Chapter Forty-Three - Evangeline
I wake up smiling even before I remember why I’m smiling. How have I only been here six days? This feels like my life now. Like everything I was doing before I came to this house with Ix—God, I’m still getting used to that—was fake. A dream. Or some kind of alternate reality. And now this is reality. I’m awake and I might even be… happy.
I get up, throw on my nightgown and robe, run down the stairs, and I’m just about to walk into the kitchen to get our book when a loud chime fills the house.
I whirl around and stare at the hallway leading to the grand foyer.
It’s the doorbell, I realize.
I travel the hallway on tiptoe—which is stupid because I’m barefoot and still in my nightgown—and peek around the corner like a child who is supposed to be in bed. There’s someone on the other side of the wavy, leaded glass in the front door.
The bell rings again, so I tiptoe closer.
I’m almost certain whoever is on the other side can see me, so I take a deep breath, clutch my silk robe around my body, and open it.
“Evangeline Rolaine?” the man asks. He’s wearing the tidy blue uniform suit of a well-known local delivery service.
“That’s me,” I say, surprised I have a voice. Surprised I even opened the door, now that I think about it. I’m very exposed. No scarf, no gloves, no hat, no sunglasses.
“Sign here, please,” he says, thrusting a tablet at me. I sign with my finger, then hand it back as another man comes up the front walkway with several large packages.
“Would you like us to bring them inside?” the first man asks.
I nod, trying to understand what’s happening, and then move out of the way so they can enter the foyer. “Here is fine,” I say, pointing to the exquisitely upholstered bench under the mirror. “And I’m sorry, but I don’t have my purse—“
“No need,” the second man says, arranging the packages neatly on and around the bench. He smiles at me. “The tip has already been taken care of.”
“Who’s this from?” I ask.
The first man says, “There’s a card, ma’am. Do you need anything from us?”
“What would I need?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“We were instructed to ask if you required anything, ma’am.”
“No, thank you,” I say. “I’m good.”
They both bow their heads at me as they back out, closing the front door behind them.
How strange.
I walk over to the packages. There’s about half a dozen, each with a small card attached to the bow, and each card has a number on it. One through six.
They are all different sizes. One is the size of a large shoebox, three are the size of my hand, one is very large—at least three feet long and very wide—like it contains a whole other world under that paper and ribbon. The last one is very thin and flat. And they are all wrapped up in matte black paper, adorned with yards of golden fabric ribbon, and each has an elaborate golden bow.
One—the largest box—has a regular-sized card attached to it as well as the smaller one with the number.
I pluck the card off the paper—it comes off easily, like special care was taken so the paper wouldn’t rip—and open it up.
Dear Evangeline,
Today is the day you break free. Don’t be afraid of going after what you want. You deserve the world and the world deserves you.
Unwrap the packages numbered one through four. Don’t open the last two. Those are for later.
I won’t be watching today. A car will come to collect you at exactly eleven thirty. You will be dropped off, you will go inside and satisfy your curiosity however you see fit, and then you will return home in the same car.
Ix
I’m holding my breath. I don’t realize it until I let it out in a gush of air and feel a little dizzy.
Alone. I am to go out today alone. Is it much different than yesterday when I left here without instructions?
Yes, it’s very different. I don’t know why, but it is. And for a few seconds I allow my heart to beat fast. I allow the sweat to form on my brow. I allow my hands to shake and my legs to tremble.
And then I look up at the chandelier and say, “OK.”
I walk over to the gifts, lay the box marked One down onto the foyer rug, and kneel. My fingers can’t help but feel the rich, golden ribbon. It’s not smooth satin, but has a raised damask pattern woven into the silk. Very special, I realize. And very expensive.
I pull on it, expecting it to resist, but it doesn’t. The knot falls apart easily, like it was meant to do that, and soon it’s just a puddle of gold near my knees.
The box has a lid meant to lift off. Again, without resistance. And when I lift it, there is a swoosh of air which makes the black and gold tissue paper inside puff up with a display of splendorous pageantry.
My fingers are eager now, pulling the delicate paper aside to reveal a dress.
“Oh, my,” I sigh, lifting the dress out of the paper so I can hold it up to the light filtering in from the high, arched windows above the door.
It’s white. Winter white, not summer wedding-dress white. Almost cream. And it’s clearly cashmere, because it’s so soft, my fingertips want to pet it. I stand up, holding it against my body. It’s been tailored to my shape, because even though the skirt is long, it’s not too long.
I shrug off my robe, slip out of my silk nightgown, and step into it, just to make sure.
And even though the bodice is low-cut, it’s not too low-cut. My breasts fill up the cups on either side of the v down the middle, and make a spectacular show of cleavage. The a-line waist hits me just above my hips, and the hem swings just above my calves.
The intercom crackles just once, letting me know he’s watching.
I twirl for him, laughing, feeling like a child again. I had so many pretty, pretty dresses as a child. I wore them to spectacular places.
For a moment I’m disappointed that my destination today is the coffee house. This dress… this dress was meant to take me somewhere spectacular. The halls of a palace, or the desert gardens of a sheikh in winter.
But I remember there’s more inside the box. So I rush over and pull out a winter coat. Tan, the perfect color to compliment the winter-white dress. Double-breasted with large black buttons, a wide belt, and brown faux-fur trim on the hood and cuffs. It’s A-line, like the dress, with a long loose ruffle just above the waist for added flair.
Underneath the coat are tan leather gloves. Which make me laugh, because I left mine in the cab yesterday and even though I’m not sure if I care about exposing my hands, I will surely need gloves to leave the house on a such a cold winter day. There’s a scarf too. But not a thick one to cover my face like I usually wear. Silk. Cream with a intricate tan pattern.
There’s even a new pair of sunglasses. Not big and round and meant for hiding, but sheer, and sleek, and chic.
The second box contains over-the-knee suede boots the same color as the coat. Heels high enough to make me worry, but I dismiss that fear. I’m done with fear.
There’s more to unwrap. It’s like Christmas and I feel like I’m young again.
I go back over to the bench, find the package marked three, and sit back down on the rug to open it. The skirt of the dress pools around me like a puddle of snow.
The ribbon gives in as I tug, just like on the other boxes, and when I open the lid on this one there is… a necklace.
I can’t stop the huff of surprise that escapes my lips. Because this is no ordinary necklace. It’s diamonds and sapphires intricately woven together on a strand of silver, or white gold, or platinum, that would make a queen feel special.
“Oh, Ix,” I whisper. “This is…” I shake my head. “Too nice for a coffee house.”
The crackle of the intercom urges me to keep going. So I lay the box aside, get up to get number four, and sit back down in a pile of ribbon that looks like spun gold.
The fourth gift is earrings to match the necklace.
He bought me an entire outfit. And it’s perfect. It’s… me. So very, very me.
I didn’t even know who I was before coming to this house with Ix, but these clothes on my body add up to the image I’ve always wanted for myself.
No longer the child prodigy, but a grown, competent woman.
I daydream about how gorgeous I will look wearing this ensemble.
“What time is it?” I get up, rush to the kitchen to find the clock, and realize I only have an hour before the car will come collect me.
I shower, blow-dry my hair, and lightly apply a little makeup. Not too much. Today I don’t want to hide. I want to be me.
I put the dress back on, slip the boots up my legs with a sigh, and fasten the necklace around my neck and the earrings on my ears.
For the next ten minutes I just stare at myself in the mirror, amazed at how different I look. How well I have grown up. How beautiful I am, even without the violin.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” I ask the camera above the bed. “I think I’m going to like you, Ix. When I finally meet you properly. I think I’m going to like you a lot.”
The door chime pulls me away from my own reflection. I put the coat on, fasten the wide belt at my waist, pull the gloves over my hands, put on my sunglasses, and walk downstairs, ready for this day to begin.
The driver is at the door wearing a dark suit and dark sunglasses. He says, “Good morning, ma’am,” as he extends his forearm.
I take it. Unafraid. And let him walk me to the car, open my door, and hold my hand as I slip into the backseat that smells like rich leather and honey.
There’s tea set on the console between the two luxurious leather seats. A small pot made of white china. One cup. A tiny dish filled with golden honey and an equally tiny honey dipper sits off to the side.
I decide why not indulge? It’s been so long since I had this kind of luxury in my life. Luxury I could afford to enjoy. Luxury I felt I deserved.
So I pour a cup of tea, drip long viscous strands of honey into the amber liquid, and sip, fully content in the stillness of the smooth ride as we make our way through downtown.
We stop and I look out, surprised. “Where are we?” I ask the driver.
“This was the destination, ma’am.” He gets out, opens my door, and holds out his hand to help me out. He says, “I was told to give you this note.”
For some reason the small, folded piece of white paper in his hand makes my stomach clench up with fear. “What does it say?” I ask.
“I don’t know, ma’am.” I take it, and he says, “The car will be here when you’re ready to leave.”
I look up and realize we’re parked in front of what might be a hotel valet area. There’s a large revolving door, but no sign above. It looks… empty. “Is this—“
“No, ma’am,” the driver says. “There.” He points to the shop next door that does have a sign, which reads The Tea Room. And then he bows his head a little and walks back around to the driver’s side and gets into the car.
I’m alone. Again. And I don’t like it.
Hesitantly, I open the folded note and read.
Evangeline,
Go into the tea room and tell the hostess you’re looking for Jordan Wells. She’ll tell where to go next.
Ix
I don’t think I want to do this. Something inside me is screaming, No! A gut feeling that whatever is waiting for me inside that shop, it’s not what I’m looking for.
But I came all this way. All the way from frightened girl to confident woman, and I don’t want to run away now. I don’t want my future to slip through my fingertips. I don’t want to go back into the past.
So I draw in a deep breath, walk over to the door, open it up, and step into the tea room.
Inside it’s quaint. Lots of tables, mostly full of chatting women sitting in overstuffed chairs. It’s bright—far brighter than any room I’d have been caught alive in one week ago—and smells delicious. Like fresh baked goods and summer afternoons.
“Ms. Rolaine?”
I turn my head to find a tall woman with long, dark hair—about my age—looking at me with an air of familiarity. “Yes,” I say. “I’m Evangeline Rolaine.”
I don’t think I’ve introduced myself to anyone in public since I was fourteen. Managing it excites me, because it’s a huge step forward. But it also scares me. Why does she know my name?
“They’re waiting for you back here.” She smiles and turns, her long hair swishing from the quick movement.
“They?” I ask, but she’s steps ahead of me now, so I feel like the only thing I can do is follow.
I’m very glad Ix left me the sunglasses, and I’m also extremely happy that they’re not the large, dark, round ones I used to wear, because these don’t look like sunglasses you have to take off indoors and those did.
I leave them on as I maneuver my way through tables and people, until we reach a set of double doors at the back.
The panic sets in as she reaches for both doorknobs and pulls them open to reveal a man. Standing tall and still in the middle of the room. Hands clasped in front of his body. Uncertain smile on his face.
But I have no idea who the man on the other side of the door is.
“What’s going on?”
“Oh, my. Evangeline.” I turn to see Dr. Lucinda Chatwell off to my left, walking towards me with her arms outstretched. “You look so… different. So beautiful.”
She pulls me into her, grabbing both my hands and kissing me on the cheek as I awkwardly embrace her back.
“What’s going on?” I ask again. “Who’s this?” I ask, motioning to the man in the room.
“This is my partner. Ixion said you were ready to leave the house and you wanted to meet Jordan before you left.”
“What?” I shake my head and blink my eyes, like I’m dreaming and just need to wake up. “This isn’t Jordan. I know him. I’ve been watching him all week. In the gardens next to the house and at the coffee house for lunch.”
“What?” They say it at the same time.
“Jordan. This isn’t—“
“What are you talking about?” Lucinda asks. “This is Jordan Wells, my partner. He’s the one who found Ixion. That’s the name of your watcher. Ixion Vanir. When he called me last night he said—“
“He called you last night?” I ask. “And he set this up?”
“Yes,” Lucinda says. “What’s wrong? Why—“
I tune her out as all the puzzle pieces all into place.
X. Ix. Ixion. My watcher. My stranger.
He was the one meeting me all week. It was him in the greenhouse. It was him in the coffee house. It was him the whole time.
“Where is he?” I ask.
“Who?” Lucinda asks. Jordan just stands there looking as confused as I feel.
“Ixion,” I say, trying out his name. He wanted me to look at him last night. He wanted me to see him. And I said no. I wanted to stay blind. “I have to go,” I say, rushing back the way I came. The woman who took me to the private tea room is blocking my way, also wearing an expression of confusion on her face. I push past, then weave through the tables and people—all the while Lucinda is calling my name.
But I don’t turn back. And I’m not running away, either. I’m running towards something.
Ixion.
This is why I had such a bad feeling all morning.
No. No. No. No.
I push through the front door and run to the car, Lucinda follows me out, calling my name, but I slip into the backseat and tell the driver, “Take me home. Right now. Quickly! Quick!” I say it again when he looks at me in confusion. Lucinda opens the door, but I put up a hand and stop her from getting in. “No,” I say. “This is not over yet.” And then I push her back, close the door back up, and lean into the front seat. “Drive! Now!”
I chew my lip as we weave our way through downtown traffic, the familiar gut-wrenching, all-too familiar fear I’ve known for the past ten years overtaking me again. I need to get inside. I need his eyes on me. I need… him.
He can’t leave me like this. He wouldn’t.
But when I get to the house and rush through the front door, the first thing I see is the missing bulb up in the chandelier.
He’s gone.
I had a chance to know him. Really know him. And I turned him down.
And now he’s gone.
“You never told me the end of the story!” I scream, whirling around, looking for more cameras.
That’s when I see the last two gifts still sitting on the bench where I left them this morning.
I sink to the floor in the grand foyer, the piles of golden silk ribbon surrounding me like a pond of summer, tears welling up in my eyes.
“I don’t want them,” I say. “I don’t want presents. I don’t need more clothes. I don’t need jewelry, I don’t need any of this stuff! I just want to talk to you! I’ll take off the blindfold. I promise.” I’m pleading now. Begging to the empty air.
And because he’s gone, there’s no reply.
No crackle of the intercom to urge me on. No sense of his all-seeing stare.
I am alone. Unseen. Unheard. Hidden from the world.
And it’s ironic, after all those years of wanting to be invisible, right now I can think of nothing I want less.
The front door is still open. The wind is whipping through the house, making me shake with cold, when a shadow falls onto the floor in front of me.
I look up, hopeful, but see only Lucinda standing there, her body a silhouette of darkness against the bright winter sun.
“What’s going on?” she asks. “What happened here? Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?”
I shake my head as a tear falls down my cheek. “No,” I whisper. “He was gentle, and good, and I want him back. Can you bring him back?”
I see that Jordan—the real Jordan—has also come. He steps out from behind Lucinda and says, “He left. About an hour ago. Called me up and said the job was done, I should go to the tea room to meet with Lucinda and you, and that was it. He hung up. I tried to call him back after you ran out… but…” He shakes his head. “He won’t answer.”
“Where did he go?” I ask. “Where does he live? I need to find him!”
He shrugs. “I don’t know, Evangeline. Somewhere up in Wyoming, I think. I found him in jail a few weeks ago.”
“You what?” Lucinda asks. “What the hell is wrong with you, Jordan? Why the hell did you hire a man who—“
“He’s a friend, OK?”
“Then why don’t you know where he lives?” I ask, getting to my feet. “If he’s your friend, then where is he!” I yell that last part. “Is this part of your stupid game? Am I just another piece to play with?”
“Evangeline,” Lucinda says in her stupid, calm doctor voice.
“No!” I scream. “No! You people put me here with him and now you think you’re gonna take him away? No!”
“I’m sorry,” Jordan says. “When Ix disappears, well, he just… goes. He’s just gone.”
The three of us stand there, staring at each other. Lucinda looking like she really needs me to accept reality. Jordan looking guilty, about what I don’t know, but I want to find out. And me… God, me… I feel so… alone.
That word in my head makes me wilt. “I want to go home,” I say in a soft, small voice that reminds me of the woman I was before I came here. “I want my apartment, with the curtains drawn, and the city far, far away.”
“Why?” Jordan asks.
“Why what?” I snap.
“Why go back when you came this far? Ixion was never part of your future, Evangeline. He never was. He wasn’t supposed to talk to you or… whatever else he did,” Jordan says, starting to put the pieces together. “He broke the rules, OK? You need to forget about him. Believe me, he’s forgotten about you. That’s what he does best.”
I seethe at that characterization of Ixion Vanir. I glare at Jordan. Stare him straight in the eyes. Let him see me as I draw myself up, square my shoulders, lift my chin and say, “You don’t even know him. You don’t even know me. But I know you,” I say, pointing my finger at him. “He told me everything about you.”
Jordan shrinks back.
“Yes,” I say, nodding. “And if he left here, it was because of you. Not me.”
We stare at each other for several seconds. I pull away first and that’s when I see the last two gifts. The one marked Five is about the right size. And when I walk over and pick it up, it’s the right weight too.
“What’s that?” Lucinda asks.
I glance at Jordan as I pull the ribbon apart, tear the paper off, and hold our book in my hands.
“The end,” I say. “This is the end I was waiting for.”
I grab the other gift, walk out of the house, get back into the still-waiting car, and give the driver my address. I don’t open the book. I sit quietly as I’m taken back to my home. And when I walk through the front door of my building, I stare straight at the concierge and say, “Hello,” as I pass. “I’m going to need you to let me in my apartment. I seem to have left my purse behind.”
He stares at me, then offers up a quick, “Hello, Miss Rolaine. I’m glad to see you again,” as he pats his jacket for a key card and follows me to the elevator.
“It’s good to be home,” I say, as the elevator door opens and we get inside together, the unopened present in one hand, the book in the other. And when the doors open, and when I’m let in, and the door is closed behind me, I walk to the couch, set the unopened gift down, and collapse into the cushions with the book in my hand.
If I read it, it’s going to be end of everything.
It’s going to be the end of us.
I open the book and turn to the page where we left off.