Author: Dale Wiley
Category: Thriller
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/dale-wiley/page,7,457982-southern_gothic.html
She slowly pulled her dress off over her head, revealing her beauty. Was I imagining this? Was this some sort of sick joke from hell? Or was it simply that a beautiful woman was offering me something Leah had long stopped being capable of giving?
I wish I could say I was racked with guilt, but the truth is stranger. Catherine’s appearance obscured the memory of my wife as if Leah, her beauty and her slide, was nothing but a dream I’d once had long ago.
I motioned Catherine to my side of the bed. She walked over slowly and sat next to me, her eyes watching mine all the time. Her body was damp and cold. She took my hand, caressed it, and looked deep into my eyes.
I reached up and untied the red ribbon from her hair. Her thick golden hair slid down her neck. Suddenly, this woman meant everything to me. I kissed her, first nibbles and then something more, coaxing her into joining me. All my fears and regrets, all my loneliness, confusion, and anger about Leah, the house, my life—it all slid away like the rain dripping down her body. Time went off its stern and ever-vigilant watch and left us to our own instincts.
I put my hand on her shoulder and kissed her again, lowering her into bed. I cradled her head and began to kiss her for eternity.
Her breasts had that light taste of life itself. The taste of her made me young and innocent again. I lifted up each breast, searching for the creases where no one touched, and kissed underneath them. I pulled her to me, caressing the skin stretched delicately over her ribcage like ridges on the edge of a china plate. Then my thumb traced the spaces between, and I noticed a scar, about an inch long, ran parallel. Although fully healed, I looked into her eyes and told her without words she was safe with me, her and her secrets. I moved my head down and kissed her scar gently. Even her imperfections were beautiful.
The rain crescendoed. It whipped against the old glass, but the house kept the outside at bay. I pulled her closer and kissed her lips until I felt I knew her gentle soul.
I reached down to touch between her legs, her pubic hair soft on my fingertips. She shuddered when I touched her, and I understood I would be her first lover.
Then she reached for me, her breath hot on my neck. In a single moment, she changed from naïf to vixen. She pushed me flat onto my back, her arms pinning my shoulders to the bed. I smiled. Ever the man, I assumed I had the power. In that one gesture, I realized it was she who owned me.
We didn’t speak that night, not when we found a rhythm and both held on, not when we interlaced our fingers and climaxed together.
Before we fell into a deep and velvet-sleeved sleep, I noticed another scar about the same size and age on her right shoulder. It gave me pause, but I feared breaking our wordless reverie. Instead, I ran my finger along its surface, and she kissed me, and I forgot all about her secrets, and we fell into each other, utterly spent.
I awoke suddenly. There was a ghostly quiet. The storm was gone. I could hear the insistent beat of my heart, the way Poe might have described it. I turned and saw she was no longer there. Her pillow was still damp, and I buried my head against it. I missed her terribly. I needed to gaze into her eyes in the morning and play gently with her hair. The warmth and completeness my body felt before was gone. I was cold and alone. The shame threatened to explode in my chest.
What had I done?
Chapter 17
Outside, the rain beat steadily. It hinted at the approaching change of season and the shortened days ahead. A perfect day for reading.
The chapter had made Meredith swoon like a teenager watching Elvis for the first time. Meredith always experienced a lesser degree of this bliss any time she read a new book by Michael, but the circumstances, in her case, had turned a dull longing into full blown arousal.
It had been over two years since Meredith had last slept with Lance. She had woken him up in the middle of the night, climbed on top, and took him in a way she never had before. She wanted him to make her feel good, just once, and she wanted to use him like he’d used her all those years.
Whereas Lance’s attempts had been purely physical—impatient hands grabbing for her belt, turning her around, and bending her over the counter on the few occasions he showed any desire at all—Michael’s writing focused on the intellectual connections people developed as lovers. A dance drawn by circumstance and desire but not always commitment. Michael’s books were not about convention but about the edge of life, where indelible memories were made in an instant and sometimes tragic moments changed things forever.
She felt the need to burst out of the room and bare her soul to this strange man. But first, she really wanted to finish the book—her book.
RED RIBBON
Chapter Ten
Catherine came around again the next day. She clearly had some way of knowing when Leah wouldn’t be around although we never talked about her. I was upstairs working and was glad to see her walking up the driveway, the red ribbon especially bright on a gray day. I walked downstairs and gave her a big smile. She would have come to me, but she bore a gift, a pitcher of tea. It seemed odd to imagine her carrying a beautiful piece like that for a long distance, but I was happy to see her and not interested in playing detective.
I invited her in, but she declined. She kept her eyes down, and it wasn’t until I sat down on the porch with her that she had anything to say at all.
We sat with the silence. In a way, it seemed natural. Our evening, so full of passion—it was hard to imagine what to say.
She finally broke the silence. “You shouldn’t be alone all the time.”
I had no answer for that. I didn’t know if she meant in general or she was blaming Leah for the strangeness of the past few months. I said nothing. She poured me a glass of tea, and I tasted it. It had notes of lavender and something that reminded me of plum. It was unlike any tea I’d ever had. But it felt warm, and it was from Catherine, so I loved it.
Finally, I brought her up, attempting to say what I needed to say about her without ruining my rapport with Catherine.
“You know, I love her but hate who she has become.”
“I know. I felt that way once myself.”
“It’s just she’s ...”
She reached across the table and touched her finger lightly to my lips.
“You have put yourself in a lonely position. It would be easy to fall into madness. You don’t have to apologize for loving her. But I won’t apologize for loving you.”
Catherine turned slightly as if determined to leave the conversation behind.
She looked up at the second floor. “I have always admired this house,” Catherine said, with a faraway look in her eyes.
“There’s a lot to do, but yeah. It’s a pretty special place.”
“You can see all the way down to the river,” she said, almost to herself.
I was confused. The trees were too thick to see all the way down. I wondered if she’d confused it with the view of her house.
Now I was intrigued. “Does your house have a view of the river?”
Catherine put down her tea and looked straight at me. “There are things you don’t need to know. I am able bodied and perfectly willing to come over here. Isn’t that enough?”
I held up my hands in mock surrender.
“Would it change the way you held me last night? Would it change how I want to care for you?” Her face was pained.
I had again pressed the wrong button. I wanted to head for a retreat. “It wouldn’t change my feelings for you at all.” It felt strange to say that as a married man.
“Good.” She put her hand on top of mine. “I love taking care of you.” She smiled sadly.
I looked into her eyes, needing answers.
She gave me none.
Chapter 18
Meredith loved Red Ribbon, although it had ceased to exist as something she created. Yes, there were moments where her words shone through, but his manipulation made her manuscript so much richer. She wanted to plow through, but she reminded herself to savor, not devour reading Mich
ael Black. Meredith decided she needed a break, so she headed downstairs to feed her curiosity over her mysterious guest.
She found him sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, a blank stare on his face. She was slightly disappointed; she had expected him to go into her extensive library and pick out an exotic companion.
He looked up, surprised, and took a second to collect his thoughts. “How did I handle the rain scene?”
She pursed her lips. Was the book all he thought about? She didn’t answer right away. She went over and looked through the fridge, pouring a glass of orange juice. “I approve. In fact, I approve of everything. Especially the letter.”
He ignored the comment. “Where are you now?”
“Just past there. They’ve just had tea.”
Michael moved closer to her. He reached out to touch her forearm.
Out of instinct, she pulled back. She didn’t mean to, and her face flushed.
“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time. They laughed awkwardly.
Meredith waited a second and then said, “I’m gonna get back to the book.”
A look of annoyance flitted across his face but was gone within a moment. “Good,” he said with a smile she didn’t believe. “I’ll be right here.”
RED RIBBON
Chapter Twelve
The next find was my favorite: an old pitcher, nearly intact, found not too far from the main place I had been digging. I was fairly certain I had stumbled on an old trash site, a great find for someone looking for relics.
The china pitcher was decorated with a pretty gold and blue flower pattern, still vibrant and mesmerizing. Besides a chunk missing from the bottom and a couple of nicks at the top, it was in perfect shape.
I hustled in the house and showed Leah, who was doing her best to be more accepting of my treasure hunting. She ran her finger along the side of it and remarked on its beauty. She asked if she could copy the designs for an embroidery pattern or as inspiration for a tattoo. This was “better” Leah—still not back to before but trying to be supportive, to be a good partner. She didn’t say it directly, but I knew she was trying to make amends for the hell she’d put us both through.
I worried constantly she would relapse and feared she would stop taking the drugs, since they dulled her mind. Even in a moment like this one, where she tried to play the part, I knew there was a constant back and forth to return to who she once was. She needed that vibrancy and light, but every day with “better” Leah made me long for the original that much more. I compensated by being overly cheery and eager to please, always pretending like everything was normal. She was kind enough to play her part in the charade.
Of course, I never mentioned Catherine and the odd and delightful times she showed up and passed through my life like a beautiful dream. I rationalized. I cried. I made many resolutions. But in the end, I was faced with the realization that I had honest feelings for two women. The fear in meeting someone new, I found anyway, was not the losing connection with the first woman; it was the odd and completely unsettling sensation that you loved them both.
The upheaval inside Leah made my shifting allegiances easier. We couldn’t touch romantically; the doctor said she wasn’t ready for that. On her “lesser” days, her nightmares and paranoia kept her apart from me. The demons still lived within her. She was just better at keeping them hidden.
I knew so little about Catherine. I had only the vaguest ideas about where she stayed when she was in the area, and she seemed so out of place with her unwired lifestyle. Speaking with her was refreshing; she was always attentive and rarely distracted, not neurotically comparing herself to other women. Leah had always been constant nervous energy, moving from one crisis to the next.
I carefully cleaned the pitcher in the sink with warm water and soap; Leah supervised over my shoulder. I looked for distinguishing marks that might hint at its age or type but found nothing. It reminded me of Catherine—timeless and elegant.
Suddenly, there were knocks at the door, sharp and insistent, startling both of us, and the pitcher almost slipped out of my soapy hands. I froze. The only person who ever knocked and didn’t use the bell was Catherine, but the knock seemed different. I couldn’t breathe.
“I’ll get it!” Leah smiled and headed for the door.
Dear God, I thought. What am I going to do?
Chapter 19
The doorbell rang and interrupted Meredith’s reverie. She hurried downstairs, and Michael, a wanted man, headed up the stairs, giving Meredith a worried glance as he passed. She motioned for him to keep moving.
“Just a minute!” She checked the mirror before opening the door.
Standing in the rain with no raincoat, no umbrella, and flowers in his arms was Nate. Meredith’s heart sank. But before Nate sensed her disappointment, she lit on a plan.
“Nate!” She opened the door with a grin fit for a hero. She maneuvered him inside, ignoring the bouquet. “What a surprise. Who’s running the store?”
“Jenny”—a mother of three young children and the wife of an overbearing husband worked at Southern Gothic sporadically but enthusiastically—“came by and said she needed the time away from the munchkins.” Nate’s clothes dripped water onto the floor.
“I feel like a bad parent or something not being there. Anything interesting happen?”
“Yeah, one thing. An older woman came in. Seemed nice enough and everything. But she swore she saw Michael Black in our store a few days ago.”
Meredith stopped breathing.
“Said he had a pony tail and kind of salt and pepper hair.”
She started breathing again. Nate didn’t believe the woman.
“Said he asked about you.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I think she was a little tipsy.” He mimicked a drinking gesture. “I wanted to tell her Wilkie Collins and Arthur Conan Doyle were today’s guests.”
“Nate!”
He chuckled to himself, very proud of his joke. This gave him enough confidence to hand the daisies and purple mums to Meredith.
It looked as if he had picked them by hand.
“I brought you these,” he stammered, his cheeks glowing.
Meredith saw her opening. “Okay,” she said, her face like a drill sergeant, convinced she could handle this. “Shoulders up and chest back.”
Nate looked at her in horror.
“Whoever this lucky woman is who will be getting these flowers needs to know you mean business.” She put the flowers down on the counter and came close to his side, putting a hand at the base of his spine and using the other hand to pull his shoulders back. “Everything this woman needs to know about you should be able to be said without any words—simply by the way you look at her, the way you stand, the way you touch her.” She looked at him and winked, hoping later he would appreciate her saving him from embarrassment.
“I don’t know whether this is the girl you talked to me about a couple of weeks ago, but I’m so glad you stopped by before you dropped by her place because you’re getting this all wrong. You need to take the lead, not come in mumbling and apologizing. Obviously, you didn't speak an apology, but your body language did.”
Nate looked gobsmacked. “An apology?”
She nodded. “Go in there like you own the place. There’s nothing sexier than confidence.” She thought about the man overflowing with confidence upstairs.
Nate dug in deeper. “What are you—”
She handed the flowers back. “These are beautiful. She will love them.”
He wasn’t going to make this easy. “Would you want—”
“Nate,” she said gently, “I have a date tonight.” The words almost caught in her throat.
“Anyone I know?” he asked.
Meredith hesitated before answering. She knew Nate loved Michael’s books. “I don’t know. Perhaps you’ve seen him around town,” she said. “I think he’s come into the store once or twice.”
Nate lit up. �
�Elvis. He finally came back. Or Ambrose Bierce. He’s been gone longer. Or no. Something you’d like more. I’ve got it. Michael Black!” he laughed.
Meredith’s eyes grew to the size of Japanese lanterns, thankful the joke had given him an out. He could leave with his dignity intact.
His mood brightened, and he walked out the door but then turned back. “Meredith?”
Already heading upstairs, she turned around and met his gaze. “Yeah?”
“Thanks. I appreciate all the help. Have fun tonight.”
Meredith certainly hoped she would.
RED RIBBON
Chapter Thirteen
Leah had almost reached the door. I hurried toward her, preparing what I would say to both of them.
Leah cracked the door, and a figure pushed it open with such force it threw her back and caused the door to pop against the wall. Light flooded in, and for a moment, I couldn’t make out the visitor. Slowly, he came into focus. He was a wiry man clothed in a denim shirt and light-brown dungarees. His hair was jet black, and he had a handlebar mustache. I had only a second to size him up. Maybe this was a hipster get-up. I wasn’t sure. He was certainly true to the character if it was.
He stormed through the room, radiating a menacing energy from his pores. He stopped just in front of me, his body vibrating with anger. He wasn’t tall, but he didn’t have to strain to be menacing. He sized me up and then pushed the words up out from his belly. “Mr. Cheely, are you the one? Are you the dog who defiled my wife?”
“I think you’ve—”
“Answer the question!” His face was inches from mine—so close I had to manage everything I had not to move into him.
“I’m not Mr. Cheely.”
He relaxed and took a step back. He smoothed his shirt and looked at Leah, who was panicked. I worried about what effect this would have on her.