Pretty Baby Page 6

  “You think I don’t know your voice? I even hear the tinkle of that little music box I bought for Julita when she was still an infant.” All at once his weathered face took on an injured look, and his jaw worked with anger. “I never thought that song....” A sob caught in his throat as he tried to get the words out. “You’ve even desecrated my memories of....”

  “Oh grow up, Papa,” Lucretia snorted. “The woman’s been dead and gone for years. She wasn’t even part of your generation.”

  “You dirty, sloppy bitch, I....”

  “You’ll what? You can’t do anything, you bastard!” She tapped her bony chest with her finger. “I own you now, and I decide what happens to you.” With that remark she turned to go. As she was walking away, she felt the tray and everything on it crash into her.

  She turned, fury engulfing her. “Look what you’ve done! Tomato soup all over me! If you think I’m going back upstairs and get you anything else to eat, you’re crazy! You can starve, old man!”

  “So what? You give me just enough food to barely keep me alive. If I had decent meals, I might gain the strength to fight back. Isn’t that it, Lucretia? What are you doing to Julita to keep her under your control, huh? Well, it won’t last forever, you filthy bag of bones. Some....”

  “How do you know that Julita is still alive? You never see her, hear her. Maybe I’ve been lying to you. Maybe I got rid of her just like I’ll get rid of you someday, old man.”

  He felt as if she had hit him in the gut. “Oh, God,” he sobbed. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t, Lucretia. You wouldn’t … just because she was beautiful, you....”

  Lucretia turned and hurried toward the door. “Oh, go to hell!”

  “I’m already there!” he yelled, his last words reverberating through the dark passageway as she shuffled toward the stairs.

  His anger was still seething as he sat looking at the closed door, hearing the scrape of her footsteps on the concrete. He remembered when he and his wife first married. They were so happy, he didn’t think anything could ever ruin it. The both of them were part of the jet set, the beautiful people. They had a fine mansion that sat at the edge of Scarlet Bay, a spot that was populated by rich Southerners and their property was prime. His wife was exquisite, and he was a handsome devil himself. They had money, took trips around the world, ending their jaunt on the Riviera every year.

  And then everything went wrong.

  When Greta told him she was pregnant, he was overjoyed at first. But it only lasted until he first set eyes on Lucretia. She was dark, and underweight for her age, and as much as he hated to admit it … ugly. As she grew, her less-than-lovely looks, and less-than-lovely personality didn’t improve, so he gave up. What was the use? He couldn’t find anything redeemable about her. As all children do, she developed a love for small animals, but in Lucretia’s case, it wasn’t to pet them and love them, but to torture and kill them. By that time, he knew something was very wrong with her. He had intended to get her help when she grew older, but by then it was too late. Her dementia was in her eyes, her speech, her actions.

  It was about then that he began to look at Greta differently. He couldn’t help it. She was beginning to look haggard … old. They made love less and less, Garret making the excuse that their frequent travels and whirlwind lifestyle was tiring him. He knew they were slipping away from each other, but once again she found herself pregnant. The doctor had told her it would be difficult to have another child at her age, and Garret had begged her to abort it, but she refused, saying she would be able to get through it fine.

  And then something happened, an accident, and Greta began bleeding. She was in such intense pain. She struggled, cried, pleaded for him to get someone to help, but it was too late, the child was coming. Ignoring her pleading, he opened her legs and the child literally fell into his hands. He remembered the feeling of joy he experienced when he saw the child for the first time, all pink and golden. She was a beauty. He looked and saw Greta straining forward, her hair stringy, and her body all used up, and felt repulsed. Ignoring her, he cleaned the child and found a nurse for her. Greta died within minutes, her last words berating him for keep her daughter away from her. Feeling alone and lost, his beautiful Julita became all the more important to him and he became overly protective.

  Knowing Lucretia’s love for small things he was haunted by nightmare images of Lucretia torturing Julita and maybe killing her. It was slowly driving him crazy. He hired and fired nurse after nurse, trying to keep Julita safe. Everyone thought he was being overly cautious, no one but him knowing what Lucretia was capable of. He went through many a sleepless night before he finally realized he couldn’t keep up such a pace, so he made a decision. He would send Lucretia away. He knew it was the only way he could protect Julita, and he would have protected her with his life.

  And then came the god-awful night before she was to leave. He found Lucretia in Julita’s nursery standing over her cradle with blood on her hands. He entered the room in a rage. He ran at Lucretia, and would have killed her but somehow he tripped and fell off the balcony, his back twisting around the limb of a magnolia tree. He found out later that the blood on her hands had gotten there when she reached into crib and scratched insanely at Julita’s face as if trying to scrape away the beauty.

  Protecting Julita had cost him much more than his life, because that night … that horrible, fateful night … both he and Julita began a season in hell. They both fell into the hands of the insane, cackling sister that passed for a human being.

  * * * *

  Later on that night, Shadoe tossed and turned. When he got so tired of the bed, he couldn’t stay in it another minute, he finally got up and lit a cigarette. He paced, looking out windows, and watching the clock. The damned night would never end, he thought. He looked around for something to read, but there wasn’t anything, not even a magazine. He thought of the library and all the books he’d seen on the shelves, but knew it was restricted after certain hours. The door would most likely be closed and locked, but he decided to find out. He slipped into his jeans and a shirt without bothering to button it. He quietly stepped out of his room and walked quietly to the stairway and descended the steps. When he got down to the foyer, his eye caught movement down by the Hall of History. He quickly crossed to the opposite wall, losing himself in a shadow. The room didn’t have a door, only an arched entrance, so he knew it wouldn’t be closed off. Being careful not to make any noise, he crept quietly down the short corridor, then turned to go inside. As he expected, it was a long room with portraits of grim-looking ancestors hanging on the walls. Each of the portraits had a small light from the ceiling trained on them, and except for the glass cases that had light illuminating them from inside, the rest of the room was draped in shadows. The glass cases were lined against the walls and were filled with memorabilia such as old registries, letters, a chipped china cup with Marilyn Monroe’s lip print on it, and silverware that had dated back before the Civil War. Photographs were fanned out, pictures of the Van Dare family, and brochures telling the history of the inn.

  He heard something and whirled around. His eyes tried to penetrate the shadows, but he saw nothing. His eyes darted around the room and detected movement from out of the corner of his eye. He quickly turned his head and found the little ragamuffin hiding in a corner beneath one of the glass cases.

  She looked up at him, his towering presence breathtaking. Why wasn’t she afraid? Why didn’t she turn and run? So many new sensations had become a part of her, and now a brazen boldness. Her stare was shameless as she gaped at the glittering jewel below his eye, then slid her eyes along his broad, hairy chest to the tight jeans he wore. She felt a stirring … a burning sensation coiled forbiddingly in her groin. “You are a flashy beast, aren’t you?” she whispered.

  “What?” he said, not sure he heard her right. When she didn’t respond, he asked again. “What was that you called me?”

  A sudden fear filled her up. “I … I d-don’t
remember,” she said, her tiny voice trembling now. She moved to get up, but his voice stopped her.

  “What in hell are you doing in here? It’s....” He glanced down at his watch. “It’s past midnight.”

  “I don’t … get out much … mostly at night.”

  He could see she was so scared she could hardly speak, so he crouched down and crawled under the glass case with her.

  When she saw him come near, she began backing away.

  “No … no, please don’t go. I’d like to talk to you.” He noticed her eyes raking over him, and followed her fingers as they hesitantly reached out and grasped a portion of his hair and looked at it closely. Fingering it as if it were a foreign substance, she then allowed the blue-black thickness to twine between her fingers. He smiled. “It’s only hair … just like yours,” he said.

  She reached for her own golden strand, then compared the midnight color of his with the shimmering red-gold of hers.

  While she looked intently the difference in the two colors, he said, “What did you expect to find?”

  Not answering, her glowing violet eyes moved upward to his face and across to the jewel that seemed to match the green fire she saw in his eyes. Like a blind person, her delicate fingers stroked his face, touched the jewel, then came down and lingered on his full lips.

  He reached up and took her hands and kissed them.

  Her eyes shifted, met his and locked.

  “A flashy beast, am I?” he said, smiling. “Is that good?”

  Feeling tongue-tied in the presence of such masculine beauty, she dared not speak, letting her eyes speak for her.

  “Talk to me, Julita, won’t you?”

  “I’ve never seen anyone so....” She hesitated.

  “So … what?” he whispered, urging her on.

  “So--” She flushed, becoming red-cheeked, “--so beautiful.”

  “Neither have I,” he said, looking into her eyes, then shifting them down to her crude mask.

  Her eyes widened, and her hands went up to her mask. “But I … I’m not....”

  “Let me see if you are. Take off the mask.”

  “Oh, no!” she rasped, her eyes darting around as if looking for a way of escape.

  Before she knew what was happening, Shadoe reached out and snatched it off. She gasped, her hands flew up to grab it, but it was gone. Suddenly she heard Lucretia’s voice inside her head.

  If anyone wants to remove your mask, you kill them! Do you understand? Stab! Scratch! Bite!

  Shadoe saw her eyes cloud over just before she lunged at him, her hands forming claws, and her teeth bared as if to take a bite out of him. He caught her just before her nails sank into his flesh, beginning a struggle that ended with his hand cradling the back of her head and crushing her lips in a fiery kiss. After a few seconds, the struggle died away and she began melting in his arms. Finally Shadoe pulled back and opened his eyes. What he saw made him gasp. It looked as if someone had taken a marker and drawn scratches on her face, disfiguring it with blue, purple, and red ink. It could have only been done by a crazy person, Shadoe thought, hesitantly touching the macabre sketch made to look like heinous scars on a beautiful face.

  His touch opened her eyes. Suddenly she remembered, and quickly pulled away, slinking back into a shadow. From out of the darkness, Shadoe could see the glow of her innocent violet eyes staring fearfully at him.

  Shadoe looked at her, speechless. “My God, why?” he whispered, frowning at her in disbelief.

  “Why … I don’t … understand.”

  “Why, Julita? Why did you do this to yourself?”

  Tears pooled in her eyes. “What … I don’t know what you mean. Do what?”

  Shadoe could see the tears gathering, and knew she had no idea what he was talking about. Someone else had done this to Julita … someone who was completely insane.

  She reached up and touched her face lightly. It felt so strange … to be without her mask. She felt naked without it … and to have someone see her without it was torture. Especially him, she thought, then peered at him from within her darkness. “I’m sorry … I know I’m....” Without finishing, she grabbed the mask and started to put it on, but Shadoe caught her arm.

  “Don’t,” he said, then asked, “How old are you, Julita?”

  “E-eight--” she swallowed, “--teen,” she managed.

  “Who told you about your scars?”

  “Lucretia … she told me. The animal … when I was a baby. He got in my cradle. She explained it all to me.”

  He reached out and pulled her toward him, and lay her head against his chest. “If I told you that you were beautiful, would you believe me?”

  She pulled away and looked up at him. “B-but....”

  “I know. Maybe now’s not the time, but someday I’ll show you just how beautiful you are.” He looked down at her. “Would you like that?”

  She smiled, her eyes dipped to look at his lips, then nodded. “Will you … will you do that … again?”

  He smiled a slow, lopsided smile, then cradled her smooth cheek in his hand and covered her lips with his.

  After only a few seconds she pulled back, and said, “Teach me … please?”

  “What … to kiss? Julita, anyone knows how to kiss.”

  “Do they know how to make love too?”

  The smile dropped from Shadoe’s face, and he gulped. “T-to m-make love?” Now he was the stutterer. “W-well, first....” He looked down at her full lips, and could feel his tongue thrust forward naturally, in anticipation.

  “Is it hard to learn?”

  “It … it’s actually not something you learn … I mean … not like....” Oh, God, how had he gotten himself into this mess? She was a tempting little thing, but he knew he couldn’t take advantage of her innocence. A few kisses, a little....

  “What do we do first?” she asked, jerking him out of his moral dilemma.

  “Well … first, open your mouth,” he whispered, watching while the sexiest lips he’d ever seen opened at his command. “Now,” he continued, “when I....” All at once he felt her jutting breasts push against him as her arms came stealing up around his neck. “Oh God, Julita,” he moaned, “I don’t think you’re going to need much teaching.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Shadoe stood at his door saying good night to Julita. Something was very definitely happening to him, and he seemed powerless to stop it. In the short time he’d come to know her, a curious possessiveness had filled him, and he’d been dreading the moment he would have to leave the inn. Her cloud of red-gold hair, the innocence of her violet eyes, the mask, and the macabre drawings on her face made her a mystery to him. What was her story? What would he find once he had looked under every stone, opened every closet, exposed every shadow? He was afraid to find out. Was Lucretia protecting her? She seemed to become volatile at the mention of Julita’s name. Was she an innocent little lunatic who knew nothing about life or love, and sat around drawing lines on her own face? Or maybe she was a slick little con artist who knew exactly what she was doing. But why? To what end? To give the inn a reputation? To sell her body? It was possible, but hard for him to believe. Her innocence was real, the look in her eyes, her jerking words. If she was guilty of anything, it was only of putting on a show for her guests. But what about the rest? Was she also a tempting little piece who pulled the men into her little web of seduction, then stashed the money away for her future? And was he next on her list? If so, she was one fine little actress.

  But what if it wasn't any of that? He’d seen the sister … her cold, dark eyes, her chilling, gravelike manner, her sinister appearance. She was a woman with some deep, well-kept secrets. What if Julita was one of them? Was some kind of obsession at work here? If so, whose obsession was it? Hers … or Julita’s? But what if Julita was trapped, held captive, a victim. He couldn’t leave her here … locked in her own torment. He had to free her … free the little ragamuffin who looked at him as if he were a god. But what about after th
at? What would be left? Love? That was ridiculous. She was only eighteen to his thirty-two. And yet he felt something with her he had never felt with any other woman.

  Now he kissed the top of her head as he would a child, and she looked up at him. “You go directly to you room, okay? You need to get some sleep. We both do.”

  “Can’t I come in with you?” she pleaded.

  Shadoe hesitated. It would be so easy. And God how he wanted her with him. To feel her soft, sweet body writhing beneath him, her long, curvaceous legs wrapped around him. But it wasn’t right. If she was an innocent, he couldn’t take advantage of that innocence. He gazed down at the ugly marks drawn on her face to look like scars and wanted to take her inside and wash it clean and love her all night long. But he couldn’t. “No, Julita,” he whispered, every word piercing his heart. “Not now. Another time maybe, but right now I have to think … figure some things out. Do you understand?”

  “Lucretia wouldn’t know,” she breathed, “I wouldn’t tell.”

  Oh, God, why is this so hard? he asked himself, and looked at her. “I know you wouldn’t, but that’s not the issue. I have to make sure it’s … make sure of a few things.”

  She dropped her lashes quickly to hide her hurt.

  “Julita, baby, I don’t want to hurt you, but we need to give this a little time. Right now you need to go back to your room and get some sleep. It’ll be dawn soon.”

  “If you say so, but when will we see each other again?”

  “Whenever I can manage it. Lucretia has given me strict orders to stay away from you, and if she suspects anything she’d kick me out.”

  “No!” she hissed. “You can’t leave … I’d die!” All at once she put her arms around him and began kissing his chest.

  Shadoe closed his eyes, feeling his arousal growing by the second. “Julita, please,” he moaned, “I can’t take much more of this.” He clutched her shoulders firmly and pushed her away from him. “Good night,” he rasped, hating the words.