Page 13 of Farkas: Gothika
Vincent put down his book, stood, and sauntered over to stand only inches from Lee’s chair. His lips seemed especially red tonight, almost as if he were wearing lipstick, and his cheeks carried an unusual flush of color. “My parents have been dead a very long time.”
Lee remembered that he’d asked that already. “I’m sorry.”
“My mother died in childbirth when I was quite young, along with the son she was carrying. My father was killed in battle. I do not mourn them.”
“And your grandmother—Laszlo’s wife?”
“In her grave before I was born.” Vincent startled Lee by crouching so they were eye to eye. “Do you pity me?”
Unable to speak clearly, Lee shook his head.
“Good. Honestly, I do not mind spending time alone. I am accustomed to my own company. But when I become a bit lonely, I have methods to ensure sufficient companionship. Do you as well?”
“I… I….” Lee’s skin felt hot.
“There is no shame in pursuing the things for which we yearn. We are made thusly, with inherent needs. Denying those needs weakens us.”
Lee felt very weak right now, as if he might swoon like a damsel in a movie. The pen fell from his nerveless fingers, but he couldn’t turn away from Vincent’s face.
“You are a handsome man, my friend. You have a strong chin—quite determined-looking, I think—and remarkable pale blue eyes. They remind me of an icy lake. I think it would suit you to allow your hair to grow longer. Perhaps you will consider it.”
Vincent leaned forward until Lee was certain they would kiss, and he found himself anticipating the touch of those vivid lips.
But then Vincent quickly stood and moved away from the desk, leaving Lee both relieved and bereft.
* * *
Vincent left shortly before dawn, and Lee, after climbing wearily into bed, fell asleep almost at once. He dreamed first of the handful of men with whom he’d been intimate: a couple of soldiers during the war, a fellow who’d lived in the same apartment building when Lee was in law school, a couple of men he’d met at the Crown Jewel cocktail lounge. He saw their faces, and their cocks, but they all seemed deficient in some important way. He turned away from them.
And then the mysterious man came to him, the one who’d been shrouded in fog, only this time he was almost visible in the darkness. He got into bed with Lee and reached for him at once; but this time, no matter how much he stroked and caressed, Lee could not reach completion. For what felt like hours, Lee writhed in his sleep, groaning and begging for that one little bit more, the touch that would push him over the edge. “Gravity,” he moaned at the man he couldn’t see and wouldn’t name. But it wasn’t quite enough.
When he awoke, the sun was high in a faultless sky. Lee trembled as if he had a fever, and his skin was clammy to the touch. He dressed in another set of stockings and tunic, with those same soft brown boots, and—ignoring the food that had been left for him—he fled the suite.
He didn’t think to take paper and pen, so he was soon disoriented, wandering from hallway to hallway, up and down stairs. He tried all the doors. Although most were locked, a few opened. One revealed a bedroom with sumptuous décor: thick rugs lined the floor, colorful silks covered the walls, and a dozen or more jewel-toned glass lanterns hung from the ceiling, each containing an unlit candle. The bed was made of intricately carved wood, and the sheets and blankets were rumpled, as if the occupant had recently awakened. Everything was dusty, however. The room made Lee feel uneasy and he left quickly.
He wandered for so long that he was almost certain the dreamlike time with the mysterious man had been reality and this was an endless nightmare. He didn’t find the entrance he’d been through or any other ways to get out of the house—except the windows, of course, with their deadly drops.
When he reached a narrow passageway that dead-ended at a single door, he sank to the floor and began to weep. He couldn’t have said exactly why. Fear. Frustration. Exhaustion. The sense that his existence had spiraled entirely out of his control.
He stood up again, feeling shaky and ashamed even though nobody had seen. He couldn’t face the hopelessness of more exploring, not right now. He needed to rest. Perhaps the world would seem saner after a nap. He tried the doorknob, but although it turned, the door wouldn’t open. After a moment’s inspection he discovered why: there were two long iron bolts, one near the floor and one at the very top of the door.
He didn’t want to speculate on why a room would need locking from the outside. Although he remembered Vincent’s instruction to stay out of locked rooms, Lee chose to ignore it. At this point he already knew so many Farkas secrets; whatever was in here couldn’t possibly be more private than their complicated property interests. He slid the bolts open.
Disappointingly, the large room was nearly empty. There were a few wooden crates arranged carelessly in one corner, a small oak table without chairs, and a chaise with moth-eaten red upholstery. Really the only thing of interest was the row of French doors that stood open along one wall, letting in a light, sage-scented breeze.
The view from here was not the one he was accustomed to. He stepped onto a long Juliet balcony with an iron balustrade; when he looked down he saw a road snaking away from the building and around a hill. He was, he realized, at the front of the house, quite possibly over the little tunnel leading to the door. But the balcony was angled in such a way that he couldn’t see directly beneath him. And it didn’t much matter anyway—he was five or six floors up, which was less of a drop than the windows in his chambers but still enough to kill him.
He’d lie down for a little while. Just a catnap before somehow finding his way back to his own rooms and the waiting pile of legal documents. It would be dark soon, and Vincent would be there with dinner. And wine.
Lee thumped the chaise a few times, sending up a cloud of dust that made him sneeze. He was going to get filthy, but the stupid clothes weren’t his anyway, and he could shower later. He just needed a little rest.
He closed his eyes and sank almost immediately into a dreamless sleep.
A scraping sound woke him. There was something so furtive about it that he remained entirely still. He cracked open his eyelids a bit, but night had fallen and he couldn’t see anything except a faint glow of moonlight stealing in through the windows. There were shadows, though. Two of them. And they were creeping closer, making tiny scuffing noises as they neared. Like large rodents, maybe, or bare feet shuffling on stone.
Lee’s heart pounded furiously, and he was so frozen with terror that he couldn’t have moved if he tried. The shadows inched nearer, and now they looked like people rather than animals, but he couldn’t make out any features except for dimly glowing red eyes.
“He’s pretty,” whispered one of the shadows in a raspy woman’s voice that lisped a bit on the s.