he was relentless. Finally, she managed to sit up enough to reach his side.
Erik really didn't seem like the ticklish type, but the man was full of surprises.
He really didn't know what had compelled him to pick up her feet in the first place. She just, she looked so tired…and upset; he had to do something to cheer her up, and what woman could refuse a foot rub?
Apparently a ticklish one.
And then she was touching him, touching him, in such a familiar way, such a normal way, like any couple. Heat rushed through his body as he became completely aware of her proximity, and the feel of her small hands, mercilessly digging into his side.
He couldn't remember ever laughing like that.
When Christine had touched him, lightly on the shoulder, before ripping off his mask in an act of ultimate degradation…He could remember the stirrings in his stomach and groin at the feel of her soft, elegant hands, hands so different from the ones currently assaulting him. And yet the stirrings were there, increased ten fold, because unlike Christine, Lee's hands were not cold tools of stone.
She stopped her affront and looked at him thoughtfully. An expression which confused him slowly spread across her face. Dark circles marred the skin beneath her eyes, and her olive skin somehow looked pale.
"I could sing you to sleep." The words slipped out of his mouth like spilled milk.
"Do you know Swing Low, Sweet Chariot?" She had a far off look to her eyes.
He'd never even heard of it, no doubt some colloquial song. "I'm sorry."
Lee smiled sadly. "That's alright." He wanted to know what was really wrong. Normally she was simultaneously serious and light hearted, but all day she'd looked like someone had killed her dog, and her answers thus far had been curiously vague.
"Is Beauregard alright?"
His question was met with a pair of raised eyebrows. "Yes, he hangs out with Chrissy when I'm not home. Why do you ask?"
Why did he ask? It was her business, and however minute her true age, she was certainly old enough to take care of herself. "You just look so…distraught." And yet he kept speaking.
She sighed heavily and began to diligently study his small TV. "My grandfather died on October fourth, and I'm getting sentimental in my old age."
Erik didn't really know what to say so he chuckled and thought of something humorus. "I'm old, Lee. You're just a baby."
"You're kidding, right? You're what, five years older than me? Thirty two is not old, especially for a man."
"How did you…Never mind. Damn google."
She was grinning again; it made him feel good, which had to be a bad thing.
"Naw, woman's intuition. And twenty-six, going on twenty-seven, is not a baby. According to Melanie I only have about four good years left in me; if I don't find myself a man by the day I turn thirty, well then I'm doomed to become the creepy cat lady." Her expression suddenly deflated, and once again she looked at him in an almost unsettling way. "The Long and Winding Road?"
He nodded while eyeing her carefully. The woman was a goddess. Not Aphrodite by any means, but the essence of Athena. The "power suit" she wore gave her an appearance of sheer intimidation, and he had watched, in delight, as the defendant faltered under her penetrating gaze and baited tongue. Fearless and ruthless, she was a perfect warrior.
His thoughts were interrupted by her movements. She stretched out carefully and closed her eyes, unable to continue her façade of invincibility. It made her no less beautiful.
Before singing he took a moment to consider the song she'd requested. It was definitely a depressing one, his cup of tea, or, glass of tea. They didn't drink cups of tea in Charleston. But he had to wonder why she picked it. The song wasn't about mourning a death, but the unattainable, love, inevitable and unrequited. It might as well have been written about her...but never for her.
Regardless, he took a deep breath and began.
"The long and winding road,
That leads to your door,
Will never disappear
I've seen that road before
It always leads me here
Lead me to your door,
The wild and windy night
That the rain washed away
Has left a pool of tears
Crying for the day
Why leave me standing here
Let me know the way
Many times I've been alone
And many times I've cried
Any way, you'll never know
The many ways I've tried
But still they lead me back
To the long winding road
You left me standing here
A long, long time ago
Don't leave me standing here
Lead me to your door"
He'd watched her the whole time, her eyes slowly, but steadily lowering, head drooping; she was falling into what he hoped to be a peaceful sleep.
"I wouldn't, you know." Her voiced came out muffled, words slurred.
"You wouldn't what, Lee?"
She picked her head up a little. "I wouldn't walk out on you, but I don't think you'd ever sing out of key." Her eye lids closed and she rolled over to her side.
Erik was more than mildly surprised by her comment, but actually knew the song to which she referred.
As he watched her breathing become more and more shallow, he fought the urge to reach out and touch her, but it was a losing battle. Before he knew what he was doing, Erik was on his knees, by her side, his hand cupped her cheek and he could have sworn she leaned into it.
He withdrew his hand, but it had a mind of its own and wandered to the bun entrapping her hair, releasing it with all the grace his talented fingers had mastered. She stirred slightly, and half-opened those piercing eyes.
Erik softly pulled her twisted curls as she drifted into sleep once again.
It was suddenly very important that he get her a blanket. He kept his house cold; it reminded him of home, and she didn't like the cold.
The house reminded him of home, something Lee picked up on immediately, jokingly reiterating on his masochism. But she was right. Paris was mostly bad memories, and his new residence was just another way to torture himself with those memories.
He placed the small down blanket over her and pulled another strand of curl. Saturday night she had practically driven him wild.
And that was cheating. Unbuttoning her shirt, stained and wet from wine, and leaning over the pool table like that. It was cheating plain and simple.
He smiled at the memory. Erik had fun that night, despite their rocky dinner. He hadn't wanted to leave the next morning, but the music forming in his head needed to be written out and played. It was the least depressing piece he'd ever composed, and was becoming a rather comical opera.
An opera featuring a main character who ran around shooting random things out of trees, and had frequent cravings for alligator tail. It would probably be his worst work ever, but so far his most enjoyable to compose.
Which reminded him, he needed to call Ann. Erik had been avoiding the commanding woman's phone calls for quite some time. He knew she was worried, and felt somewhat guilty about leaving like he had. And Ann knew how to lay on the guilt.
He sighed. It could wait. He had to figure out what to tell her anyway; somehow, Erik figured the trying to kill himself part wasn't going to go over well.
But he'd barely even thought of repeating the act since. No, Lee had kept him somewhat preoccupied.
He could settle for being friends. Nothing more, she couldn't want anything more.
Erik took his gaze away from the floor. His eyes settled on Lee's sleeping form and as he took in her rare beauty, Erik accepted the fact that he was lying to himself. He'd never been the kind of man to settle for less.
He saw her hand clutch at the leather and a small moan escaped her slightly parted lips. "Erik."
Even in her sleep his name rolled off her tongue in an exquisite manner. It made him feel wanted.
She was dreaming about him, and not a nightmare, no, something far more pleasing.
What would she do if he leaned down and kissed her? Would she awake, wide-eyed and fearful, screaming rape and murder? Or would her hands entangle themselves in his hair, and roam his anxious body?
Erik found himself smiling at the thought, remembering how she'd shuddered when he'd whispered into her ear several nights before. It hadn't been a shiver of fear.
He opened his eyes and looked at her pensively, cursing himself for allowing his imagination to carry him so far. She was the unattainable.
No woman could want him in such a way, least of all her. She could have any man in the world.
Lee sat up suddenly, a dazed look about her face. "Your couch is as uncomfortable as mine." She readjusted herself and placed her head next to his right thigh.
He allowed himself to play with her hair, as she continued to sleep.
Another Eliot allusion in there; I just love his work