ENCOUNTER

A short story by J W James (Based on the dream of a friend)

Mary walked quietly to the edge of the balcony, resting her pale arm on the dark, iron railing. She breathed in deep, the scent of the roses that grew on the trellises and in long beds beneath her floated heavily on the warm spring breeze. She was thankful for the little comfort it brought to her clouded mind, her thoughts dwelling on her husband who mingled with the rest of the pompous aristocrats inside the manor house. She had always hated these affairs, but everyone knew that they were a requirement if you were to be accepted in the town. As the wife of the most prominent lawyer in the entire district, she had no choice but to attend.

She had never been happy with the marriage, even less since she became the object of ridicule amongst the other women in town. She knew that her husband did not keep his vows of matrimony, most of the men there had someone else, but it was different for Mary. She could hear the whispers of the other ladies wherever she went, feeling their stares as she walked along the streets. She hated the man that she once loved, her heart turning black as she thought of him and the other women that he brought to their home. He was as open about his infidelities as any man could be, flaunting the younger and often more beautiful girls in front of her. He had even made her participate a few times, threatening to turn her out into the streets if she were to refuse him. With no family to take her in, she had no choice but to give in to his wishes. She was little better than property to her husband.

It had been different at first, the young lawyer courting her as any gentleman may court a lady, but things rapidly changed after their marriage. It did not take them long to discover that her womb was barren, giving him a suitable reason to hate her. In his eyes, he was justified to sleep with other women. Like all of the men at the party, he was no better than the swine that rolled in the mud of the farmer’s pens. She would make him pay for his self-indulgent ways. The night would be forever remembered.

Mary leaned a little farther over the railing, reaching down to the closest trellis and plucking one of the crimson roses from the vine where it grew. She pulled her hand back, recoiling as a thorn tore into the soft paleness of her fingertip. Instinctively, she dropped the rose, her finger going immediately to her mouth. Her blood was warm and salty on her tongue, making her think of the secret desires that she’s had inside of her ever since she’d first heard a tale that one of the local authors told at a reading. He’d spoken of devils and the things they did, quickly bringing about the condemnation of his works by the local parson. It had brought something to life in her though, making her wonder if he had seen such things in his travels or if they were just his fictitious words. But it no longer mattered, she was already a ghost, a scorned woman with no place left to turn. She hated the world and everyone in it. She was going to make her husband see what his actions had driven her to. She would make everyone sorry.

She turned towards the railing again, a flash of movement behind her catching her by surprise. She shuddered, frightened suddenly by the presence of the strange man, his green eyes making her feel as if he was digging into her very thoughts. She was transfixed, His features reminder her of those that she saw depicted in a painting she saw of a group of angels when she and her husband visited a museum in Paris. His skin was whiter than the statues, which stood like specters in the garden beneath them, his blonde hair seeming somehow wrong for his body. She tried desperately to tear herself away from his gaze, but somehow she could not. She was at his mercy.

He took a step closer to her, his movement causing her heart to skip a beat. She was frightened, but somehow, she was also aroused. She felt suddenly alive when just moments before she’d resigned herself to death. Confusion filled her thoughts as he stepped closer, the sound of the music inside the house suddenly seeming so far away. She struggled to gain control of her spinning head, but it was no use. She was under some kind of strange spell. He was suddenly there, his hand brushing gently against her cheek. She quivered in fear, while closing her eyes and enjoying his cold, hard touch. She knew at once that this was meant to be. He had been sent to her from somewhere unknown. He was the answer to her dreams and her desires. He was the salvation she’d been seeking. He was happiness and release. He was what she needed.

She felt his arms wrap around her, the rest of the world seeming to melt away as his lips touched hers. She saw her husband’s face in her mind, the image filling her with anger and hatred before slowly fading away. She kissed the stranger harder, more passionately, her thoughts slipping into the dark realms of the fantasies she’d had since hearing those tales. She wanted him. She wanted to feel the secrets that he had to show her. She wanted to be consumed by him, set ablaze, immolated.

She felt his hands moving over her through the silk of her dress, welcoming the foreign touch of this stranger as he explored her. New desires flooded into her mind as she touched him in return, their tongues rolling across each other’s. For the first time in a long while, she felt like a woman again. She slowly surrendered to the passion of this moment, wanting to have him right then, her loins begging for him. She no longer cared about all of the things that had nearly sent her over the balcony just moments before. Nothing else existed. She lived only for him and that single moment that she was now experiencing. She could barely control herself.

His touch suddenly became rougher, more hurried, exciting her more than she could ever remember being in her life. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, his lips moving slowly over the flesh of her neck and cleavage. She moaned softly, her body and mind wanting him even more. She grew mad with lust as his tongue moved quickly over her throat once more, chills streaming through her entirety. She had to have him.

She moaned louder, the sudden sharpness of his teeth on her neck making her want to recoil. The pain was pleasing to her, its strangeness making her melt into him. A million thoughts rushed into her head, her life seeming to pass before her eyes as she felt him drinking from her. She grew dizzy as the blood drained more rapidly from her and into his delicate mouth. She knew at once that she was dying.

He pulled away suddenly, the break in contact, making her feel more alone than she had before he had come along. She looked about, but he was already gone, vanished like a magician on a stage. She touched her neck, feeling the marks that had been left by his teeth, knowing then that it was not just a fantasy that had come to her in the desperate grips of loneliness. Fear swam into her heart, confusion into her mind. She knew not what to do or how to proceed. She knew not if she was dying or dead, or still alive. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, thinking of how she had been used by this creature, just as her husband had used her. All of her sorrows returned, accompanied now by new feelings of abandonment. She wanted to die.

Mary turned quickly, looking passed the rail and into the blackness of the night that surrounded everything beyond the edge of the balcony. Without pause, she moved to it and began to climb. She could not take the pressures of what was in her heart or her mind. Reaching the top, she took one last look at the house. By chance, she caught sight of her husband, a snifter of brandy in one hand and a much younger woman in the other. Feeling a final touch of hatred for him, she jumped.

The world spun once more as she plummeted to the ground, the thorny rose vines tearing at her skin as she fell. She refused to close her eyes, wanting to watch as she prepared herself for the end. She was going to die and make him pay, make them all pay. She would make them see just how much she had cared. She continued to fall.

She did not expect to feel the hands of the stranger as they caught her in midair, her fall and her suicide thwarted by his heroism. She screamed at the top of her lungs, angry that he had not allowed her to die, not caring that he had returned to her. She thought of him now like she did everyone else, the tenderness of the moment they’d just shared already tainted by his original disappearance. She screamed again as he placed her carefully onto the ground. She was safe from the clutches of death and denied the happiness that she’s been seeking. Her tears flowed like rivers.

Mary awoke in darkness, her eyes adjusting to the room and all of the things that she’d known in her room. She’d had the craziest of dreams, the images of the stranger still fresh in her mind. She felt a chill, the hairs on her arms standing on end. Looking about, she discovered that her bedroom window was ajar, the curtains flapping wildly in the breeze. She thought for a moment, remembering quite well that she’d not only closed it earlier, but locked it as well. Getting up from the bed, she went to close the window.

Mary let out a small cry, her foot making contact with something quite sharp. Looking down, she saw something that made her gasp. There beneath her bleeding toe was a single, crimson rose. She wondered how much of the night had really been a dream.

The End.