Distractions. Part 1

Distractions.

JL Brooks.

Dedication.

This is for all of the saints who have chosen to join me in the grand voyage we call life. Whether it be for a but a brief moment in time, or a longer excursion, I hope that it has been meaningful. If nothing else, I have made your life more interesting. In the words of Miguel de Cervantes...

Thou hast seen nothing yet.

Prologue.

I was fourteen the first time I was fitted for a bodice. The pain of not seeing my breast swell above the crisscrossed ribbons dug deep. How I envied those women with overflowing bosoms proudly on display, mocking my lack of visual femininity. My left hand slid beneath the tight fabric in an attempt to maneuver the not yet developed tissue. It was redundant because I was flat as a d.a.m.n board.

I remembered a television show that used duct tape as a method for creating the appearance of cleavage in super models. That evening I placed the thick adhesive along my ribcage and pulled the skin taut, making a small slice of flesh on my chest. These thoughts of inadequacy should never have crossed my mind at such a young age, yet it couldn't be helped. My innocence was tainted long before my virginity was taken.

Every summer, for as far back as I could remember, the American gypsies descended upon the small Colorado mountain village, breathing life into an otherwise decrepit sh.e.l.l. They brought with them a force so strong, it would remain long after they departed, leaving me to antic.i.p.ate their return. My mind was sharp enough to grasp the sensuality they possessed, but my body was not yet ready for immersion, despite my longings.

The next year, p.u.b.erty began the samba of hormones and was kind enough to broaden my hips and even out my height of nearly five foot ten. My sister, Vivienne, took pity on my wild state and asked her friend, Melissa, to teach me how to belly dance in exchange for henna pieces. She knew it would be a while before we could do this again together a play in a world of make believe. She was leaving with the vagabonds to Minnesota and I would begin my soph.o.m.ore year of high school back in suburbia.

Her hazel blue irises peered at me wistfully as she painted intricate designs on my feet and hands with earth colored paste. The rust-hued stain would last for a month if I kept it moist through the night with a lemon sugar concoction. The air smelled thick with sandalwood incense, and drums roared outside the rickety wooden shop. Tomorrow, I would start once the cannon went off, booming to those waiting outside of the gates that they could gain entry to the fabricated time warp. I would rim my deep brown eyes with kohl black liner, tie on my coin hip scarf and play the part.

Tonight, I would cherish these intimate moments suspended between fantasy and reality, imprinting them on my mind for later. Each weekend, I relished the opportunity to hone my skills a not just the painfully slow movements coordinating each stomach roll and arm sway precisely, but the gaze in my eyes, the way I smiled, the art of seduction. I learned how to be someone else, how to weave the illusion. Here, I danced safely under the pine trees and in the suns.h.i.+ne.

It was outside of these walls that seemed surreal and foreboding. The world offered nothing other than disappointment and regret fit for someone more than twice my age.

After Vivienne left, I became lost to my powerful delusions, finding relief with the worst kinds of distractions. With an open vacancy for influence, two ent.i.ties appeared. One was in the form of a teacher who had an affinity for the gypsies and eclectic literature, the other, a much darker force named Connor Lewis. In between the benders of a wicked methamphetamine addiction, I found solace in the library, studying everything from Jack Kerouac to Henrietta Lacks. Somehow, I would have to make peace with these dueling forces raging inside and all around, spirit and flesh, the cosmic joke of my existence. Time would soon teach me that nothing happens by chance, and that fate intended to make good use of my procured abilities.

Chapter 1 - Good-Bye, Dear Doctor.

For nearly eight amazing years, I have lived in obscurity, the soiled memories of the past sealed out of the immaculate laboratory I called home. Among the autoclaves and incubators, I appeared just like any other twenty-six year old. The students and a.s.sistants had left hours ago, leaving just a few to clean up the mess, as always. In an attempt to reduce the putrid odor of formaldehyde in the air, the squeeze bottle of ethyl alcohol served to clean up the tables a bit more.

Shaking my head, I thought I would never get over how selfish and ent.i.tled some people a.s.sumed they were. It must be nice to grow up never having to lift a finger and looking down your nose at other people. Long ago, I learned to just bite my tongue and wait for their rotation in our department to pa.s.s by.

The privilege of attending Dr. Robertson's course bore a false notion of superiority in many. Most were just looking to pad their resumes; very few were actually concerned with the monotony of cataloging genetic data. Truthfully, it was boring a dreadfully so a but it was a reminder that I didn't destroy my brain being a reckless teenager. I had lived an entire lifetime before arriving at this campus. Predictability and structure were good things, contrary to what I believed before. I had to know exactly what was going on and have a plan in place. Even if it went off course, just having it made me feel more in control. Spontaneity and I were not exactly good friends.

In here, my mind could wander freely without consequence. I drifted over the home repair projects to tackle over winter break as I tidied up the remaining pieces of equipment.

"Violet, you really can leave now."

I placed the rest of the clean beakers into the cabinet, pretending I didn't hear him.

"I know you heard me."

My shoulders flinched before turning around.

"Doc, you know how I get."

The lab was quiet, more so than usual. Dr. Robertson remained perched on the side of his desk, reviewing his latest journal publication. His fingers grabbed the edges of the paper as if what he was holding would change the course of history, and in a way, it could. Last month, he had finally decided to announce his discovery of SN4, a revolution in genetic therapy. I watched his face absorb the words in front of him. He should be ecstatic; instead, he was pensive and distant. Maybe it was just the holidays and I was being paranoid. My heels clicked on the concrete surface as I closed the distance between us.

"Doc, something is wrong. I won't leave if you don't want me to."

He raised his head, hollowed eyes meeting my nervous gaze. The feeling in my gut intensified a hundred fold. Without saying a word, he circled around the desk and reached into a locked drawer, removing a bottle of scotch I bought as a celebration gift and poured it into a couple of clean coffee mugs.

"This is cla.s.sy." My sarcastic comment drew a slight smile.

He raised his mug and paused in thought, deciding what to say. "Here's to you, Miss Philips, the greatest research a.s.sistant I have ever had the pleasure of working with."

I felt my cheeks blush at his sweet statement. Dr. David Robertson was my mentor, father figure and knight in s.h.i.+ning armor. I was lost when I first enrolled at the university long ago. He was the professor of my genetics cla.s.s and struck by my thesis on the Impacts of Artificial Selection. He took me under his wing and I thrived under the academic challenges he presented. The opportunity to work with someone as legendary as the Doc, which I so affectionately call him, was an honor.

"What are your plans for the next two weeks, Violet? I haven't heard you mention anything and I better not hear that you were in here tinkering."

Did he really know me that well? I suppose previous experience would give him that type of insight.

"Actually, Shepard is on his way back from Vanderbilt and will be helping me catch up on some painting."

Doc's face took on a strange expression. "No family? What about your sister Vivienne?"

"She's not coming up here when it's this cold. She is making too much money on the dolphin tours right now. Who would leave Key West in December, really?"

"Violet, I just worry about you, I can't help it. You need a life; you are too young to sit holed away in this lab all the time. The only time you even mention anyone other than Vivienne is when you talk about Shepard, and even then, it is rare. What is the story with him anyway? I saw your cheeks pink up a little when you said his name."

Nothing escaped this man; it was disturbing. I felt the corners of my mouth turn up slightly. It was true I was becoming quite fond of my young neighbor.

"I am too old for him; he just helps me when he's on break for extra cash. His father is a piece of work; I think he uses it as a way to avoid dealing with him."

"What's too old? You are only twenty-six, for Pete's sake, and how old is he? He's over twenty, if I am not mistaken."

"Twenty-one a that's five years younger than me. He doesn't need me corrupting him." I shook my head back and forth, dismissing the thoughts as they filtered into consciousness.

Taking another sip of scotch, it burned as it coated my mouth with its sharp pungent flavor.

"Where is all this coming from? When did you suddenly become so interested in my love life? I thought you quite enjoyed my total dedication." I tried laughing, but this conversation was odd, even between us. He paused again, collecting whatever thought was pressing forward.

"I don't like the idea of you being alone a that's all."

He looked down at the floor after speaking with a soft voice. I had no idea what was going on, but he appeared to age ten years before my eyes. I wanted to ask, but refrained. I did not question him, ever. I knew he made the discovery over a year ago, yet for some reason, he continued to have us run samples. My silence seemed to reinforce his trust in me; I figured he had his reasons.

I walked over to him and placed my hand on his arm, rubbing affectionately. "I am not going to die like some old cat lady; I'm not the innocent girl you think I am."

His hand reached up to hold mine against his arm. This intimate moment weighted in sadness. "You may be surprised to know that I have never thought of you as being the innocent type. More like a wolf in sheep's clothing."

I placed my hand over my mouth to stifle the laugh; I could not believe what he just said. "Say what?" My high-pitched response finally drew the grin I had been seeking. Although it was brief, it was something. "Well, Doc, my intentions are never malicious. I cannot help that I am a too much trouble for my own good. At least let me believe that."

His face became serious again, weaving back and forth through emotion. "Violet, it's not a bad thing. Wolves are actually quite stoic creatures who have earned a poor reputation. Wolves are not malicious, either. They are highly intelligent, loyal, and very protective...kind of like someone I know." After a paused silence, his demeanor changed in a flash becoming austere. "I am going to walk you to your car tonight, okay?" His voice was low and shaking.

I stood still for a moment; none of this was making sense. Bringing my heavy wool coat off the rack and placing it on my shoulders, he leaned into my ear. "Do you trust me, Violet?"

I stilled at the question. His facial expression grew signs of panic; something definitely was wrong. I simply nodded in agreement. Opening the door out to the darkened hallway, he remained silent until we reached the security desk.

"I am walking Ms. Phillips to her car tonight, I will be right back."

Rory, the main night s.h.i.+ft officer, grabbed the rim of his black ball cap and tipped it politely to the doctor, then turned to me and raised his middle finger. I smiled as we walked out through the double steel doors and into the frigid night on the other side. My nostrils flared, taking in the freezing still air and breathing out clouds of steam.

"What was that all about, Violet?"

"Oh, Rory hates suspenders with a pa.s.sion for some odd reason; he goes on and on about it. So for Christmas, I stopped at that cute little German shop in Mainstra.s.se and bought a pair of really tacky ones with flowers on them as a joke."

"I see." Not attempting to inquire anymore about the incident, he brushed it off as if it never happened. The Doc's mind was somewhere else. "Where did you park at?" I watched his eyes scan the perimeter of the building before walking down the salt covered steps with his arm holding onto my elbow.

"Lot C, where I always do. You don't have to do this, I will be fine."

His grip tightened on my arm and we began to walk towards the lot.

"Doc, you're freaking me out. What's going on?"

Our pace quickened slightly until we were just out of sight of the main door. He softened his grip, yet his hands remained locked onto my arm. In almost a whisper, and through clenched teeth, he started to speak.

"Violet, what I am about to do is going to scare you, but you have to trust me. I won't hurt you, I promise."

We had just reached my small silver SUV when I reached into my purse to fish out my keys, the leather gloves making it difficult to feel through all the clutter in there. Finding the fob, I clicked the b.u.t.ton to unlock the doors and reached for the handle. As I turned around to say good-bye to the doctor, both of his hands immediately flew to either side of me, trapping me against the driver's side. This was not happening.

"Hold still, Violet," he pleaded.

My eyes were able to see his face despite the low fluorescent lights in the lot. It was full of sadness and fear. He started to press against me with his head, leaning into my neck.

"Please trust me. Tell me you trust me."

His voice was now full of agony, creating shudders along my spine. Surely he could feel my heart beating so rapidly, it was about to burst.

The knot in my throat kept any screams from coming out as the sensation of ice-cold fingers sliding down the front of my pants pulled all the air in my lungs. Antic.i.p.ating the pending a.s.sault, my mind raced with what to do to get away from this situation. I closed my eyes, feeling the hot tears roll down my cheeks, freezing before they hit my chin. He pressed a small metal item against the lips of my v.u.l.v.a before removing his hand and placing it on my side. He pretended to nuzzle along my neck, holding his breath as he moved back up to the sh.e.l.l of my ear.

"You need to leave now and go to Jack's. Stay there all night, do not leave, and do not go home. I know you don't understand, but these will tell you everything."

I watched his other hand drop another metal item from the sleeve of his lab coat into his palm before he dragged it under my s.h.i.+rt and up to my breast. My eyes grew wide as I felt the cold item slip into my bra.

"Why are you acting like I will never see you again?"

His hand ran along the side of my cheek and down my jaw. "You were the daughter I always wanted; I will never stop thanking G.o.d for you. Now you need to scream and fight me away."

I shook my head frantically in refusal.

"You must, Violet. We're being watched; it's the only way." His expression was shattered. "Do it a there's no time."

The urgency in his voice gave enough warning that he was serious. A million questions ran through my mind. Tightening the grip on my arm once again, he pulled me back to the moment. Dragging in the deepest breath, I screamed like a banshee and began to revolt against him. Trying my best to be believable, yet without causing damage, was difficult. It was mere seconds before the campus police pulled their cars up to the altercation. One officer pulled me away while the other restrained Dr. Robertson. My confusion at the situation was easily mistaken for anger.

"Get him away from me!"

I tightened my eyes shut so I did not have to see the pain my words would evoke. The officer placed him in the back of the car, while the other stayed to ask me a few questions.

"Are you hurt ma'am? Do you need to go to the hospital? Do you want to press charges?"

I kept mostly silent, only responding when needed, except to the last question.

"Can I decide later? I just want to leave and I'm not hurt. Is that okay?"

Another few campus police vehicles quickly pulled up to the incident as there was not much going on elsewhere.

"Ma'am, I am sorry. Even if you don't press charges, we still need you to come and give a statement since this happened on University property. I also don't think you should be driving. Can you call someone to come down and get you?"

A moment later, another cruiser pulled up and Rory hopped out with a panicked look on his face. Seeing Doc in the back of the car and me being questioned, he broke through the other officers.

"Ms. Phillips, what happened?"

Knowing he just saw us a few moments ago, I could tell he was blaming himself for whatever may or may not have taken place.

"I'm okay, Rory. Can you call Jack and ask him to come and pick me up?"

I pulled out my phone and gave him the number to reach Jack. He was the only person I could think of at this hour who would come down to the station. Nodding in agreement, he walked off and immediately started dialing the number off the small piece of paper.

The first person to respond to the scene was Officer Stayton and she insisted on being the one to take me in for my statement. I a.s.sumed she was bored with nothing to do and this would get her out of patrol for a few hours. She was a younger woman who I had not seen making rounds before, which probably explained her enthusiasm. As I was getting into the back of the cruiser, Rory ran up and tapped on the window.

"Jack is on his way. I'm sorry a I didn't think anything of it when Dr. Robertson said he was walking you to your car."

Although he was trying his best to hide it, I could sense his distress over the situation.

"He's my boss; I didn't think anything of it, either. I am not hurt and you did nothing wrong. Go home and try on your present. Also, tell the missus thank you for the cookies."

I gave a forced smile and reached out to shake his hand. He squeezed back briefly before Officer Stayton gave an impatient cough. Rory rolled his eyes and tapped on the top of the car as we were driving away.