Frankenstein In Love Page 6

  The mention of her name caused an uncontrollable quiver down deep inside him that he would acknowledge only to himself. Every time he looked at her picture, he felt something. A mysterious pull. It wasn’t something he could shake off and forget. It was something that hung on, a hidden something that seemed to want to draw them together. The old widow who lived in the lighthouse down the beach might call it one soul mate calling out to another, but he knew it wasn’t anything quite as romantic as that. It was only his damnable flesh wanting to be satisfied. His hands wanted to touch her, to stroke the lushness of her lips, her breasts, to feel her body beneath his. No, there was nothing divine about it. It was lust, pure and simple.

  But he could never have her.

  He knew it every time he saw himself in a mirror, or reached up to feel the crazy zigzagging scars on his face.

  “Don’t talk to me about that cheap romance novelist. She writes nothing but trash, and I’d better not ever see you reading any of her books.”

  “Who in the hell do you think you are? I’m an adult. I’ll read any damn thing I want, and I just dare you try and stop me.”

  With anger boiling up inside him, Kirk turned and began walking toward her with an energetic stride.

  Elaine’s gaze widened and she abruptly turned and ran out.

  Kirk reached for the door just as it clanged shut, his grip on the bars rattling it violently as he watched her run up the stairs. After being sure she was gone, he turned, walked to his bed and pulled the nightstand drawer open. Reaching in, he picked up a small picture of Tiffany Lovelace, his touch almost reverent as he looked at it closely in the dim light of a lamp. Gazing into her beautiful face, he thought about how her body had felt against his as he carried her into the mansion from Cat’s Paw. His heart wrenched in pain, knowing he would never feel the softness of that body beneath him, or feel the touch of her sensuous lips on his. His eyes closed as he remembered the exotic smell of her perfume when he held her shapely body close to his—perhaps a little too long.

  “Why in hell did she have to come down here to live?” he agonized, the tortured rasp of his voice filling the dark room. She was light years away from him in New York, a place he would never be. But now she was here in Mystic Island where under normal circumstances he might walk down the street and see her, or have a chance meeting in a restaurant, the market, on the beach—anywhere—somewhere.

  So close—yet so far away.

  He threw the picture down, trying to resist the urge to pick it up, wipe the dusty surface off with his sleeve, and carefully lean the picture against his glass while he ate his dinner. He tried to turn away, but couldn’t. After staring at it for a moment, he finally gave in, leaned over and picked it up, handling it gently.

  With her image leaning against his water glass, he sat down and picked up his fork to eat. He instantly became caught in a reverie, imagining himself having dinner with her, when he turned and happened to catch a glimpse of his ugly, scarred face in a mirror. He gasped as the truth exploded inside him, making him feel like a fool. He jumped up from the table bellowing loudly, he kicked his chair and turned the table over. Shouting out a string of obscenities, he angrily ran to the mirror and began pounding on it, smashing it into long, dangerous shards. After an exhaustive fight with his own image, he pulled himself away and fell onto his bed sobbing while hiding his wretched face in the pillow. Finally, he made an effort to wipe away his unmanly tears by angrily sweeping his rough hand across the harsh, jagged scars that sliced crazily along one side of his face.

  While wallowing in his anger, he happened to see a series of hypnotic glints coming from the shards on the floor, and the glittering play of light caught his interest. He spent several moments mesmerized, his mind entertaining one dangerous idea after the other. After several moments he got up from his bed and walked over. He leaned down and picked up the longest and the sharpest. He handled it, turning it over in his hand, feeling the way it fit snugly into his palm. Shifting his gaze, he looked down at his other hand, lifted it, and exposed his wrist. He lightly pulled the shard across his veins, leaving only a faint outline of a scar.

  Sweat broke out on his forehead. He wanted to do it so badly, he could taste it. He saw the shard as salvation, knowing it could take away his misery, his agony. He’d lived in this basement for ten years. No one would miss him. He knew Quinn and Elaine would be better off without him. They could leave the mansion, be free to live their lives, and not have to think about him.

  The decision made, he clenched his teeth determinedly. He squeezed the shard in his hand and before he could talk himself out of it, made a wild slice over his wrist, spewing blood everywhere. Before losing his courage he took the bloody shard in the other hand and sliced his other wrist. Almost immediately everything began getting dark, the room spinning crazily. He fell hard against the wall, bumping it loudly. With the dark dungeon hiding his shame, he tumbled into oblivion, holding the small, ragged picture of Tiffany Lovelace close to his heart.

  * * * *

  “No kidding? You got a month off?”

  “Yeah, can you believe it? Some poor guy royally screwed up.”

  “Yee-haw! Where’ll we go?”

  “I can’t go anywhere, Joni.” Tiffany sat down on her bed and absentmindedly began playing with the telephone cord. “I’d like to finish the book before I take any time off, but with these dreams and everything, I’m an emotional wreck. I really need to just forget everything and enjoy a little peace and quiet.”

  “Come on, Tiffany, you have to go somewhere.”

  “Joni, I get enough travel working on my books.” Lying back, she stretched and yawned. “Really, just staying home and doing nothing sounds better to me than anything else I can think of.”

  “Party pooper.”

  “Sorry, but believe me, I won’t be bored. I gave Mrs. O’Hanlan a paid vacation, and there’s plenty here to keep me busy.”

  “You’re gonna do housework with your time off? I can’t believe you, Tiffany. If anybody else had a month off, they’d be flyin’ halfway around the world partyin’ up a storm. But you want to do housework? Talk about dull.”

  Tiffany sat up, frowning. “Joni, I will not live in a dirty house. Besides, there’ll be time for everything. Anyway, I’m leaving it up to you to think up some really good things we can do while I’m off.”

  “Sorry, but I doubt if I could think up anything as exciting as cleaning the grunge off your shower curtain. But I will keep you in mind if I find any new and exciting floral scented toilet cleaners. You know, you’re the first person I’ve ever seen that goes ballistic if her toilet water doesn’t stay blue.”

  “Why am I getting all this abuse from you?”

  “How in hell are you going to find your dream man if you don’t go out and look for him?”

  “Well,” she began as she walked over to the window and gazed out sadly. “I, uh…”

  “What? Spit it out.”

  “Well, I’m damned tired of looking for him. I think it’s about time he tried finding me.”

  “She said as she gracefully hobbled into old age—without a man.”

  “You’re a pain, you know that?”

  “I know I’m a pain, but it’s what best friends do.”

  The next voice Tiffany heard was Joni wheezing out a dramatic sigh and saying with a trembling voice, “But it’s all right, I’ll get along. Someone has to be the thorn in your side, the splinter in your finger, and the voice of reason in your conscience. I’ll suffer silently when you—”

  “Sheee, should I get out my violin?”

  “Smart-ass. All right, so you’re not going anywhere, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Do you know how you’re gonna end up? Sittin’ out in your swing combing your blue hair, pickin’ your false teeth and staring at that pathetic little road, still wondering what’s up there.”

  “Give it a rest, Tallulah. I’ve got to go to bed. Goodbye.”

 
Tiffany chuckled when she heard a resigned “Hrumph,” followed by the dial tone. Hanging up the phone, she turned and crawled into bed, lay down quietly, and waited for the dream to begin.

  But nothing.

  She frowned and opened her eyes. Why wasn’t the dream coming? Why wasn’t she being swept up into a swiftly moving current, and pushed back into a pile of large, plush pillows with her dream man gazing down at her? Just when she decided she wanted it, demanded it even, the dreams were gone. She’d had it all planned. She was going to confront her dream man and ask him to explain. But now it was over. Now, all she was left with were two tormented, glowing orbs peering out of a dim, haunting shadow.

  * * * *

  Quinn slammed into the mansion yelling for Elaine.

  “In the kitchen!”

  He walked in and leaned on the doorframe. “I’m back.”

  “I see that. Hey, you should have been here this afternoon. We had a visitor.”

  “Oh yeah?” he said as he opened up the refrigerator. “Way up here? Who was it? Someone got lost, no doubt.”

  “Very good. She was lost, as a matter of fact.”

  He twisted open the cold beer, threw the tab aside, and took a quick glance down at his watch. “Aren’t you doing that kind of late?”

  “I’m almost through. Got started late, that’s why I’m still at it.”

  “Well, are you going to tell me who this person was, or is this some kind of game you’re playing?”

  She turned to him and grinned. “It was none other than the nasty, dirty, little erotica writer herself, Tiffany Lovelace.”

  Quinn spewed the beer right out of his mouth. While choking on the suds, he picked up a towel and wiped himself off.

  Raising her voice, she said, “My God, Quinn, I expected you to get excited, but this is ridiculous. Do you see the mess you’ve made?”

  “Sorry,” he said and slammed down his beer. “I’ll be back.” He turned and burst out of the mansion and trudged up to Cat’s Paw. Once there, his searching gaze anchored on the widow’s window and saw the candle. He had learned that when the candle was burning, the widow was open for business. Pushing himself through the wind, he made his way down a path that led to the beach, and made footsteps through the tide toward the lighthouse where he pounded on the rattling door.

  He needed the old widow’s services—now!

  Quinn had been in the widow’s house for quite a while, but when he came slamming back into the mansion he felt as if everything was going along as planned. First he had managed to get Tiffany to Mystic Island, made her want him through her dreams, and just when the time was right—he took them away.

  It’s just as well, he thought, the dreams were too fragile. They had served their purpose, but now he had to go on to the next step.

  After changing clothes, Quinn went back out again and circled the mansion, securing windows and examining doors, siding, and anything else that needed attention. After everything was done, he settled in his study—and waited.

  * * * *

  Elaine was getting nervous as she gazed down at her watch. It was getting late, and she wondered if she should go down and get Kirk’s dinner tray. She hesitated, thinking since she had left him so angry, maybe it would be better to wait until morning for him to cool off. Shaking her head, she decided she had better get it since Kirk didn’t like her to leave it overnight. She certainly didn’t want to make him any angrier than he already was, so she opened the creaking door and crept down the stone stairway very quietly.

  Approaching the barred metal door, she didn’t hear anything, so she peeked in thinking he was already asleep. Again she considered going back up, but since she was already there she decided to just go ahead and get it without waking him. She opened the door as quietly as possible, allowing her sight to adjust to the darkness little by little. While feeling around for the tray, her feet bumped into a bulky mass of something on the floor. She lost her balance and fell, finding herself staring into the horribly scarred up face of her brother. She became panicky, and began screaming hysterically. When she tried to get up, she pushed her hands against the floor, dipping them into the blood beside his body, and began to scream, one coming right after the other.

  *

  Quinn jerked his head up when he heard the screams.

  He jumped up from the desk in the study and went running through the mansion. “Elaine! Elaine! Where are you?” He heard her scream again, determining that the sound was coming from the basement. He promptly turned toward the door and ran down the stairs. Scrambling as fast as he could toward the little room, he saw Elaine, bloody and frightened while crouching in a corner. She pointed at Kirk. Quinn turned to where she was pointing, and groaned. “Oh, my God, what happened?”

  “I don’t…I…I f-found him like that.”

  Quinn ran over, saw Kirk’s wrists and grimaced at the blood. He pulled Kirk’s clothes back, and felt the pulse point along his neck for signs of life. “He’s still alive. Elaine, help me get him over to his bed.”

  “Aren’t we going to call an ambulance?”

  “We can’t. Trying to get an ambulance up here would be like asking someone to come to the moon.”

  “But he’ll die.”

  “I don’t think so. His pulse is strong.”

  “But the blood, Quinn. He’s lost so much blood.”

  Quinn whirled on her. “Elaine, you know as well as I do that he would rather die than go to a hospital. I can give him my blood if he needs it, like I did when he had the accident. You’re a fine nurse. Get out of that damned corner and set up the equipment in case we need it. Now make yourself useful and help me.”

  Just as he was about to lift him up, Quinn saw something clenched in Kirk’s hand. Leaning over, he pried it out, and saw that it was a picture of Tiffany Lovelace. He gazed down at the picture, and then over at the pitiful face of his younger brother. The ugly scars gleamed brightly with lovesick tears in the dim light.

  “Damn, that woman is nothing but trouble to the Kessler men.”

  “What is it?”

  “Uh, nothing, never mind,” Quinn said, shoving the picture in his pocket. “Let’s just get him off the floor.” Together, they managed to drag him over to his bed and get him on it. Elaine examined his wounds closely, and after dragging out a large box of medical supplies, she applied medication, and efficiently fixed his wrists up as well as any doctor.

  “Quinn, why don’t we move him upstairs? I worry about him down here in this dark dungeon. Why in God’s name does he insist on staying down here? His face is not that bad.”

  “We’re used to it, Elaine. To someone else he might look like a monster. If Kirk wants to live down here, we should just leave him alone. When he’s ready to move upstairs, he’ll let us know. I’ll stay down here with him tonight and watch him. If he can make it until morning I think he’ll be okay.”

  With a sigh, Elaine went over and began clattering among the broken glass and broken furniture, picking things up.

  Quinn got up, went over and put his arms around her. “Elaine, just let that wait until tomorrow. Get the IV and other things ready just in case.”

  Elaine laid her head on his shoulder and began crying. “My God, what if he dies?”

  “He’s not going to die, he’s going to be all right, I promise.” He pushed her toward the door. “Now you go upstairs and get things ready.”

  She hesitated. “What made him lose control like that? What made him go on such a rampage?”

  “How do I know? He must have seen himself in the mirror, and went a little mad.”

  “But, that…”

  “Get out and do what I told you.”

  “All right,” she mumbled as she reluctantly headed upstairs.

  Quinn pulled up a chair close to his brother’s bed and sat watching him for the slightest movement, but none came. After asking himself the same question Elaine had, he pulled the photograph out of his pock
et and gazed down at Tiffany Lovelace. Her lips were parted in a sensuous half smile that would send any man running for the nearest bedroom, or in his case a cold shower, or—cutting his gaze over at the moonlight dappled body of his younger brother—suicide.

  Chapter 6

  THE old widow, her body slightly stooped, stood against the rail at the top of the lighthouse tower. The winds buffeted her frail body, whipping her ankle-length skirt and her kinky gray hair wildly. She knew a storm was hovering off the coast, and had been paid a handsome fee to use her magic to seize it. Lifting her gnarled hands to the sky, she called out an incantation that pierced the clouds, her voice rising above the storm—

  “I call upon thee, Mighty Hecca, God of the wind, to send your power! I call upon thee, mighty Thorr, whose beard is as bright as the evening sunset, to crack the storm clouds with your lightning power! Thunder roll, thunder shake, the sky is yours to rent and quake!”

  In response to her powerful commands, the high winds gave forth a piercing cry, bringing with it the flash of lightning and the roar of thunder from out of the dark sky. She continued to watch the turbulent sky, repeating the commands until she knew she had captured the attention of the gods of the storm.

  When the ritual was at last complete, the lightning, thunder and wind roared around her, growing stronger by the minute. She held on to the rail, languishing in the hurricane power that she herself had unleashed. Turning her gaze upward, she saw the dark clouds roil, the lightning piercing them while the powerful thunder cracked and quaked. But in only seconds the velocity of the storm became such that she was almost picked up by the wind and dangerously buffeted along the lighthouse balcony. She began to struggle, pulling herself along the rail until she finally managed to get through the door that was being pushed and pulled by the strong wind.

  * * * *

  Tiffany’s phone rang sending a shrill sound throughout her house. Being thankful that it still worked, she reached for it. “Hello?”