The Shape of Night(74)

Ben takes my shoulders. “Ava.”

“He’s here! I know he is.”

“You said he’s as real as I am. What does that mean?”

“I can touch him and he can touch me. Oh, I know what you’re thinking. What you’re imagining. And it’s true, it’s all true! Somehow he knows what I want, what I need. That’s how he traps us here. Not just me, but the women before me. The women who spent their lives in this house, who died in this house. He gives us what no other man can give us.”

Ben steps closer until we’re face-to-face. “I’m real. I’m here. Give me a chance, Ava.” He cradles my face and I close my eyes, but it’s Captain Brodie I see, Captain Brodie I want. My master and my monster. I try to imagine Ben in my bed and what kind of lover he would be. It would be a plain vanilla fuck, like so many others I’ve known with men before him. But unlike Brodie, Ben is real. A man, not a shadow. Not a demon.

He leans close and presses his lips against mine in a warm and lingering kiss. I don’t feel even the faintest tremor of excitement. He kisses me again. This time he cups my face and holds it captive, trapping my mouth against his, his teeth bruising my lips. I lose my balance, and suddenly I’m falling backward and my shoulders collide with the wall. I don’t fight him as he presses against me. I want to feel something, anything. I want him to light the match and set me on fire, to prove that the living can satisfy me the way the dead do, but I feel no stirring of heat, no tingle of desire.

Make me want to fuck you, Ben!

He grabs my wrists and pins them to the wall. Through my jeans I feel the hard evidence of his desire pressed against me. I close my eyes, ready to let this happen, ready to do whatever he wants, whatever he demands.

    The deafening bang makes us jerk apart, startled.

We both stare at the bedroom door, which has just slammed shut. None of the bedroom windows are open. No breeze blows through the room. There is no reason at all for the door to have so violently swung shut.

“It’s him,” I say. “He did it.”

Now I’m frantic to get out of the house and I waste no more time. I bolt to the closet and rake out the last of my clothes. This is why Charlotte left this house so abruptly. She too must have been frantic, terrified of staying a moment longer. I close and zip my suitcase.

“Ava, slow down.”

“How does a door slam shut by itself? Explain that, Ben.” I haul the suitcase off my bed. “It’s easy for you to be calm about this. You don’t have to sleep here.”

“Neither do you. You can stay with me. Stay as long as you want to. As long as you need to.”

I don’t answer him, but simply head out of the room. Silently he takes my suitcase and carries it downstairs for me. In the kitchen, he’s still silent as I pack up my precious chef’s knives and tongs, my whisks and my copper pot, all the gear that a dedicated cook cannot live without. He is still waiting for me to respond to his offer, but I refuse to answer. I pack up two unopened bottles of wine (never let a good bottle of Cabernet go to waste) but leave the eggs and milk and cheese in the refrigerator. Let whoever cleans up after me take it; I just want to get the hell out of this house.

“Please don’t leave,” he says.

“I’m going home to Boston.”

“Does it have to be tonight?”

“I should have left weeks ago.”

    “I don’t want you to leave, Ava.”

I touch his arm, and his skin is warm and alive and real. I know he cares about me, but that is not a good enough reason for me to stay.

“I’m sorry, Ben. I have to go home.”

I pick up the empty cat carrier and carry it outside to the driveway. There I scan the yard, looking for Hannibal, but I don’t see him.

I circle the house, calling his name. From the cliff’s edge, I scan the path leading down to the beach. No Hannibal. I go back into the house and again call out his name.

“Don’t do this to me, goddamn it!” I yell in frustration. “Not today! Not now!”

My cat is nowhere to be seen.





Twenty-Eight


Ben carries my suitcase up the stairs to his spare bedroom, where I find a braided green rug and a four-poster bed. Like Ben himself, it all looks like it came out of the L.L.Bean catalogue, and right on cue, Ben’s golden retriever tip-taps into the room, tail wagging.

“What’s your dog’s name?” I ask.

“Henry.”

“What a sweet boy.” I crouch down to stroke the dog’s head and he looks at me with soul-melting brown eyes. Hannibal would eat him alive for breakfast.

“I know you didn’t plan on this,” says Ben. “But I want you to know you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need. As you can see, I’ve got this big house all to myself and I can use the company.” He pauses. “I didn’t mean it that way. You’re far more to me than just someone to keep me company.”

“Thank you,” is all I can think of saying.

We stand in awkward silence for a moment. I know he is going to kiss me and I’m not sure how I feel about it. I stand perfectly still as he leans in and our lips touch. When he wraps his arms around me I don’t resist. I’m hoping to feel the same heat I felt with the captain, the same delicious anticipation that kept luring me up those turret steps, but with Ben I feel no such excitement. Captain Brodie has ruined me for the touch of a real man, and even as I respond by mechanically looping my arms around Ben’s neck, even as I submit to his embrace, I’m thinking of the climb up that staircase and the firelight glowing through the doorway above. I remember the hiss of silk skirts around my legs and the accelerating beat of my heart as the firelight grows brighter, as my punishment looms closer. My body responds to the memory. While these are not the captain’s arms wrapped around me, I try to imagine they are. I long for Ben to take me as he did, to trap my wrists and push me against the wall, but he makes no such move. I am the one who wrenches him toward the bed and invites his assault. I don’t want a gentleman; I want my demon lover.