The Encounter
By
Steph
Chapter Sixteen
*
Isabelle sat alone at the elaborate table with a glass of red wine in her hand.
This was to be a happy occasion, yet Isabelle
was lost in some sort of fog.
Nearly eight months had passed and Pik Van Cleaf had not returned. Those last words,
"I will come for you" echoed in her
mind night and day and the terrible empty pain it brought was almost too much to bare.
Perhaps he did not survive his wound, or perhaps he simply moved on to another place.
Isabelle felt like a person on the outside, but inside was nothing but an empty shell.
Isabelle watched her friend Mary, who made a stunning bride,
swirl about on the dance floor with Detective Jase Bailey, her
new husband.
It had been a whirlwind romance and Mary had clearly been swept off her feet.
Isabelle looked about the crowd and spotted Erica Randall.
She wore a sad expresssion upon her face. Isabelle secretly shared in Erica's pain.
However the cause was another.
Erica clearly cared for her Partner, but Jase was in love with Mary.
So perhaps things had worked out the way it was intended.
Isabelle had to except the fact that she may never see Van Cleaf
again. She felt only dispair.
Isabelle set down the glass and stood. She had to leave and be alone with her thoughts.
This large happy group of friends and family is not the place she wanted to be.
Isabelle made her way over to the bride and groom to say her goodbyes.
"Oh don't leave so soon Isy" Mary pleaded all the while enjoying the
strength in the arm wrapped around her waist. Her Husband !
"Don't you worry about me,You two have a wonderful time and send me a
postcard from the Bahamas." Jase smiled a handsome grin and whisked Mary
back onto the dance floor.
Many hours later, Isabelle found herself alone at her Grandfather's grave.
Without a thought to the pale blue gown she was wearing, she kneeled down upon the ground.
"Well Grandfather, what do you make of my life so far ?"
Isabelle wanted to cry so very badly, but her pride kept the tears at bay.
She sat silent with her hands in her lap.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the distance he stood. Watching. She looked so small and fragile to him.
Just looking upon her made him feel alive again.
Pik Van Cleaf stood, hands in pockets, with no expression upon his serious face.
The wound had healed, yet another pain remained. Fouchon was
safely away in another country, no doubt plying his trade.
Here, Van Cleaf stood. He had to make a choice.
His hands ached to touch her, even if only for a moment.
He wondered if her hair would still feel like finely spun silk when
it was wrapped around his fingers.
He wondered if her lips would still feel soft and taste as sweet as they once did.
He loved her. This was a new expierence for him
and he was at a loss at how to proceed.
Could he simply stroll over to her and extend his hand ? Would
she take it ? It had been eight months, surely she had forgotten him by now.
Pik recalled the fire in her eyes when he made love to her.
He wanted her even now. Could he survive her refusal ?
Pik's thoughts plagued him and he backed away into the darkness
so he would not be seen. Pik disappeared into the shadows, yet again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eight months and one week. Isabelle thought to herself as she
sat upon the couch lined with overstuffed pillows with her knees drawn to her chest.
She gazed out the window and watched the rain fall.
It may as well been a lifetime. She could no longer cry, she could no longer feel,
she was beginning to think she could no longer live.
A glimpse of a shadowy figure brought her out of her trance.
There, across the street by the lampost, stood a man in the rain.
He wore a large black jacket with the collar flipped up for protection against the weather.
Was he looking up at her ?
Isabelle could feel her sadness press deeper within her.
It was cruel to think that she was so destitute that every man looked like him.
She was surely loosing her mind.
The man stood then casually leaned against the lampost, uneffected by the elements outside.
Isabelle leaned over the back of the couch and pressed her hand to the window.
The glass was cold beneathe her fingertips.
"Please be him." She found herself whispering softly.
He stood for a few more moments then began to cross the deserted street, it was just before dusk.
He was coming closer to her building. Isabelle squeezed her eyes
closed and pleaded. "Oh God, please bring him back to me."
"I cannot go on without him." That fact made her realize
that she had never really lived before him.
The shawdowy figure of the man kept coming closer, he was
not a figment of her imagination. Isabelle could feel her heart begin
to race.
She watched the figure until he disappeared into the entrance of her building.
She wanted to fling herself out the door and race down the stairs and into his arms,
but she could not.
It wasn't him, she told herself as she left the couch and walked to the front door.
Isabelle felt weak and nauseous, as she pressed herself against the door.
There were no footsteps in the hallway outside, no sounds of a person taking the stairs.
After a few moments, Isabelle felt ill.
"You can't keep doing this to yourself." She said to herself as she raced to the bathroom,
fearing her stomach would relieve itself at any moment.
Isabelle wetted a wash cloth and pressed the cool linen to her forehead. "Oh god."
She winced. This was no way for anyone to live. It took a few moments for her to calm down
and return to the couch.
Until a knock upon the door shattered the silence. Isabelle stared at the door in disbelief.
She was frozen in place and could not move or speak.