Gloria slept peacefully in Marshal's arms. Her body draped around his waist like a victory flag. Her breath echoing against his chest, she was at peace as she innocently slept.
Her trust in him would have been flattering, were it not for the trouble he had brought on her doorstep. She was almost innocent in all of this.
Marshal touched the cold glass of whiskey to his lips, his nostrils flaring at the stench, his lips almost starved for the taste. This was so ironic since, he had been drinking from the moment he got here. Come to think of it, he was never sober anymore. He couldn't bear to be. Less so in this bedroom.
The bedroom he broke Francis' trust over and over again. Kneeling in surrender to the lust he felt.
"Wise…men say… only fools…"
The lyrics began to swirl around his ears. The soft scent of vanilla echoed against his nostrils as a particular face painted itself to life in front of his eyes.
He watched her voluptuous hips sway, ever so slowly to sound of music. Her pink lips part as she sang her breath and her hands moved in circular motions as she whipped the batter into shape.
The soft light of the moon that streamed into Gloria's room faded somewhere in the background as the bright shining light of first rays of sun streamed and glowed like a halo around her head. The walls were suddenly wooden as Denis' kitchen came to life.
Marshal leaned against the door way of the kitchen watching the thick curls tease her skin. He just watched her.
He was aware that this was a memory… that his alcohol intoxicated mind was giving him another gift. A tryst hidden deep into the pockets of time. But, he would take it. He would take whatever he could get. Soak his brain in alcohol and sadness just to spend these false fleeting moments with her.
"I can feel you watching, Marshal. Give me ten minutes before you hound me for breakfast, you hungry little monster."
"Where are you my love?" Marshal asked.
Watching her back. This part wasn't a memory. No he never asked her this question. He remembered walking up to her. He remembered dunking his fingers in the batter as she shooed him away, spreading it along the curve of her neck before dipping his head to lick the batter of her skin. He remembered the taste of banana's and vanilla and her. He remembered her scandalized face and the deep seated color of red spread over her cheeks.
He remembered this dress.
But, here he asked her where she was. It did not make sense.
"I am right here, Marsh…"
"Why can't I see you? I know you're here but I can't see you. I can't feel you. I can't hear you. It's like everything is right here and yet it's not… it's like a mirage I am looking but I want to watch the oasis…does that make sense to you?"
Francis turned around. Her face was exactly the same. Her eyes were still brown and yet they seemed black. A lifelessness hanging in its peripheral rim. Her lips seemed cold and yet they were alive. Something about her beautiful face was cruel.
"You are looking at the mirage because the oasis is lost. And a mirage never really quenches your thirst. It simply leaves you wanting for more…."
"I guess… maybe that's the reason I am willing to look at you even when you're veiled in black."
"Whatever my face, whatever I drape… a part of you will still love it… despite my cruelty."
Her voice was fading as she said it, turning hoarse even. There was sadness in it. Such forlorn emptiness. She was fading right before his eyes.
Marshal reached out his fingertips grappling at the fading figure, feeling the coldness. Feeling the loss. As a loud creaking sound began to stir him out of his tryst.
A soft moan left his lips as the cabin faded, replaced by the ominous darkness of Gloria's room. As the air hung low with a whisper of fear laced with sensuality. With the whisper of a connection that once was and now was breaking.
The sound of the creaking floor got louder. She was here.
A sensual mixture of malice as her lean bony fingers curled around the knob. Her cold lips parted as she let out a sigh. Almost as if she was tired.
Marshal turned his face and watched the door in anticipation. A paradoxical longing and fear painting his eyes.
He watched as the knob turned softly at first and then a little more forcefully. The bedroom was locked.
He almost imagined the right side of their lips raise in irritation. He wanted to let them in, but he could not. The woman in black was here to hurt Gloria. And he had to protect her.
The woman in black did not want him. And yet all he wanted was for them to torture him.
Scrape his skin.
Burn his soul.
The knob turned with wild force, their collective frustration clearly seen. It woke Gloria up from her deep slumber.
"Marshal?"
She asked.
Drawing his attention to her. As the final sound of the turning knob faded, announcing that she was gone for the night.