The Angel
Page 89
An icy bolt of fear raced into the pit of Wesley’s stomach as Søren turned brutally cold eyes onto him.
“Wesley…” Søren said his name with the unmistakable hint of menace in his voice. “I said I didn’t want us to be enemies. For your own sake, I’d highly suggest adjusting your tone.”
Wesley couldn’t meet his eyes, wouldn’t meet them. He stared past Søren and out into the hallway. Out there he could see the ghostly outline of Nora padding down that hall in her penguin pajamas with her wet hair up in a bun and a cup of cocoa in her hand. His Nora…his best friend…the woman he would have given everything to. Once he’d offered her every penny he had and she’d turned it down. Maybe he’d offer again and this time he’d tell her exactly how many millions of pennies he had. And then it would be him and her and cocoa and penguin pajamas and Battleship games and stupid jokes about druids for the rest of their lives.
“I love her,” Wesley whispered. “I love her more than my own life, and you…” He finally met Søren’s eyes. “You hurt her.”
Søren nodded.
“I do.”
“You beat her. You do stuff to her that turns my stomach.”
“I know it does, Wesley.” Søren spoke the words with such sympathy that Wesley’s throat tightened.
Wesley took a step back.
“What? You aren’t going to defend yourself? Justify it? Tell me it’s what Nora likes? What she wants?”
Søren shook his head. “Of course not. I don’t have to, after all. You know as well as I do that she loves being with me, loves what I can give. Even more, she needs it.”
Wesley pulled himself to his full height of six feet and yet Søren still dwarfed him. But what he lacked in height he made up for in youth and rage.
“Needs it? She doesn’t need getting beaten. No one needs that. You’ve trained her, messed with her mind, made her think that’s what sex is supposed to be like.”
“So you, a virgin, are going teach Eleanor what sex should be like?”
The five fingers on Wesley’s right hand slowly balled themselves into a tight fist. What he wouldn’t give to be able to break that beautiful face that stared at him with such arrogance, such hauteur....
“I’d do a lot better than a sick sadistic Catholic priest who can’t even hold her hand in public.”
Something in Søren’s eyes flinched…just a little, just enough Wesley could see that he’d finally struck home.
Wesley waited. Søren said nothing else.
“I helped her paint this room, you know?” Wesley nodded at the walls. “Moved the furniture, put down the drop cloths… We painted all day. Took three coats to get the walls as red as she wanted. That print over the bed? I hung it for her. She spent a solid hour trying to figure out exactly where she wanted it. We rearranged the furniture in here until after midnight. Then we ate pizza at one in the morning. And you know what she said after all that? Do you?”
Søren stared at him.
“No.”
“She said, ‘Wes, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I hope I never have to find out.’” Wesley smiled at Søren. “Took four months but we repainted every room in this damn house. Repainted, rearranged the furniture… This was our house. Mine and hers. I know she’d sneak over to the rectory every once in a while and let you wail on her for a night. But I got her the rest of the time. I cooked her breakfast. I answered her fan mail. I put her to bed when she fell asleep at her desk writing. I rubbed her back when she was sore from overworking herself. And when she got all wrought up over you, it was me she cried on. No, she and I never had sex. That’s true. But we had love, real love that didn’t take anything out of us, that didn’t bruise us or break us. I loved her without hurting her. You asked me if I, a virgin, could teach her what sex should be? No, course not. Hell no. But at least I can teach her what love should be like. And she knows it too.”
“Does she now?”
Wesley smiled.
“Seen her new book yet? Read the dedication page. Then you’ll see why I say she’s not quite as content as you want to pretend she is.”
Wesley raised his chin and gave Søren the longest, coldest look he could summon. Søren only stared back, his gaze a second longer and one degree colder. Sighing, Wesley gave up and gave in.
“Whatever,” he said. “Like you care. I’m gone. Have a nice motorcycle ride back to your church where you can have fun pretending to be some kind of saint we all know you aren’t.”
This time when Wesley pushed through the gap, Søren let him pass. Wesley made it five paces down the hall when he heard his name.
“What?” Wesley asked, spinning around.
“Wesley…” Søren gave him a look that terrified Wesley more than any of the dark, cold glares Søren had already thrown at him. This look was almost—Wesley searched for the right word—humble. “Please, Wesley. I need to ask a favor of you.”
21
Money greeted Suzanne as she turned onto the tree-lined driveway that led to a grand, three-story Federal-style mansion. She parked her car, walked to the front door and rang the bell. A boy of about ten years old with wide violet eyes opened it.
“Hello?” Suzanne said, not knowing what else to say.
The boy turned his head back into the house. “Mom!” he called out and ran up the stairs, leaving the front door wide-open. A woman came down the hall with a towel in her hand. She wore a white men’s-style shirt and jeans. Black streaks covered the shirt. Her red hair was pulled back in a ponytail and a dark smudge of dirt adorned her cheek like a bruise.
“Wesley…” Søren said his name with the unmistakable hint of menace in his voice. “I said I didn’t want us to be enemies. For your own sake, I’d highly suggest adjusting your tone.”
Wesley couldn’t meet his eyes, wouldn’t meet them. He stared past Søren and out into the hallway. Out there he could see the ghostly outline of Nora padding down that hall in her penguin pajamas with her wet hair up in a bun and a cup of cocoa in her hand. His Nora…his best friend…the woman he would have given everything to. Once he’d offered her every penny he had and she’d turned it down. Maybe he’d offer again and this time he’d tell her exactly how many millions of pennies he had. And then it would be him and her and cocoa and penguin pajamas and Battleship games and stupid jokes about druids for the rest of their lives.
“I love her,” Wesley whispered. “I love her more than my own life, and you…” He finally met Søren’s eyes. “You hurt her.”
Søren nodded.
“I do.”
“You beat her. You do stuff to her that turns my stomach.”
“I know it does, Wesley.” Søren spoke the words with such sympathy that Wesley’s throat tightened.
Wesley took a step back.
“What? You aren’t going to defend yourself? Justify it? Tell me it’s what Nora likes? What she wants?”
Søren shook his head. “Of course not. I don’t have to, after all. You know as well as I do that she loves being with me, loves what I can give. Even more, she needs it.”
Wesley pulled himself to his full height of six feet and yet Søren still dwarfed him. But what he lacked in height he made up for in youth and rage.
“Needs it? She doesn’t need getting beaten. No one needs that. You’ve trained her, messed with her mind, made her think that’s what sex is supposed to be like.”
“So you, a virgin, are going teach Eleanor what sex should be like?”
The five fingers on Wesley’s right hand slowly balled themselves into a tight fist. What he wouldn’t give to be able to break that beautiful face that stared at him with such arrogance, such hauteur....
“I’d do a lot better than a sick sadistic Catholic priest who can’t even hold her hand in public.”
Something in Søren’s eyes flinched…just a little, just enough Wesley could see that he’d finally struck home.
Wesley waited. Søren said nothing else.
“I helped her paint this room, you know?” Wesley nodded at the walls. “Moved the furniture, put down the drop cloths… We painted all day. Took three coats to get the walls as red as she wanted. That print over the bed? I hung it for her. She spent a solid hour trying to figure out exactly where she wanted it. We rearranged the furniture in here until after midnight. Then we ate pizza at one in the morning. And you know what she said after all that? Do you?”
Søren stared at him.
“No.”
“She said, ‘Wes, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I hope I never have to find out.’” Wesley smiled at Søren. “Took four months but we repainted every room in this damn house. Repainted, rearranged the furniture… This was our house. Mine and hers. I know she’d sneak over to the rectory every once in a while and let you wail on her for a night. But I got her the rest of the time. I cooked her breakfast. I answered her fan mail. I put her to bed when she fell asleep at her desk writing. I rubbed her back when she was sore from overworking herself. And when she got all wrought up over you, it was me she cried on. No, she and I never had sex. That’s true. But we had love, real love that didn’t take anything out of us, that didn’t bruise us or break us. I loved her without hurting her. You asked me if I, a virgin, could teach her what sex should be? No, course not. Hell no. But at least I can teach her what love should be like. And she knows it too.”
“Does she now?”
Wesley smiled.
“Seen her new book yet? Read the dedication page. Then you’ll see why I say she’s not quite as content as you want to pretend she is.”
Wesley raised his chin and gave Søren the longest, coldest look he could summon. Søren only stared back, his gaze a second longer and one degree colder. Sighing, Wesley gave up and gave in.
“Whatever,” he said. “Like you care. I’m gone. Have a nice motorcycle ride back to your church where you can have fun pretending to be some kind of saint we all know you aren’t.”
This time when Wesley pushed through the gap, Søren let him pass. Wesley made it five paces down the hall when he heard his name.
“What?” Wesley asked, spinning around.
“Wesley…” Søren gave him a look that terrified Wesley more than any of the dark, cold glares Søren had already thrown at him. This look was almost—Wesley searched for the right word—humble. “Please, Wesley. I need to ask a favor of you.”
21
Money greeted Suzanne as she turned onto the tree-lined driveway that led to a grand, three-story Federal-style mansion. She parked her car, walked to the front door and rang the bell. A boy of about ten years old with wide violet eyes opened it.
“Hello?” Suzanne said, not knowing what else to say.
The boy turned his head back into the house. “Mom!” he called out and ran up the stairs, leaving the front door wide-open. A woman came down the hall with a towel in her hand. She wore a white men’s-style shirt and jeans. Black streaks covered the shirt. Her red hair was pulled back in a ponytail and a dark smudge of dirt adorned her cheek like a bruise.
