He Loves Me Not

         The sun never shines when you need it. The weatherman on the radio was wrong as usual- he promised a beautiful day that was warm and sunny. It rained. The clouds were dark and menacing, blocking out the sun. The street lamps cast a sickly light on the wet pavement below. It was an eerie early twilight that engulfed the city, a kind that hid secrets in its shadows.

         Jenny Hagen sat in a sea of flower petals in her kitchen. The bare bulb on the ceiling illuminated her fair hair and pale face. Her glassy blue eyes were wide open, staring intently at the task at hand. Clenched tight in her left fist was a delicate flower which with trembling fingers, she rapidly tore off the petals, chanting to herself all the while.

         “He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me- not. Damn it.” Jenny hastily discarded the stem, picked up another daisy and started again. As she reached the last few petals her breath quickened and her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

         “He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me, not?” She searched the floor around her for another flower. “This is my last flower, I’m all out. This bouquet must be defective, but how can that be, it’s the third one this afternoon? Oh no, maybe I’m defective! No! Yes! Maybe? Ah!” Jenny scrambled to her feet. Angrily she kicked the pile of discarded stems across the kitchen floor and stormed out of the room. Jenny then rushed to her bedroom and snatched up her magic eight ball from her dresser.

         “Come on eight ball make my day, tell me if my true love will look my way.” Jenny scrunched her eyes shut and vigorously shook the ball. She opened her eyes expectantly and unconsciously held her breath as the fortune surfaced.

         “Not a chance! What? Stupid ball!” Further enraged, she flung the eight ball against the far wall where it made yet another hole and fell to the stained floor. The dark sphere lay smashed and bleeding beside its fallen comrades whom also failed to provide the answer she so desperately sought. The summer was almost over and that meant Jenny had precious little time left before he went off to college.

         “John Travers.” Jenny sighed dreamily. The very saying of his name made her frustration vanish and her heart race. Jenny walked across her room and opened the door of her closet. She crouched down and pushed all the clothes and shoes aside to expose a loose panel that only she knew of. Jenny discovered it in seventh grade when stepdaddy number one (or two, she could never keep them straight in her mind) staggered home from a hard nights “work” at the local bar to fight with her mom about why she didn’t keep his dinner heated up and ready. After all, it was only three in the morning; she shouldn’t assume that he wasn’t coming home until the sun comes out and the search party dispatched. As the fight escalated Jenny, frightened out of her wits, crept into her closet to hide from the shouts and there she discovered the loose panel and the space behind it. Jenny felt around in the darkness till her grasping hands closed on a book of matches. With a gleeful grin she lit the candle she kept there in his honor. As the flame lit up the wick, it cast a dim shaky light on the bizarre contents of Jenny’s little hole in the wall.

         “Oh how I love you.” She murmured to no one as she examined her treasures. It had notebooks crowded with poems proclaiming her undying love for him, sheets of paper with the words Mr. & Mrs. John Travers written countless times and the initials “JT” and “JH + JT 4-ever” carved into the floorboards in several places. She also had gotten a hold of a few of his old personal possessions, a lock of his hair, and a couple mementos from where he worked, a bottle of his favorite shampoo, a scrapbook full of articles from the local paper of his athletic triumphs, some of the cologne he wears, tapes of his favorite songs plus the lyrics- the very soundtrack of her life- but what filled the walls of her space were pictures, dozens and dozens of pictures. The candlelight cast out shadows that flickered and danced madly across the photos as Jenny went through them.

         John Travers lived in the building next to Jenny’s and from her bedroom window she could see into his bedroom and the adjoining bathroom. He was good looking, played three varsity sports, got excellent grades and was one of the most sought after boys in the whole school. One day when he had just got home from one of his practices and he walked into his room and into Jenny’s plain sight. John was sweaty and disheveled but to Jenny, he couldn’t have looked any better. Then, before her shocked eyes he began to disrobe, tossing his dirty things onto a chair. She knew she should look away to give him some privacy but she could not tear her eager eyes away.

         As the weeks turned into months and the months turned into years, about two years to be precise, Jenny’s admiration turned into an insatiable possessive fascination. Like a malignant cancer, it had spread throughout her being making her weak, almost ill, with desire. Thoughts of him filled her every waking moment; he was all she talked about and all she dreamed of. Most places John went she was only a few steps behind, watching and waiting- all for him. He’ll be mine one day, she thought, he is so perfect, we're so meant to be together. In her heart of hearts lived the romantic notion of fairy tale endings, of happily-ever-after. She relived once more her most treasured fantasy: John pledging his never ending love to her. A lopsided smile lit up Jenny’s face as her eyes dully gazed at a distant nonexistent point in space. A noise startled Jenny out of her reverie. She hastily blew out the candle and ran to see who was there. Halfway down the hall another shout made her stop dead in her tracks, freezing the blood in her veins into ice.

         “Jennifer Bethany Hagen!” It was her mother. Mrs. (or rather Ms., the divorce papers were final for husband number three) Susan Marie Matthews-Hagen-McCormick-Jackson, or just plain old Sue, stood in the kitchen, the messy kitchen, holding groceries and looking furious. “What the hell did you do? Did you spend all your allowance on some damn flowers just so that you can mess up my kitchen? Quit those crocodile tears, or I’ll really give you something to cry about. Child, don’t just stand there! Clean this up before I change my mind and whack you upside the head. Of all the stupid things, flowers. Humph!”

         Sue dumped the shopping bags with a thump in her anger, spilling their contents. She gave her daughter a dirty look as if to say look what you made me do, as toilet paper and tea bags tumbled to the floor. That was nothing compared to the look of dismay as the rat poison coated the open box of her favorite chocolate truffles.

         "Oh damn, they're ruined. Take 'em and get rid of them." Sue shoved the ruined sweets in her daughter's direction and proceeded to make herself some dinner. There was little physical resemblance between the portly woman fixing the sausage and pepper sandwich and the slender girl sweeping up the petals. Sue was stout with dark hair streaked sliver with age. She was forty yet could pass for fifty, even sixty. Time and multiple ex-husbands had not been kind to the once youthful face of Susan Marie. Hers was the face of bitter disillusionment, a jaded face that was well grounded in reality, her reality.

         “What the hell where all those flowers for anyway?” Sue asked sharply.

         “They were for, I mean, you know and I...” Jenny sniveled.

         “Why did I even expect a real answer?” She turned her attention back to her sandwich and Jenny paused to watch. Sue tossed a pepper onto the counter and pulled out a knife. The sharp steel blade shone brightly as Sue lifted it and proceeded to chop the pepper with more force than was necessary. “Jenny, you gotta learn how to cook. Then maybe you’ll be somewhat useful. I won’t be here forever. You can just wait around till someone does it for you. You have go grab the bull by the balls and say, hey! Yeah you, what do you think I’m talking to myself?” Sue slapped down the sausage and began to hack away. “Oh yeah? Well I don’t need a man; what now mister I can’t find a new job, really she and I were just friends and hunny while you’re up get me a beer! Take that you lazy good-for-nothing son of a...” A loud clap of thunder drowned out the rest. Sue stopped suddenly and realized what she saying and doing. “Well you get the picture.” She scooped up and tossed the sliced peppers and mutilated sausage into a frying pan. Still reeling from the violence of her emotions, she looked into her daughter’s wide-eyed stare and in a rare show of maternal concern made a futile attempt at being positive. “I won’t lie to you; there is no such thing as a man’s love. Sure they act all sweet and nice when you first meet them but then, Jennifer, it all changes. The lust wears off and then you wake up in your mid thirties married to your second husband who is a deadbeat whom you exchange for a chauvinistic pig and its all downhill from there Jenny!”

         Jenny stood stunned by her mother indignant diatribe. Every angry word felt like a kick to her fragile mind and shook the unstable foundation of her psyche. No love, she thought, no love, no hope, nothing at all. She ran suddenly back into her room and closed the door ignoring her mother's shout. Jenny bolted to her closet then feverishly yanked out the contents of her hole in the wall. She stared at the pictures as the open smiling faces mutated into a sneering monstrosities. The scent of cheap cologne clogged her nostrils as she hesitantly looked at the unfamiliar eyes that stared back at her from the glossy surface of the photos. The eyes where terrible, they gaped at her glinting with an insane light.

         "No, no," she muttered to herself. "Lies all lies. Won't believe, can't, can't..." In her frenzy, Jenny shut her eyes tight and tried with all her might to conjure her fantasy but nothing came, just darkness. Jenny opened her eyes suddenly and listened intently to the crack of thunder that rumbled through the apartment. The rain was picking up now, pounding against the window panes in sheets adding to the racket her racing heart was making. Then a soft persuasive voice began whispering so quiet and indistinctly that at first that she thought that it was the wind or in her head but no it came from her own throat. Hers and not hers it was- it had a strange harshness distorting the words making them unintelligible. Soon the voice grew louder and the words took form and shape.

         "Go to him." It said. "Go, he is yours you found him. Of course you own him. Show him how you feel and give him what he deserves. Go now. He is waiting."

         Jenny rose to her feet obeying the voice's command. Of course she should go to him why hadn't it occurred to her before; it was the most logical thing in the world. She will surprise him, yes a surprise he won't forget. He will never stray ever again. John will remain forever hers- always.

*****************

         John strolled up the stairs towards his parents’ apartment. He whistled as he walked, scoring on the first date always put him in a festive mood. When he arrived at the door he reached in his pocket to retrieve his keys and instead his fingers encountered two slips of paper. One had the phone number of the girl that he took out that night and the receipt of the restaurant with the waitress's phone number. He replaced the receipt and tossed aside the other with disdain. Why should he hold onto it, he thought, she must be cheap giving it away so soon and besides he was in the mood for some variety.

         With a self-satisfied grin he went to put the key in the lock but oddly enough the door was not locked- in fact it swung open with ease. A cold shiver went up his spine. Something was not right. He hesitated for a few seconds unable to decide what to do. John stepped into the apartment cautiously almost expecting someone to leap out from the shadows. His eyes scanned the room nervously to see if anything was stolen. But everything was where it was before he left, the apartment was still, deathly still. John headed down the hall heart pounding with trepidation. A loud crash of thunder destroyed his resolve and nearly made him soil his pants. A light was on at the end of the hall. A low husky laugh reached his ears and soon everything began to make sense. The light came from his parents’ room; it must be an anniversary of some sort. A smile touched his lips- they had the same idea this evening that he did. John tiptoed into his room and quietly shut the door. He stripped off his shirt and flung himself on his bed. A brilliant bolt of lightning lit up the room. John sat up quickly; there was something different amid the clutter on the dresser. John walked toward it cautiously, still tense from his former fright. He relaxed when he saw what it was.

         "Mmm, candy." John picked up one of the delectable chocolates, dusted off some of the confectioner’s sugar and popped it in his mouth. He nearly gagged on his bitter mouthful. He choked it down and gave the box an evil glare. It was fancy scarlet box filled with cheap chocolate truffles. "Must be stale." John mumbled to himself the as the acrid taste burned his tongue. With closer examination he discovered the box was not really red but stained with some red... stuff. Terror gripped his heart as he heard an inhuman cackle that seemed to blend and clash with the sounds of the raging storm. As his fingers closed around the bloody kitchen knife that lay beside the box, he doubled over in pain. The knife slipped from his fingers and landed on the floor with a clatter. The laughter rose in intensity as the pain spread through out his body. John writhed on the floor in agony unable to draw in a breath. As his sight dimmed, he saw a beautiful vision. A golden angel knelt over him and with a cool hand lovingly caressed his hot face.

         "Help me!" John gasped, reaching toward the hand that touched him. He grasped it in his, holding it with the desperate grip of a dying man. He was greeted with a smile as cold as the blade that was poised over his heart. Through the murky darkness that surrounded his torment from the ruthlessly penetrating steel came the maniacal chant- “He loves me not.”

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