Devil's Touch Part 4

He's standing close to her, staring at her face. She steps away and smiles.

"That sounds like a good idea. Thanks for showing it to me. I think I'll go home now. I'm tired."

She takes one more step away from him, but that only gives him a better view of her body. She steps back, trying to get further away from him. He smiles and walks over to her. She feels how an intense cold is rushing through her body. An uneasy feeling that she doesn't have time to understand before his hands close around her arms. She's standing with her back to the bed. He slowly pushes her backwards, increasing his hold on her when she tries to resist. She tries to break away, but he's too strong. Only now does she notice that the entire back wall of the bedroom is covered in mirrors. His body is leaning against hers and her arms are beginning to hurt from his hands. The heat from his body makes her shiver. He doesn't move and he doesn't let go. He's facing the mirror and she can feel his breathing getting heavier.

"It can't be the first time. You must have used your looks before."

His voice is hoa.r.s.e. She tries to move but can't, and suddenly she realizes that something will happen that she can't prevent. She curses herself for being stupid and naive, for wanting so much to be a part of a world where she doesn't belong.

"You really haven't tried it before?!"

There is both surprise and joy in his voice.

"Be a smart girl and start using it - everybody else does."

He buries his face in her long hair, and his words are m.u.f.fled. He increases his hold on her. The pain makes her bend over backwards, but he keeps talking.

"I'll take good care of you. I'll make your name famous and make sure you'll always have enough money."

It's as if the pain makes her more present in her head than in her body. He presses his body against her and lets go of her a little as his hands start to wander. "Now, now! Run now!" But his words have stuck in her mind and she's not yet ready to choose. She feels how he's pushing her toward the bed.

"I can finish school, keep my friends..." She feels a hard push and sees the mirror image of a young woman being thrown unto the bed while a tall, muscular man stands above her. When she lands on the bed, it's as if the sound of an exploding gla.s.s bubble fills her head and sends her out of her body. She feels the pain of him holding her wrists, and hears the sound of a drawer being opened.

"No! No! Not like this."

But he doesn't stop. "Not like this, not like this." She turns away from the mirror and feels the tears running down her face. She feels the rope around her wrists.

"Oh, this is even better that I thought it would be."

She can feel his hoa.r.s.e whisper like a warm breath against her ear. His determined hands grab her dress and she struggles against the pain.

Her breathing gets faster as she struggles against her own thoughts, but finally she lets go and slams her hand into the wheel.

"Even in death, you won't let go. You can make something as simple as a piece of paper seem possessive and demanding."

She clenches her teeth, feeling pain from her lip. She can taste the iron from the blood, but she cannot hold back the anger.

"You have abused me, over and over. My body, my mind....everything that I am."

She struggles for breath, fighting the tears that are so close to the surface.

"I don't have time for tears now. I should be celebrating your death. You're gone now - out of my life."

She struggles with her breath and her tears as she throws back her head.

"And still you won't let me go, you still trap me in this life!"

Her breathing is now reduced to small gasps.

"What else have you planned to destroy my life with? Will you just go on, and on, and on, and..."

Her voice is blurred and her breathing stops. The tears are streaming down her face, and she's no longer trying to stop them. The sound of the engine starting is full of expectations, and she slowly drives down the drive way out onto the empty road, pressing her right foot down hard. She rubs her eyes, not caring about her make up. She's still crying. Her voice is only a whisper.

"The truth is that I'm scared."

"Did you get hold of Marc Jones?"

Petra's tone of voice is higher than she expected and she looks nervously at Nathan. It's obvious that he doesn't recognize the name.

"The investigator."

He smiles and nods.

"Yes, yes, he's on the case."

"Do you need me to follow up on it tomorrow?"

He shakes his head ad gets behind the desk.

"No, I'll do that myself. Drive safely."

She looks at him for a long time, but he's busy leafing through the case file she has just given him. She nods and leaves him even though she has noticed that the fire is dying out. She looks at her watch. "He'll have to fix that himself, I have other things to do."

"Shall I lock up when I leave?"

"Hmm,"

Petra stops at the door, impatiently waiting for his answer. She looks at her watch again, and when she looks up, he meets her eyes.

"Yes, thank you. That would be nice."

She nods and quickly leaves the office.

"Petra?"

She takes a deep breath.

"Yes."

She's back at the door.

"Please close the door behind you."

She nods and closes the door behind her. He can hear her steps on the hard wooden floors of the office and then it's quiet. He hears the beeping of the alarm being activated.

He and Denize had been shopping, but chance wasn't planning to let go of them. When they came back to the car, the girls were standing on the sidewalk in front of them. Their mother greeted them politely, helping the girls into the car next to theirs and strapping them in. Denize had looked at Nathan, and he still remembers the feeling of them sharing a thought. For the first time, they had followed them. They sat silently in the car, watching the girls. He still remembers the double swing that had been painted in bright red and yellow colors. The girls spent almost all their time in it - always facing each other. Only on rainy days did they sit on the porch instead. They had been completely wrapped up in their play, and they could hear their laughter in the car through the open windows. Sometimes they would sit on the steps leading up to the yellow house with the white windows. Nathan had often wondered who their father was, since the house looked like it did. But they never saw him - it was as if he wasn't part of their life. The dark haired girl looked just like her mother, but the blonde girl didn't look like either her mother or her sister.

The beeping stops and he knows Petra has left. Feeling distraught, he puts down his pen and flips back his chair. The leather creaks when he settles in. He watches the embers in the fireplace. "How can she play with my mind like that? How? I can still see her before me, getting into the car. "

Suddenly, he feels a l.u.s.t for life and a vitality rushing through him. He looks at the Stuart Pettersson file that Petra has left neatly on the table the edge of the cardboard in line with the desk before placing the other case before him. He gets up and walks to the corner of the desk resting hos index and middle finger on the cover of the case. When he removes his fingers, they leave dark brown stains of sweat on the cardboard. He looks at his fingers wondering about the sweat. He puts his fingertips to his forehead where there are also beads of sweat. He looks around for signs that the room is very hot, but sees none. No dew at the edges of the windows - everything seems normal. He lets himself fall into the chair of the client side of the desk, slowly exhaling through pursed lips, while moving his hand over his sweaty brow. He looks at his hand for a long time before getting out his handkerchief. He breathes heavily before the words finally find their way.

"I can't help wondering if you knew something I don't, Stuart."

Silently, he looks at his own reflection in the windows. With difficulty, he gets up and picks up the case that's due in court in the morning. He looks at the dark stains on the cover and puts it in his bag.

"There must be some reason for postponement."

He closes the bag and puts it on the desk.

"I just have to find it."

He turns off the lights over the desk and then the lights in the rest of the office. He carefully closes the door of the office and crosses the hall that separates the office from the private part of the house. The hall is dimly lit the big paintings throwing shadows over the walls. He opens the door to the living room where it's dark.

"Petra!"

He stops himself, realizing that she has already left.

"Why didn't she light a fire...?"

He snorts. He slows down and his body seems to collapse a little. His shoulders are drooping and he keeps moving his hand over his face, as if he has remembered something that won't go away. He stops in front of the fireplace. He instinctively wants to hold out his hands to the fire, but that makes no sense now. The room is dark, lit only by the full moon that's clear in the sky between drifting clouds. His eyes come to rest where the fire should have been. He breathes deeply. With some effort, he straightens himself and starts to light the fire. As the flames come to life, he walks over the cupboard and takes out the whisky. He looks at the label. "It's from before Denize!" He hesitates and just stands there, holding the bottle and a gla.s.s. Then he moves the gla.s.s over in the hand already holding the bottle, skillfully pressing the crystal gla.s.s against the bottle with his index finger.

He opens the cupboard again and takes out a box of cigars. The flames are strong now and sparks begin to fly with their characteristic sound. He stands in front of the fireplace, feeling how the heat is slowly getting too strong to be pleasant. He puts down the things on a small table and then moves it over to the heavy arm chair. When he sits down in the chair, he is so tired that he feels an intense physical discomfort. He sighs deeply as his body settles into the chair. "Who am I kidding? I'm getting old." He sighs and pours the whisky before opening the cigar box. He touches the cigars.

"Hmm. Dry. They might be OK after all. It's a good thing I didn't offer them to my clients, though. Petra must get some new ones."

With a practiced movement, he lights the cigar.

"Hmm."

He picks up the gla.s.s and holds it up to the fire, the light playing in the cut crystal. He inhales deeply, and tears start to fill his eyes.

"Honey, I know you don't approve, but today has been ..."

He wets his lips.

"...confusing, even for an old defense lawyer. I don't know what to believe and what not."

He turns his hand, and the golden liquid spins in the gla.s.s, making a wonderful display of colors. He carefully tastes it, and feels the same sensation as the first time: A dusty taste that tears a little and then suddenly hits the sense of smell.

Wow! It's been a long time. Ha, I guess it had become a little too much of a habit at the time. I never even tasted it back then."

With empty eyes, he stares at the fire, drinking and inhaling by turns, and soon he feels the effect. He smiles and moves down further in the chair. For a long time, he doesn't move. He remembers the worried look on the doctor's face. Both times Nathan was there, he tried to get an answer from him, but the doctor just shook his head and said.

"The tests will show. I will let you know as soon as I have the results."

The look in the doctor's eyes suddenly seems frightening, just as it had when he had been there with Denize. He scratches at his neck, his movements gradually getting more abrupt, faster and harder. His body is tense. He sighs and slowly lets his inner calm return.

"I wonder if we'll meet again soon, Denize."

He smiles as if he's smiling at his wife, but his smile soon fades. He can no longer picture the small mole next to his wife's right eye. With a sudden movement, he gets up. He stands in front of the chair with a vacant look in his eyes, wobbly from the whisky. He remembers all the times Denize had asked him to drive by the yellow house. Almost, every time, they had seen the two girls sitting in the swing. He remembers the first time he had met them. They had smiled at him, genuine and trusting smiles. Now it's as if Evy's face resembles the face of the blonde girl, but also contains something more, something more familiar. "Now I'm just a drunk old man..." Nathan falls back into the chair and lets the memories of the time before Denize got sick overwhelm him. Slowly he realizes that Evy's eyes resemble Denize's, and the thought is pleasantly comforting. But it also makes him feel a slight unease and Stuart is lurking in that uneasy feeling.

Chapter 4.

Evy squeezes her eyes tight when the sunlight hits her. A sigh escapes from her lips, and she slowly pushes away the cover. She quickly glances at the windows on the other side of the street. They seem empty, and she gets out of bed. Her naked body is caught in the sunlight, but her hands still stroke her arms when she feels the cold in the room. She sees her own reflection in the wall of mirrors toward the living room, and she slowly stops, letting her hand move over her stomach. "To think that I could have had an heir to Stuart's fortune..." She forgets about the windows across the street and stays in front of the mirror for a long time, watching herself. She senses movement in one of the windows, looks one last time at her body and walks casually around the bed. The letter is sticking out of her bag next to the bed. She looks at it, annoyed, but soon a more cunning, challenging look shows in her eyes. She puts her hand on her stomach again and stares vacantly at the city outside. She feels like a spectator in her own life, and is slowly filled with fear and anger at herself. When she had told Stuart that she was pregnant, he had just shaken his head.

"You don't even know who the father is."

His words had been like a slap in the face. But nothing she said could change his mind. Only a few days later she had suddenly felt unwell during a dinner and they had only just reached the limo when she had fallen into a deep sleep. When she woke up the next day, she was bleeding profusely and was feeling sick. When she took a pregnancy test the next week, she was no longer pregnant. She was furious and had accused Stuart of all sorts of things, but he had insisted that the abortion had been spontaneous. She lets her hand fall away from her stomach and bends down to pick up the letter. She covers herself with her robe and sits down on the bed with one leg crossed, looking at the envelope. She takes out the letter and lets the envelope fall down on her naked thigh. Her face changes and early signs of age become visible in the small lines that appear. Her eyes scan the letter - Stuart's handwriting is sloppy as usual. "I can take any one of his letters and the writing will be sloppy... and they will always start in the same way." Her hand touches her lips and she laughs - a deep, sarcastic laughter with a scary note that she has never noticed before. She looks over the edge of the letter and is met by her own merciless reflection. She knows the woman in the mirror, but there is also something strange about her. It's not the same girl who grew up in the yellow house. The girl who loved her sister and spent hour after hour in the big swing with her. In the beginning, it had been much too big for them, but the bars and the small door had meant that the two three year olds had taken their naps in it too. They had never grown out of it, but one day it had suddenly broken under the weight of two ten year olds, who were still flying magic carpets, sailing rough seas or flying over enchanted landscapes. A world of magic where they meant everything to each other and where safety was a warm coat they never took off.

Sunlight hits Nathans eyes and his breathing becomes shallow. He tries to turn himself over, but can't because of the arm rest. He moves restlessly and finally raises his hand to shade from the sun.

"Hmm, where did the rain go?"

Small, insignificant noises indicate that Petra has arrived. He closes his eyes again for a little while. He puts down the whisky gla.s.s and breathes heavily a couple of times. The bottle reveals that the first gla.s.s was not the last, and he is punished by a violent headache. He looks at the extinguished cigar in the ashtray. He closes his eyes and smacks his lips loudly. Then he pushes himself up in the chair and starts looking after the other cigar he had started smoking late that night.

"Hmm."

Finally he gets up and drops the blanket he had covered himself with when the fire had died out. When the blanket lands at his feet, it reveals a whole the size of a saucer with blackened edges. He stares at it for long time, and then he bends down slowly, but stops the motion, suddenly overpowered by the headache. After a few seconds he continues the movement. When he grabs the blanket, the cigar fall out.

"Nathan."

Petra is suddenly in the door.

"Yes."

He still looks at the cigar, his voice distracted.

"You have to be in court in half an hour."

Nathan finally looks up at Petra, and you can tell from his face that he has heard her. He nods absentmindedly.

"Hmm."

He looks at the blanket one last time and picks up the cigar. When he stands up, he puts his hands to his head.

"I'm too old for this."

"Nathan?"

This time Petra's voice is determined.

"In half an hour."