I peer at the gloomy gray sky, frowning out of boredom.
“Lunch at three with Ian Butler, owner of Darkville Chocolates,” my secretary, Polly’s voice continues to come through the speaker phone.
I shake my head, briefly widening my eyes, trying to come out of my passed out state. The tedium is nothing to do with my secretary reading my schedule to me; pretending like a human appears to be getting ridiculously dreary by the day.
My knuckles turn sapphire blue as I tightly hold the steering wheel. “Cancel,” I murmur, veering my car to the left, into a narrow trail.
“Grand opening of Roger House on Oxford Street …”
“Cancel it all,” I growl, trying to dismiss her.
“Mr Chase this dinner is very important and it’s the third time …”
“I don’t care! Do as I say,” I snap, hanging up the phone. I scowl at the road, annoyed.
I hate these business dinners, but they are important events, so much business is done over a glass of champagne, I have to undergo it. I hate to admit it, but being a rich business tycoon does make it easier for me to keep my philanthropic commitments going. A way I found workable enough to tip the scales for my sins.
I turn up the music to Debussy’s Claire de lune poetic impressions playing inside my car, trying to come out of this comatose like state. As I continue driving up the hill through the scarlet woods, a familiar feeling of dullness swamps me. Mid-autumn gloominess adds to my dull, dismal mood. Loneliness has never spared me, no matter where I go. My days are blended with monotony and ennui. And, although, I have had an adventurous week in Monrovia, helping the flood affected people of the slumps I haven’t been able to kill this depressing feeling.
I speed up, as coldness crawls into the air that is gently blowing away dead golden leaves at the sides of the forlorn road.
A huge gray stone mansion on my right captures my eyes, instantly pulling me out of my sulky mood. I stare at the House, slowing down the car speed. My car moves past the orphanage, Broomley House, and a known restlessness takes me over. I race the car toward the church on my left, few blocks away from the House.
Pulling up in the car park opposite a narrow bridle path, I cut down the engine of my latest Maserati Gran Cabrio Sport. I briefly glance at my wrist watch, I still have half an hour before walking in.
Leaning back into the recliner, I push my hands at the back of my head and close my eyes, trying to make myself comfortable. I’m here on a mission-a monotonous mission concerning property acquisitions.
A commotion caused by a horde of girls brings me up in an upright position. Dispassionately, I gaze up at the bridle path on my left that runs from the House to the chapel, young girls walk up in groups toward the chapel. None of them interest me. No beauty in this world catches my slightest of attention. I can always see through their souls-tainted and sinned.
I watch them throw dry leaves at each other, laughing loudly. My mouth twitches at the corners, showing my usual irritation at such juvenile behaviour.
I pass an impassive drifting gaze over them as they near the church, and briefly hold my gaze over the young nun, Mercy, who is standing at the entrance of the church with another nun. She passes me a glaring stare and I chuckle at her annoyance toward me.
“April Rivers … you twat, you taking donkeys years to pass me the damn ball,” someone shouts, running backward toward the church. I look away, uninterested.
Abruptly the air around me shifts. I sense a pull, I instantly look up again, feeling off-balance. A burning sensation trickles down my body. What the hell? My eyes for a brief second linger over a girl with extremely long dark golden hair. My heartbeat loses its track as I sit caught up at the sight of her. With a clumsy movement of her arm, she hurls a ball into the woods. “Now, go get it!” she shouts back with a silly laugh.
“Awww … nice one, daft cow!” I hear the other girl shout.
But, my eyes are fixed upon the golden haired girl. They spark with interest, as she nears the church. She is ordinarily dressed in a pink pullover and dark blue jeans. It seems that she has been wearing the same damn clothes for years, the sweater being overly tight and the pair of jeans flabby. Tucking the locks of hair behind her ears, she then runs her palms over her grungy jeans. Whatever the hell happened to all the clothes I have been sending?
But none of that matters … A golden glow emits from her body, which obviously only I can see. A powerful desire takes over my consciousness. She is so damn beautiful! I briefly wonder how it would feel like biting those lush pink lips of hers. I shy away from myself, feeling sick in the gut.
Gloominess appears over her face, even as she smiles, peering at the girl babbling next to her. She gazes up at the chapel entrance, emptiness lingering between her starry hazel eyes.
The very moment, an aggravated hiss explodes inside my head. She is not yours. She is mine …her soul belongs to me … I’m not only twitchy by the thought of being so close to her, but a craving builds up inside me. Intense hunger charges itself within me. A feeling of conquering her takes me over, and I can’t ignore it. I want her. I want her warm and tender body beneath me. At this moment, I’m nothing more than a predator, and she my prey.
I will slowly burn myself inside your mind, make you my mania and then break into when you are the most vulnerable. There will be no other for you but me. Check Mate, Mlle Rivers!