This Chapter is not pertinent to this story but is a requested addition. Please proceed to next chapter directly, unless, well, read explanation below.
I'm sorry this took a while. For some reason, my muse just decided to go on strike. Guess penning a non-related piece sort of helps, so here's the next bit. This is written as a gift, and as such, I wrote this chapter because it was requested. Sadly, I suck at fluff and romance. Next chapter we head back to Andrew's plotting, and things should be back to action again.
Tukkie: sorry I just can't make the fluff work. This is the best I could do it. Bollywood dancing round the tree just don't gel no matter how many times I tried. At least I managed to give Joe Vanessa, as you requested. Hope that's enough.
Thanks all of you who reviewed and who added this to the alert list. I will try to speed up a little. Cheers.
WHEN IT RAINS IT POURS
Chapter Twelve
-o-
The man in the mirror has shoulder-length wavy blond hair currently neatly tied back into a bushy ponytail that nestled comfortably against his nape of his neck. He was dressed in a black long sleeve woolen turtleneck top and a pair of comfy dark blue Levi jeans. A pale jagged scar, now barely visible, slashed across his left temple. With his piercing deep blue eyes, he appeared hard and forbidding. While many told him they were drawn to the unusual shade of blue that was his eyes, few could hold his gaze for long. That was when he knew, they were drawn not by the 'blue', but by the 'deep and dark' shadows emanating from the depths of his soul.
That man in the mirror was me. Yet he was not.
I lifted my fingers and lightly traced that fading scar on my reflection. Scars fade over time, reality never fades.
Their blood flowed in my veins. That was an undeniable fact. I willfully chose to believe that I took over my biological mother. I would not forget how she died. Those blue eyes in those last few minutes of her life still haunt my dreams and waking hours. My mother never blamed me for causing her death. I knew that to be true, because she became my guardian angel. She helped me escaped their clutches. And on every clear day, I would gaze up into the blue skies, and see her up there, that wisp of cloud, watching over me.
"You are Joe Black now," I told that man in the mirror.
My mother died to gift me with this second chance at a normal life. I would live this life she gifted me to the fullest. My one regret was that I could never remember their faces and names no matter how hard I tried. If I could remember, I would see justice done, so that the dead could rest in peace.
"I am Joe Black," I repeated.
The Blacks legally adopted me just over five years back. I accepted, and never look back. To do so would be a betrayal of my mother's death, as well as the love and kindness my adoptive family extended to me.
Six years ago, Michelle and Michael Black found a very sick and badly injured youth cowering in their rented cabin when they were having a quiet family vacation in The Smokies. They nursed him back to life, and kept him safe, even though they had no reason to.
They took me in, and gave me a loving normal family life that I never thought I deserve.
Was my adoption really legal? That was a good question. Thanks to a 'grandfather' whom I could not, and would never publicly acknowledge for good reason, I was given a new identity. Suffice to say, Michael's 'dead' father, Myles, was the doctor who saved my life. Myles was the one who, through his connections, procured all the necessary documents proclaiming my new identity backed by a believable history. All the papers were issued and authenticated by the relevant government departments. My adoption was as legal as it could be.
"I have a normal family now… My future is what I make it out to be…"
Michelle, like my biological mother, was patient and kind. It was her gentleness and her never dying zest for life despite her own precarious state of health that slowly drew me back into the land of the living. She fought hard for me to live again, and likewise I fought my way out of the shadows to help her battle against cancer. Eventually, we both won, together.
Would you believe that Michael, my adoptive father, attended every single game I played at college? We lost most of our games, but every time I looked up, he was always there cheering for me. He accepted my intense dislike of Mathematics and encouraged me to pursue my love of doodling. I worked hard and made my way into a prestigious Arts Institute in Washington DC, where I recently graduated with honors in Arts and Philosophy.
It was my father who first encouraged me to publish my works. 'If you never try, you never know,' he said. The publisher accepted it after some minor edits, much to my surprise and pleasure. That was how I managed to have two professionally published comics strips even before I graduated. Now I worked freelance from home, having recently signed on a 12 month project for Marvel Comics.
As I recalled those happy memories, the hardness on the face melted away. The reflection in the mirror was now of a much younger man. One who recently graduated, who was ready and eager to see what the world has to offer.
"And a beautiful, feisty woman…" I added with a slightly goofy smile.
It all started with an email from her commenting on my artistic style. I responded and we ended up exchanging pointers on each other's works on a regular basis. Six months ago, we met up at an art conference in New York City. We started calling each other, and before we knew it, we were chatting every night. Both of us had a dark past, and we recognized the influence of that past in each other's works. I have always wanted to move our relationship to the next level, but for the fact that we lived in different states. I knew she would never leave her mother and relocate. I understood, because I could not for similar reasons.
But circumstances have changed.
Several light raps on the door interrupted my musings.
"Come in, Mom," I knew it was her.
She rolled in on the wheelchair I custom built for her. For some reason, I was real handy with electronic hardware, though I have no idea where I mastered those skills from.
"My boy's growing more handsome every day. Black suits you," she said. "But you should try other colors some time…"
Half my wardrobe was black, and the rest were varying shades of the darker end of blue, brown and green. Most of my artworks are 'dark' too, both in the literal and the figurative sense. That darkness attracted a certain following.
"Some other time…" I said as I leaned down and kissed her lightly on her pale cheeks.
Sadness came over me. Just months ago, those cheeks were rosy with health.
"Come," Mom bade me to sit down on my bed next to her.
I did not remember her ever sounding so serious. It was then I noted that beautifully carved wooden lacquered box on her lap.
"This belongs to my mother, and to my grandmother…" Mom said quietly as she removed an ancient looking silver bracelet covered with intricate Celtic designs from the box. "It was said to be a protective charm of sorts. This bracelet has always been passed from daughter to daughter. Since I do not have a daughter, perhaps one day…"
"You can gift this to your granddaughter yourself, Mom," I cut in. "And then you can tell her all those wonderful stories you told me…"
"Joe… you know…"
"I know what the doctors said," I interrupted again, but this time, my tone was perhaps harsher than I expected. "They were wrong six years ago, and they are wrong again now."
I simply refused to believe that Mom could not beat those cancerous cells again. I was not ready to lose her. Not now, not again, not ever.
"This is the engagement ring your father gave me many years ago," Mom simply moved on to the next item on her agenda. "It is the same ring your grandfather gave to your grandmother another generation back. We'll be honored if you carry on the family traditions."
I looked down at the gold ring, clearly a family heirloom, now nestling on my palm. The two carat square-cut yellow diamond gleamed softly in the light.
"I would be honored to, Mom." Indeed, it was I who was honored.
Mom smiled, clearly contented.
Another sharp rap on the door and a familiar voice boomed. "Can I come in or am I going to be interrupting a conspiracy in the making?"
"We're in the midst of an evil plan to take over the world, dear. You're welcome to join us if you have the stomach for it," Mom returned.
My father walked in wagging his bushy eyebrows and rubbing his hands gleefully in the most evil fashion, asking who he'd get to eliminate first. We laughed. That's my family.
"How did the TV interview go, Mike?" I asked.
'Mike'. That was one of my regrets. I could not bring myself to call him 'Dad'. That word always leaves a bad taste in my mouth. He did not seem to mind, and suggested I call him 'Mike'. But I know, sometimes, he wished.
"You mean interrogation," he grimaced.
Mike hated publicity. He considered it an intrusion into his private life. Yet he could not avoid the need to give one every now and then. He was a writer, and merely a fairly successful one, according to him. He had several works published, all of which made it to the top-20 best-seller list on the New York Times. This was the first television interview he ever agreed to – after years of incessant pestering from his PR manager.
"Some photographer managed to snap a family shot and the network broadcast that during the interview this morning," Mike suddenly said in a quiet tone. "The quality's a little grainy, but… perhaps it's a good thing we're moving after all…"
The tension in the room raises a notch. Mom suddenly looked worried – for me. They knew I could not remember what my murderous 'Dad' and brother looked like. But the same could not be said for the other way round. If they knew I am still alive?
I forced a smile and said. "They believed me dead for six years. I doubt if they would even recognized me if they were to walk pass me on the streets."
"Still… be careful," Mike cautioned.
"I will. I remember all those self-defense lessons and still practice on a daily basis," I reminded them.
My parents had hired a personal instructor, former Israeli soldier and Krav Maga expert, Simon Leron, to train me in the arts of self-defense.
Poor Mom still looked unconvinced, but Mike seemed satisfied.
To break the somber mood, Mike announced: "It's almost six. What say we hie down to Pogo's for a classic Italian dinner?"
Mom shook her head and laugh. "Dear, didn't you notice how well-dressed our son is?"
"Ah…"
"It's the same girl our son's been chatting to every night for the last few months. And she flew in here just to attend our son's first art exhibition…" Mom supplied helpfully.
"AH…" Mike repeated in a louder voice, but this time, his eyes gleamed a little wickedly. "The condoms are in the…"
"Mike!"
"I'd better get going," I said hastily before Mike could continue further down that road labeled 'men and dogs only'.
"Have a good time," Mom called out as I reached for my black leather jacket and the bouquet of roses I bought earlier.
"And don't bother trying to come home before midnight," Mike yelled after me. "Not unless you are in need of lessons from the Karma Sutra..."
Poor Mom turned red as beetroot; though there was this gleam in her eyes I had not seen in a while. In truth, I doubt if Mom and Mike even noticed when I left the house.
Twenty minutes later, I was standing in front of the door to her hotel room. With her high heeled black leather boots, she stood as tall as I am. Like me, she favored black. Her ash blonde hair falls over her face in gentle waves framing those stormy blue grey eyes. Eyes that I knew could turn from stormy to smoky with passion in an instant.
We had our first Valentine's dinner at La Chaumiere, a very cozy and romantically French restaurant. It cost me a small fortune, but it was worth every cent I spent. There, we discussed the different artistic styles and their suitability for the comic strip she was currently working on. Two hours later, we were walking quietly hand in hand down a secluded section of the Potomac River, enjoying the tranquility and the reflection of the full moon on the still waters.
And that luminescent Australian black opal pendant I bought was still with me.
As much as I longed for a normal future with a loving wife and many, many kids, a part of me still held back. There was a part of me still lost in the past. What if that past came back for me? Would I end up harming her by dragging her into my world? With that, my desire for a normal future got stuck in a very uncomfortable lump in my throat.
Meanwhile, that shimmering black opal in its velvet pouch sat snuggly next to that old velvet box from my Mom at the bottom of my breast-pocket.
-o-o-0-o-o-
The dinner was fantastic. The walk was lovely. They held hands and simply enjoyed the gentle caress of the night breeze taking in the tranquil surroundings. The light of the full moon shone bright and clear. The setting was classically romantic in every sense of the word.
Yet young lady in question could not help but to feel more and more disappointed as the minutes passed. She had been so certain...
"Van…?"
'Perhaps he's going to ask now!' Vanessa Bender thought excitedly as she turned her hopeful eyes on the rather rugged young man and fellow artist whom she had fallen for. She saw that look in the eyes, her breath caught in her throat.
Something flickered in his eyes for the tiniest fraction of a second. The silence dragged, and then that moment was lost.
It was all Vanessa could do not to show her frustration. After all, a girl does have her pride. And perhaps she had misread the situation.
She sneaked a peak at her man. He was still staring into the shimmering dark waters. In the light of the full moon, those expressive blue eyes that had first drawn her interest were darker and more intense than she ever remembered.
"Joe…" Vanessa did not know why she whispered.
He turned around. Their eyes met, and held. The darkness, she knew and was familiar with. It was always there with him, just like it was always there with her. That was why they were kindred spirits. Somewhere in their past, they both went through something really bad, something that no normal kids should ever had to experience. But they did. They walked, possibly even crawled, out of that alive, but they were not unscarred. That fact alone spelt caution when it comes to either one of them considering a potential long term relationship.
'How much do you want this man?' Vanessa asked silently. 'Very much,' she acknowledged. Then again, she barely knew him! Some might say they knew each other for more than half a year. Sure, six months of nightly chats plus three almost clandestine meetings at the various art exhibitions could hardly constitute getting to know anyone really well, much less someone you want to consider spending a lifetime with.
'A lifetime? Was she really considering a lifetime?' Vanessa mused, slightly surprised by that revelation.
"Van… I…"
She noted that Joe's voice again tapered off into silence. His fists were tightly clenched by his sides, and she could see the tension in his jaw-line. It was then she knew what he wanted, but hesitated to ask. She knew, because she had gone through the same process herself each time she considered a potential relationship.
She took another good long look at him, the first guy she felt totally comfortable with. It was at that point that all reason flew out of the window. What those damned statistics said about those from abused families were likely to end up abusing their own children became totally meaningless. Those were only numbers. She knew in her heart she would love her own kids and would never hurt them. And neither would this young man standing in front of her. There was no logic to back her beliefs, only a deep seated gut instinct and she and Joe were meant to be, that they would beat the demons haunting their past. They would carve their own future. And she had always trusted her gut instincts.
A song started playing at the back of her mind. Suddenly, she knew exactly what to do. Her next move was made on impulse, driven by a sense of absolute certainty she never felt before in her life.
She reached out to him, and drew him into her embrace. Her eyes never left his as she made her request in a firm and steady voice. "Let me be your hero."
She was at that moment, a woman who knows what she wanted and was determined to get it. She watched as his eyes widened a little in surprise. She smiled back, willing him to allow her this lead as she nudged him gently into a simple dance. Her heart soared as he followed, his eyes reflecting curiosity and the first inkling of passionate desire.
"Would you dance, if I asked you to dance?" She crooned that ballad by Enrique Inglesias. "Or… Would you run, and never look back?"
'Don't you dare run!' Her stormy eyes warned.
'What? From a pretty woman?' His eyes seemed to say as a roguish smile appeared on his face.
"Would you cry, if you saw me cry? And would you save my soul, tonight?"
Vanessa willed him to hear her heart's belief. 'You know we can save each other's soul…'
"Would you tremble, if I touched your lips?"
It was hers own trembling fingers that reached up to touch his lips. He nibbled lightly on them, causing a shiver up her spine.
"Or… Would you laugh? Oh please tell me this…"
She rested her head against his broad shoulders, and leaned into his muscular chest. He took over the lead of the dance, as she expected. He did not laugh.
"Now would you die, for the one you loved?"
That was a question she need never ask. But it was part of the song. Once, she watched with her heart in her throat as Joe moved at lightning speed to save a child from being run down by a car with utter disregard for his own personal safety. In her heart, she knew the kind of person Joe is.
"Hold me in your arms, tonight…"
Joe's arms moved, and she found herself held tight in his embrace. She could hear him whispering, telling her he loved her and would protect her with his life. For a short moment, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy the love and security provided in his embrace. Then came the chorus. That she sang with her eyes firmly affixed to his. She meant every single word from the bottom of her heart.
"I can be your hero, baby. I can kiss away the pain. I will stand by you forever… You can take my breath away."
Then it was him who was kissing away the pain of her childhood. Hopefully, she did the same for whatever demons that was haunting him. It was a long while before they broke off that kiss. And when Vanessa looked into his eyes again, she knew, she won. A finger prevented her from continuing the song. Instead, he drew her back into his arms and guided her across the grass.
"Never say I turn down a dance offer from a lady…" he whispered huskily. "And I would never run away from a beautiful woman…"
"You never told me you know the Waltz…" she said breathlessly.
"Mom insisted every gentleman should know the waltz…" He told her before spinning her off, then pulling her back into his arms again.
"Would you swear, that you'll always be mine?"
To Vanessa's surprise, it was Joe who continued the song.
She leaned more firmly into Joe's embrace, arched back so she coulded whisper back into his ears. "Yes, I'll always be yours."
"Or would you lie? Would you run and hide?"
"Never," she answered.
"Am I in too deep? Have I lost my mind?"
Vanessa just had to smile at the way he was shaking his head down at her mockingly.
"Yes," she answered in a teasing tone. "I've ensorcelled you…"
"I don't care... You're here tonight."
With that, Joe grabbed her and lifted her up into the air. She lifted her arms and reached up and out to embrace the night skies, her face upturned to catch the light of all those twinkling stars. They laughed in sheer joy when Joe over-balanced and they both tumbled down onto the grass. Joe had of course twisted his body around to take the full impact of the fall.
"I can be your hero, baby. I can kiss away the pain. I will stand by you forever. You can take my breath away."
"Mmmmm…. I didn't know that you are such a good singer…" Vanessa gasped in between the kisses as the final lines of the chorus faded away. Joe's voice and ability to hold the tune was another something she learnt today.
"I'm a man of many talents, love."
Vanessa giggled at Joe's unsuccessful attempt to project an air of exaggerated mystery.
"Ego… big fat swollen ego…" she said.
"But you still love me…"
"Do I?"
"Van!"
It did not take long for the exchange and the squeals of laughter to fade away into whispers of sweet nothings. That was where they spent the night. On the grass on the banks of that secluded stretch of river that had seen much of America's history, snuggling and cuddling. Much later into the night, they had a series of serious discussions. They talked about their past and their fears. Then they talk about their hopes and their dreams. Finally, they talked children, grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren. Before they knew it, the skies lightened from black to grey, and from grey to a splash of pastel pink.
So engrossed were they in each other, neither noted the pair of brittle brown eyes that followed them as they strolled back to the parking eyes did not miss that faint gleam of a square-cut diamond on the young lady's finger.
-o-
Copyright of song 'Hero' - By Enrique Inglesias