CHAPTER EIGHT
Liane
I drove home that evening with mixed feelings. I’d been brought up to be fairly submissive and reserved. That’s the way British girls were supposed to behave, and most particularly daughters of vicars.
I don’t understand why I felt so moved to touch Hawk’s cheek and then to actually kiss him. I just knew his energy was conflicted. There was a solid, intelligent, sensitive man inside what felt like a rather porous, dark shadow. The shadow felt less dense when he was close to me. This told me I was able to have some effect on him, compelling me to reach out and pull him closer.
He made it fairly apparent that he was interested in me. I knew that his appearance didn’t speak for the man inside, but perhaps Dad wouldn’t be able to see beyond that. I was an adult, however, and I’d done my best to look after him, but the time had come for me to have my own life.
I shared a duplex with Barbara and Dan Connor. Our units were side by side with garages to the outside. We each had small patios off the kitchen but were very different in how we lived. The Connors, while very nice people, tended to barbecue and party loudly with friends who drank too much. On my side of the privacy fence was my collection of trash to treasure outdoor furniture, chimes, a small water fountain and a variety of birdhouses. My rooms were much like my patio, filled with reclaimed furnishings I had doctored and decorated. I didn’t mind the eclectic look, or even that things were outdated. It just felt like an extension of my inner self, and that made it home.
I pulled into my drive and saw that the Conners’ house was fully lighted and heard loud music streaming out their opened windows. I sighed, knowing it would be a little harder to get to sleep. Just then, Dan emerged from his living room, a bag of ice cubes in his hand. He slammed the bag on the porch concrete several times to break it up and waved to me with a smile.
“Care to join us?” he called over, but I shook my head.
“Another time, perhaps, thank you, Dan. I’m rather tired and want to get some sleep.” I hinted but as good as he was, he could be a bit dense.
I went inside and closed all the windows against the clamor coming from next door. I was highly sensitive, and loud music and parties could easily overwhelm me. I changed into my nightie and sought out my headphones so that I might drown out the neighbors with some new age natural sounds. I slid between the sheets of my bed and tried to go to sleep, but Hawk was on my mind.
What a strange name, I told myself. It didn’t even sound normal — more like an alias. That gave me cause for thought. Ordinary girls might have steered a wide course around him, as handsome and mysterious as he was. There were too many things that didn’t make sense and too much that was borderline hostile about him. For me, though, I could see through the exterior and knew he needed a loving woman to trust and need him.
Perhaps one day he would tell me his story, but until then, I would be content with what was available. I learned when I was a child that it wasn’t important whether people told you they could be trusted. I already sensed it and just needed to trust my instincts. They’d never steered me wrong.
I knew I was ready to have my own life. I had taken care of Mom and had looked after Dad after she was gone. I’d gotten my education and given my share to the community. It was time for me. Time for finding a good man and starting a family. There had been a special kind of loneliness when my mother passed. She had been an empath too and understood how I thought and felt. She never made me feel like an outsider.
The few people in my life who knew about my gift handled it in different ways. Some heaped sarcastic skepticism on my shoulders and others steered clear entirely. I felt like a freak in a carnival. A few understood and accepted me completely. It could be a cumbersome gift. Often, I felt negative energies from others that indicated undiscovered ill health or deep sadness. What I felt could permeate my energy as well. For that reason, I tended to be a loner.
It was different with Hawk. I felt his darkness, but it was an energy that attracted me to him. He was like a window splattered opaque with mud. I felt the urge to wash away the dirt and let sunlight illuminate the person inside. It was more than a feeling, actually. I felt compelled to do so. I was drawn to him. He was as familiar to me as a lover who reoccurred in my warm and trusted erotic dreams. We had already been connected by an unseen force that was as natural as breathing.
I knew he felt it. He probably didn’t understand it. He may have even thought it nothing more than an animal need for companionship, perhaps breeding. His energy changed as he came close to me and I knew it felt good for him.
There was an aspect of my abilities that I’d had little experience with so far, but I sensed it was maturing quickly. I’d first felt it with my mother. It had been a winter night, the kind so bitter as to have no redeeming factors save the prospect of spring. A spring she wouldn’t see. She had been in great pain, beyond what the narcotics could cloud. Although her eyes and lips were firmly sealed against complaining, I sensed her pain and felt helpless. I knew she needed something pleasurable to focus upon.
Since we were both sensitives, we were linked in consciousness. I summoned up the picture of a hot air balloon landing in a springtime pasture, its colors vibrant against the blue of the sky. I mentally pushed the picture toward her, as one would wrap someone in a blanket. I knew when she received it. Her eyes remained closed with the vision, but her lips curled up at the corners, and she nodded her awareness. I patted her hand and kissed her cheek. For that moment, we were as one mind, and I was able to ease her pain.
The danger, however, lay in the reverse possibility. I began to feel her pain. First as a great weariness and then a burning misery that radiated throughout my chest. Regretfully, I let go of her and left the room, walking out into that bitter night to cleanse myself of her energy. I hoped I had left behind enough of the balloon image to give her peace. She died two nights later, a smile still on her face. My dad took this to mean that she had seen Heaven in her path and that Jesus had come to welcome her. I knew differently.
I had the innate realization that I could do that at will, given that the recipient was somewhat aware. I believed Hawk had this, although he had no idea of it and probably couldn’t return it.
I turned over and over in bed, trying to sleep, but it was elusive that night. I did the only thing that brought me comfort. I slipped on a robe and slippers and went outdoors to the patio. I had hoped to release the restlessness to the sky, but the party next door was blocking me. Instead, I went inside, threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and left in my car to go to my dad’s church. I had a key to the back door and let myself in, headed for the organ. When Mom was ill, I’d often played throughout the night. It was an emotional release. One badly needed. Without release, I became overwhelmed, fearful, and anxious.
What I didn’t count on was that my dad was at the church as well. His office door opened, flooding the hallway with his lamp’s light. He came toward the organ, knowing it was me. I felt him approach and turned on the bench, rising to hug him.
“You can’t sleep again?” he asked simply.
I shook my head.
“What has you upset?”
I shrugged. “It’s not a bad thing, Dad. I’ve met someone, and he has many layers. I know he’s good inside, but he’s working very hard at hiding it.”
“You and your mother. You both always looked for the beauty within and blind yourself to the danger in discovering it.”
“Isn’t that supposed to be your job?” I teased him with a small smile.
“I suppose, but it seems to come easier to you, as it did to your mother. Often, she guided me when I couldn’t see it. This man, is he someone I know?” Dad was concerned and protective, as always.
“No, I wouldn’t think so. He lives a few miles from here, but I don’t know where. We’ve talked many times over the past few weeks, went on a picnic once. I’m drawn to him.”
“Be wary, Liane.”
“I will, promise,” I acknowledged and turned back to begin a piece by Bach. It was a driven, emotional piece and served to release the restlessness that kept me awake. Instead of returning to my apartment, I followed Dad into the vicarage and crept up to my bedroom there; the place I’d slept since I was a young child. It had comforting, simple energy and I was soon asleep.