Mystique

         

         

Mystique

         I am a mystery cloaked in yet another mystery.  To solve my enigma is to go insane.  To break the riddle that has sealed me forever in these simple bindings is to lose your life.  No one has ever been able to solve my mysterious past and you will not be the first.

         Fortunately, for you, you finding me is not a death omen.  As of now, good fortune will follow you.  However, if you lose this book, all of the riches that I have given you will be lost forever.  Howard Winslow, good fortune has been embedded in your life.

Mystique has spoken!

         Howard looks up from the book, fear shown clearly in his dark eyes.  It’s blackened leather gives it an eerie appearance.  The word Mystique runs down the backing and across the front of it in bold, red letters.  When he had opened the book to take a look at the inside of the jacket, there had been nothing there.  No copyright date, no mentioning of any publishing company.  Intrigued, he began to leaf through it but found all of the yellowed pages blank.  And then, slowly, words began to materialize right in front of his eyes.

         I’m going crazy, he had thought to himself.  It’s just not possible for words to just appear out of nowhere.  And the book knows his name.  How had his late brother come across this strange book?  And the mystery surrounding his death… no one can figure out how the fire had started or what was even used as an accelerant.  Surely one had to have been used, the intensity of the fire had destroyed almost everything.

         “Howard, are you okay?” His wife Gena asks him.

         “Yeah… just a little shook up from my brother’s death is all….” He lies to her, closing the book.

         Gena notices the movement and looks down at the book in his hands.  “Hey isn’t that the book he was holding?”

         “Yeah.  The only thing that wasn’t destroyed.  It doesn’t make any sense though.  The fire was so bad that he was nothing but a skeleton, yet this book doesn’t even have one burn mark on it.”

         Gena nods her head.  “That is definitely a little weird.  I don’t know, guess the book was pretty lucky.”

         Yeah but my brother sure as hell wasn’t.  Did the book… kill him?          “I’d say.” He replies to his wife.

         “Your sister Lalaine is looking for you by the way.”

         Howard shakes his head sadly, feeling sorry for his younger sister.  Lalaine and Charles had been really close.  Considering the fact that they were twins, that doesn’t really surprise him.  She has to be taking his death harder than himself.  They had been so connected to one another.

         As he goes out in search of his sister, the book’s words come back to him.  Good fortune, huh?  Maybe he will finally be able to start his own bookstore.  That had been his life-long dream.  If that happens, maybe then he’ll start believing in magical books.

Chapter One:

         A young man walks hurriedly down the sidewalk.  His black coat is already drenched through due to the rain, doing next to nothing in keeping him warm.  As the rain pelts down harder onto his shivering body, he hunches his shoulders over in an effort to retain some body heat.  Why he decided to go for a walk when the forecast called for rain he has no clue.  He walks into the first store that he sees, Winslow & Winslow Books.

         In the dim lighting of the store, one would assume the young man to be either homeless or a drug addict.  His blue eyes that are normally vivid and bright in color, now just look lifeless and bloodshot.  Perhaps he doesn’t sleep too often.  His long, blond hair is a mess of tangles, dirt and grime.  He does not remember the last time that he had taken a shower.  Seemingly unaware of his rugged appearance, he pretends to look at the shelves of books.  Even though the black store owner is looking at him rather suspiciously, he is grateful to be out of the cold and rain, even if it is for a short time.

         The books stacked neatly onto the tall, towering book shelves soon bores him.  He’s not really much of a reader.  That had always been her thing.  He shakes his head.  He must not think about her.  She’s the reason why he’s in this state to begin with.  Why his loose grip on sanity suddenly lost it’s hand holds, plunging him deep down into despair and madness.  No, she is not worthy for thoughts.

         “Hey, son, you all right?” The owner asks him.

         The young man jumps.  He had not heard the guy walk up to him.  He laughs miserably, wondering how bad he must look to this stranger.  He wants to tell the guy that yeah he’s perfectly fine, he only thinks about blowing his brains out every other day and to make matters worse, his girlfriend had been banging his best friend on the side.  But of course he doesn’t say any of that.

         “I’m fine.” He answers him.  He winces as he hears his voice.  It sounds scratchy and hoarse.  Probably because he spent most of the night and early morning screaming at the top of his lungs as he ran rampant through his small apartment.  He should probably clean up the broken pieces of glass when he gets back.

         The older, black man looks unconvinced.  Putting a hand on his shoulder he says, “Whatever it is you’re going through, it will pass.”  The young man snorts derisively.

         “Dude, you have no idea what I’m going through.”

         “Probably not.” The man agrees.  “Look, all I’m saying is shit happens in people’s lives.  Just don’t let it eat away at you.”

         The young man blinks.  To say he is not used to such compassion is an understatement.  Usually people avoid him like the plague, whispering about him as he walks by.  No, he is used to taunts and misconceptions.  So what makes this guy any different?  Or is he one of those types that tries to “save” people?

         “You’re welcome to stay in here as long as you like, it’s pretty cold out there.  Just promise not to steal nothing.” The man tells him as he walks back over to the register.

         “I’m not a thief,” the young man mumbles.

         He sits down at the table near the back of the store.  He rubs his hands together vigorously, trying to get back some of the feeling in them.  He hates the cold and the fact that it’s cold and raining really doesn’t help.  Just  another month or so and spring will finally be here.  After the word spring pops into his mind, he wishes he hadn’t thought about that.  That was when they had met.  During spring.

         A mug of hot tea is placed before him.  The young man looks up into the face of the kind book store owner.  His eyes are dark and crow’s feet has already set up shop; his black hair is sprinkled here and there with grey.  He has to be somewhere in his fifties.

         “Thanks….” The young man says, at a loss for a better word.

         “No problem.  Figured it might help warm you up.”

         The door to the bookstore opens and the guy rushes over to greet his new customer.  He leaves the young man at the table, staring at the proffered hot liquid.  He is not much of a tea person he has to admit.  He takes a few sips from the steaming mug, warmth slowly washing over him.  He stretches out his long legs under the table and hits something.  Curious, he ducks his head under the table to see what he had kicked.  It’s an old book, the cover made completely out of blackened leather.  The title of the book is written across the front of it in red letters.  Mystique.          “What an odd name for a book,” he remarks to himself.

         He picks up the book and studies it.  He feels a strange pull to it.  Which is peculiar given the fact that he hardly ever reads.  Hates it actually.  But somewhere in the back of his mind tells him that he has to read this one.  Even if it’s the last book he ever does read.  His eyes dart around the store.  The owner is still talking to the customer, unaware of his presence for the time being.  Without thinking, he takes the book and puts it under his coat.  He walks out of the bookstore, thanking the guy for the tea.

         Once back outside in the rain, he walks slowly to the bus stop, not wanting to draw attention to himself.  It’s stealing, he knows that.  He stole a book, a book!  He is by no means a thief or a swindler.  Something had happened in that bookstore on Gourds Street, something unexplainable.  He just had to have it.  He tells himself that he’ll go by the bookstore again to pay for the book.  Probably leave a twenty somewhere the owner can find it.

         “Hey, watch where you’re going!” A guy yells at him as he bumps into his shoulder.  The young man glares at him angrily.  He is not in the mood for a fight.  Not today.

         The last few months have been pretty crummy for him; his girlfriend of two years had just recently broken up with him, he’s late on his rent for his apartment, he had lost his truck and pretty soon he might lose his apartment as well.  He swears under his breath as he remembers this.

         Standing beside the bus stop, he opens the book that he has borrowed.  He will not call it stealing.  He’ll pay for the book tomorrow.  Yeah, tomorrow he’ll visit that book store again… if he passes that way.  Before he can read the first sentence, the bus screeches to a stop in front of him.  He reluctantly gets on the bus, putting the book back under his jacket.  No witnesses, no crime.  He thinks to himself crazily.

         He sits towards the back of the bus, away from everyone else.  He always loathed being around people, especially strangers.  Maybe that’s why she had dumped him.  He just doesn’t fit in, and never really cared about trying to and he isn’t about to start now.

         A woman with her three-year-old daughter sits down in front of him.  Great, ruin my already ruined day with a noisy brat.  And the girl is indeed noisy- begging her mom for some more candy and screaming out made-up songs at the top of her lungs.  It’s enough to make anyone go mad.

         The bus barrels down the road slick with rain.  The young man squints his eyes at the window, trying to see where he is through the downpour.  As the bus passes by a familiar-looking building he pulls the cord.  The bus pulls off to the side of the road and lets him off at Pike Lane, about an hour’s walk from his apartment.  At least there are no more noisy children to bother me now.  He thinks to himself pleasantly.

         He doesn’t necessarily hate children.  He just doesn’t see the point in having them.  Why would anyone want to bring a child into this crazy world that people live in today?  Girls are having sex now at ridiculously young ages, global warming is becoming a bit more noticeable, the economy is getting shittier despite the fact that everyone says it’s getting better.  Yeah, why would anyone want to have kids at a time like this?

         “But I want to have kids, Dimitrii.  I want a family of my own… don’t you love me?”          The young man all but snarls at that memory.  Of course he loved her.  All he wanted was to make her happy.  In the end he hadn’t done a very good job of that.  He made her cry constantly, unintentionally of course.  He can be too blunt with his words at times, too harsh.  He wishes he could change that but knows that he never can.  It has been a part of his personality for far too long now.  Looking back on it, he’s surprised that they had lasted as they long as they did.  They were such polar opposites.  But he loved her and had thought that would have been enough to keep her.

         He pushes those thoughts from his mind.  They will do nothing to help him.  It will only further his madness if he keeps indulging in memories of her.  He walks past the Giant and CVS on the corner of Mulbanks Drive.  The book pressing against his underarm a constant reminder of what he had done.  After passing by a few residential neighborhoods he finally becomes closer to his destination.  Turning a few rights and lefts he finds himself standing in front of his apartment complex.  He reasons it’s an okay place, but for only paying about six hundred a month he didn’t really expect it to be very luxurious.

         He unlocks the door to his apartment that is located on the second floor.  After locking the door behind himself, he makes his way to the bedroom.  He flicks on the switch for the small fanlight and plops down heavily onto the bed.  With undisguised anticipation, he slowly draws the book out from under his jacket and proceeds to read it.

         At first he is bit ticked off after thumbing through a few yellowed pages and finding them all blank.  Did he really just steal some kind of a journal?  Just his rotten luck.  When he glances down at the pages again he almost throws the book clear across the room.  In very neat and elegant cursive, words are materializing onto the pages.  Almost as if an unseen hand is writing them as he reads.

         

         I have been in the Winslow family for twenty years.  I have brought them recognition beyond belief.  Since I have come into your possession through an act of thievery, the same as I did with Howard’s brother, so shall curses and death follow your family and loved ones.

         I am a mystery cloaked in yet another mystery.  To solve my enigma is to go insane.  To break the riddle that has sealed me forever in these simple bindings is to lose your life.  No one has ever been able to solve my mysterious past and you will not be the first.

Mystique has spoken!

         Dimitrii flings the book away from him.  It crashes into the wall before falling onto the floor with a soft thud.  His heart hammers violently in his chest as he feels a panic attack coming on.

         “Get a hold of yourself, Dimitrii,” he says to himself in an effort to calm his racing heart.  “This is what you get for not taking your medication is all.  That was not real, it was just an hallucination.”

         He gets undressed and crawls under the covers.  Even though he keeps telling himself that it was just his mind playing tricks on him, he still can’t shake off that eerie feeling.  Wasn’t Winslow the name of that bookstore?  And who the hell is Howard?  That old black guy who owns the store?  It has to just be an illusion.  And besides, Dimitrii doesn’t have any family or loved ones left.  Guess the book can’t really harm anyone.

Mystique

         The next day Dimitrii gets out of bed feeling slightly better about last night’s events.  He should really go back to the bookstore and return the book.  He has no right to have it.  He groggily makes his way to his small bathroom to take a much-needed shower.  It’s been a few days… he thinks.  He hopes it only has been.

         He looks at his reflection in the mirror connected to the medicine cabinet.  He averts his eyes in disgust.  How had he managed to let himself go this far?  There’s at least a week’s worth of stubble on his face.  Urgh his face.  Streaked with dirt and dust.  No wonder she dumped me, he thinks miserably.  He speculates how many people had looked at him as if he were insane the rare moments he left the apartment.  Hell, how many people had thought that he was insane?  He looks like he has just gotten out of the loony bin.  Or escaped.

         He turns the hot water on in the shower and lets it run for a few minutes.  It takes a while for the water to heat up in his apartment complex.  As he’s waiting he decides to brush his teeth and attempt to shave some of the stubble off.  He fails miserably on the latter.  It’s probably time to get a new razor.  He groans inwardly.  He most likely needs to go grocery shopping as well.  That means being around people… again.

         Dimitrii steps inside of the shower and begins to lather his hair with shampoo.  It has a girly, floral scent to it.  It must have been hers.  Why is it still in his bathroom?  He could have sworn he had gotten rid of everything that was either hers or reminded him of her.  Wrong yet again.  Story of his life.  Had he always been like this?  So completely lame?  If so, how in the world had he landed such a beautiful and sweet girl like Anya?  What the hell had she seen in him?  Besides a very emotionally disturbed and tortured young man?

         “Why do you have such little self-respect for yourself?  You’re not as unbalanced as you want everyone else to believe.  I can see right through you.  I can see the real you.”          Dimitrii sighs, disgusted by how weak his mind is becoming.  Is it really so hard to ask to not think about her for one day?  He pours conditioner into his hands and rubs it through his hair.  It has the same scent as the shampoo.  Perfect.  As he reaches for the bottle of body wash he prays that it’s Old Spice or something that does not smell like flowers or fruits.  Yes.  It is Old Spice.  Maybe this day won’t be so bad after all.

         Fifteen minutes later he is out of the shower.  He puts a towel around his waist and starts to comb out the tangles in his hair.  He scrutinizes his body as he does so.  His slightly tanned skin is lightly touched with muscles.  Before his downward slope into insanity, he had a job doing construction work.  The only reason why his body is so toned.  He’s not exactly the type to work out for hours.  Sees no reason to do so.  Not like he really has to.

         The light in the bathroom glints off of his piercings.  Anya had admitted to him at one point that they had fascinated her.  He has two eyebrow rings, one next to the other; and three lip piercings, one on each side of his lower lip and one in the middle.  He had been around eighteen or so when he got them done.

         Once his body is dry and his hair neatly combed, he reenters his bedroom to get dressed.  He puts on the first article of clothing that he sees.  A black tee-shirt with a rock band on it and some jeans.  Slipping on some shoes he goes around the apartment gathering up dirty clothes to place into the washing machine.  He frowns at the three large piles.  Guess it’s been awhile since he’s washed clothes.  Fucking great.

         Taking a bottle of laundry detergent, he picks up one pile and leaves the apartment.  He makes the quick walk to the laundry room located in the basement in under three minutes.  He dumps the clothes into a vacant washing machine and pours some detergent into it.  He then swiftly leaves the small laundry room, not wanting to run into any of his neighbors.  They always ask him how he’s doing which infuriates him.

         Back in his apartment he looks in his refrigerator to see what he needs to buy at the store today.  The milk on the inside of the door is about a month old, already curdling and stinking up the place.  He swallows down his nausea as he dumps out the old milk.  He will have to clean out the refrigerator if he wants to get rid of the old milk smell and whatever else is rotting away inside of it.  He decides to save the actual cleaning for another day.

         Dimitrii pours himself a glass of orange juice which, surprisingly, is still good to drink.  All was going fine and dandy until his eyes fall on the kitchen table.  There on the edge lies Mystique.  He chokes on his orange juice.  He had thrown the book last night in his room, how the hell did it get in the kitchen?  He’s pretty sure he didn’t move it.

         He walks apprehensively over to the table.  He opens the book and just like last night, words appear on the pages.  His heart hammers in his chest as he reads the newest words.

         

         No, Dimitrii, you are not going crazy.  At least not yet.  Trust me, taking your sanity will be the easiest job I have done yet.  Have you taken your medication yet by the way?  You might need it today.  Don’t want to have a breakdown at the grocery store now do you?  Go ahead and take them.

Mystique has spoken!

         “What the fuck?” Dimitrii says aloud incredulously.  What the hell is going on?  How does the book know his name?  This is insane, it can’t be happening.

         Dimitrii closes the book and all but collapses on the wooden chair in front of the table.  He puts his head in his hands, trying to will back the sobs that are threatening to break through.  He is definitely losing it.

         Taking the book’s advice, he walks into his bathroom to take his medication.  He’s on Prozac and Buspar to treat both his depression and anxiety disorder; Risperdal for his schizophrenia and Ambien for when he has troubling sleeping.  It gets difficult sometimes to sleep when you hear voices in your head or hallucinate monsters with elongated hands talking to you in Shakespearean dialect.  Fortunately, it never got to the point where they talked to him about killing people or setting fires.  For that he reasons he should be thankful.

         He pays for his medication with the disability check that comes in once a month.  His insurance pays for most of it however.  He opens the three pill bottles and pops a pill from each into his mouth.  He chases it down with a small glass of water and waits in his room for the medicine to take effect.

         Everything will be all right, everything will be all right.  He thinks to himself over and over.  It was just an hallucination, that’s it.  In an hour you’ll be okay.  At times like these he wishes he had someone he could call.  Just one person who can assure him that it’s all in his head.  Technically he does have someone he can call, but he doubts that she would want to talk to him.  Not after the way things had ended.  Not after the betrayal and heartache she had caused.

         “You were never there for me!  But he was… he was there when I needed someone.  Where were you?”          Her accusation rings loudly in his head.  He honestly had no idea that she had felt that negatively about their relationship.  Sure, she had mentioned it a few times.  But in the end she would always stay with him.  It couldn’t have been that bad then, right?  As much as he would like to blame her for everything he knows that he can’t.  It had been his fault.  He wasn’t there for her.  He didn’t know how to be.

         “Fuck, I am so, so sorry.” He whispers to himself, allowing the tears to come.

         If he could do it all over again he would have tried harder to be more understanding, more accepting of her emotions.  Maybe if he wasn’t such a cold-hearted bastard they would still be together.  Or maybe if he was a bit more sane.  He just gets lost a lot in the past… in his deluded reality.  She had been the only person who possessed the ability to get him out of it.  But now she’s gone for good, taking with her his sanity.

         

Mystique

         “No, you are not going to call him!” Blake screams at Anya furiously.

         “You didn’t see him, how hurt he looked when I told him.  What if he’s not well?” She argues back.  She just needs to know that he’s okay, that he hadn’t hurt himself.  Why can’t Blake understand that?

         “So what if he isn’t?  He’s no longer your concern.” Blake narrows his hazel eyes at her.  “Do you still love him?” He demands of her.

         Anya blinks at him in confusion.  How can he even ask that?  Of course she still loves him!  He had been her first love, the first guy that she had given herself to, her first everything.  Just because they broke up doesn’t mean that she stopped caring for him.  They had just not been very compatible in the romantic sense.

         She thinks back over the two, long, bittersweet years that they shared together.  At first they had been almost the perfect couple.  He had been so loving, so caring despite his harsh upbringing.  She’s not exactly sure what had happened but one day he just stopped.  Stopped kissing her, stopping telling her that he loved her… stopped being a boyfriend and becoming more and more a friend.  But she had loved him regardless.  Even when his cruel words made her cry and kept her up half the night; even when her friends had begged her to leave him.

         Then Blake had come along.  He had been Dimitrii’s best friend. Every time Dimitrii had left her broken and confused Blake was always there to pick up the pieces.  To remind her just how beautiful and wonderful she really is.

         “He doesn’t deserve you, Anya.  You deserve so much better.  Leave him.  All he’s doing is hurting you.”          Those words had hit home.  Sunk deep into her sub-conscious until she could no longer ignore them.  This wasn’t healthy.  The relationship they had.  It was time to leave.  Though of course it took her six more months to actually leave Dimitrii.  After awhile her and Blake’s friendship developed into something much more.  She regrets sleeping with him while she was with Dimitrii, but she can’t take it back now.

         “How could you do that to me, Anya?  And with him of all people!  He was my best friend!  I trusted you guys!”          The look of utter betrayal and anguish on his face had almost broken her.  He looked so helpless and lost much like a little kid.  He wouldn’t even look at her as he ordered her to leave his apartment.  Correction.  Their apartment.  With tears in her eyes, she had packed up her belongings and left, not once looking back.

         “Yes,” she whispers dejectedly.  “yes, I still love him.”

         Blake turns red with anger.  “Then why the hell are you with me?”

         “You know why I left him.  That’s why I’m with you.  You were always there for me.  But I still have feelings for him; that’s not going to disappear just because I’m with you.”

         Blake runs a hand through his black hair.  Sighing he says, “Then call him if you feel you have to.”

         “Thank you.”

         Anya leaves the room to go outside.  She doesn’t really want Blake listening to their conversation.  She hopes Dimitrii had paid his cell phone bill on time.  She smiles.  He always forgot things like that.  She had found it rather endearing.

         She dials the familiar number and puts her cell up to her ear.  It rings.  She holds her breath.  It rings once more.  She can’t breathe, she’s on the verge of hyperventilating.  On the third ring… he answers.  His voice sounds drained and gruff when he spits out a strained “hi”.

         “Dimitrii,” she breathes out a sigh of relief.  She wasn’t really sure if he was even going to pick up.  “How are you?”

         He laughs bitterly on the other line.  “Just peachy, Anya, how about yourself?”

         She winces at his cold tone.  She had been expecting it but… it still hurts.  He must hate her, not that she blames him.  How could she?  She hates herself for what she had done.

         “I-I’m doing all right.  I know we didn’t exactly leave things on a good note.  But… I just needed to hear that you’re okay.”

         Dimitrii sighs.  When he speaks again, his voice sounds smaller.  Fear clutches her heart in a death-grip.  He’s not okay.  He’s losing it again and this time she had been the one to set him over the edge.

         “I… I’m not really sure.  It’s probably just because I forgot to take my meds for a few days.  I’ll be fine.”

         “Have you starting seeing things again?” She asks him worriedly.

         There’s a long pause on his end.  Finally he speaks again.  “I’m not too sure.  It’s different than the other times.  There’s this book….” His voice trails off.

         Book?  He hates to read.  Anya shakes her head in confusion.  What does a book have to do with anything?

         “It’s been writing weird things.” He finishes quietly.

         “Writing?  I- I don’t understand.”

         “Words appear out of nowhere on the blank pages as if someone is writing them.  I don’t know what to make of it.”

         He’s right.  This isn’t one of his usual hallucinations.  She wonders why that is.  It’s usually a set pattern.  Monsters having conversations with him or voices whispering poetry in his mind.  Never something like this.

         “Just keep taking your medication, Dimitrii.  And if it worsens, call your doctor, he can help.”

         Dimitrii scoffs.  “No one can help me, Anya.  Especially not that stupid asshole of a doctor.  I gotta go.” Then before he hangs up, “It was nice talking to you.  I hope Blake is treating you all right, you deserve that.”

         Anya presses the end button on her phone, tears welling up in her green eyes.  She would never forgive herself if he does something to himself.  She hopes he’ll get better soon.

         It’s just the sudden change is all.  She thinks to herself.  In a few months he’ll be all right.  Pretty soon he’ll forget all about me.  Those thoughts do nothing to placate her.  She just has a bad feeling about all of this.

         The door closes and opens behind her.  Blake comes up and wraps his arms around her soothingly.  She leans into the embrace, smiling sadly.  This is what drew her to him.  The fact that he’s not afraid to touch her.  To hug her.  To kiss her.  True, she may never feel as strongly for him as she did for Dimitrii, but she likes being with him nonetheless.  Likes the emotional closeness that he can provide her with.

         “You okay?”

         Anya nods her head.  “Yeah… I think I am.”

Mystique

         Dimitrii rocks back and forth on his bed.  Tears pouring down his face and sobs racking his entire body.  Why had she called him?  Why?!  For God’s sakes, didn’t she know what that would have done to him?

         He stumbles into the bathroom to take an Ambien.  All he wants to do is sleep.  Sleep and forget that she had ever called.  That she had ever loved him.  That she had ever made him happy.

         “I’m sorry.” He whispers again to no one in particular.  “So fucking sorry.”

         He lays back down in his bed, closing his eyes.  Images of her pass under his eyelids.  Of them dancing on their first anniversary.  Her smiling up at him so adoringly.  How her face would look so utterly relaxed after they had just made love.  The smell of lavender on her body, in her hair.

         “I love you, Dimitrii.”          “I love you, too.  So, so much.”