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A supernatural religious novel that explores the third secret of Fatima |
| Emily-2001 They want them to write it down. Write down meaningless, inadequate words to explain unspeakable horror. Once again, they ask too much. Emily looks at the pages in her hands. The words don’t even come close. How can they? How can she write the words that will show them what they did? How they did it. That’s what they want. A how-to manual. Just in case. Just in case it happens again. Emily shudders, closing her eyes and offers up a pleading prayer. It can’t happen again. Not to them, she pleads selfishly. They won’t make it again. Not a second time. Resentment fills her and she crunches the papers in her hands. They had fought for the certainty that they’d never have to face it again. She sighs and irons the sheets of paper flat again with her hands. She flips the pages over and examines them, one by one, shaking her head. Not even close. Must have been on purpose, she tells herself. No more Ms Nice Girl. She deliberately kept out the most important parts. How they did it, they can know that. But that’s all. They don’t deserve to know more. Emily writes down more of the necessary words for them and keeps her secret memories to herself. As she writes, the memories come to the surface giving the words more meaning for her than they will ever have for them. Chapter One-August 1999 There was a point every night, while the applause was ringing in her ears that Emily wished she were somewhere else, anywhere else. When the applause reached its crescendo. The noise was so loud Emily vibrated with the power of it, pounding through the theatre from the audience, up into the floorboards of the stage, beneath her feet. Her heart would begin to drop, inch by inch. It would settle with a hard uncomfortable thump into her stomach While others craved the applause, reveled in it, Emily Di Carlo dreaded it. At first she would smile. They had loved her performance. Loved her. She basked in that love. Then, seconds before the final curtain came down her stomach tightened and her hands grew cold. Reality set in like frigid water rising around her feet higher and higher until she felt she would either drown or freeze. Her character was leaving her. It was the role they loved. Not Emily. She disappeared into the role and was safe. Then the applause would begin and slowly the curtain was lifted. She couldn’t hide in her characters anymore. The role was over. After a performance, she usually stayed behind. Waited until the entire cast and crew left and she’d sit in the closed theatre soaking up the last bit of the life she had just lived for an hour and a half, refusing to relinquish the illusion for as long as she could. When it was quiet and empty, the lights down, Emily would sit in the front row and close her eyes. The smell and echo in the auditorium would help transport her back to those few moments when she was free from herself. There was just Emily now. Emily, with her panic and fear and nightmares; voices and visions that haunted her sleep and her waking hours. The only refuge from her nightmares was when he came. The man she loved, adored. The man whose touch brought her to life every night. The man she knew didn’t exist There would be no lingering behind in the empty theatre tonight. After 2 months in her first lead role in Murray Morgan’s ’Forever More’, the play was closing. It had made a respectable impression, not quite worthy of Broadway but Emily was certain she’d have no problem landing her next role. The after-party was to be held at Borgese Restaurant and being the leading lady there was no escape for Emily. She was expected to attend. Her leading man, Craig Keebler pulled her hand up after the final bow and led her with the rest of the cast as they cleared the stage. “I’ll give you a lift to the party if you’d like.” Craig offered hesitantly as they made their way through the hugs and congratulations of friends, families and other cast members that crowded around them. Emily smiled at the transformation in him. All macho swagger and sex-appeal on stage, the curtains came down and Casanova disappeared, replaced by a shy, uncertain but gentle soul. He reminded Emily so much of herself, although she seriously doubted the man burst into tears for no reason. On second glance though, he looked like he might actually do just that if she didn’t say yes. “That’d be nice.” she nodded kindly. They untangled themselves from the crowd, growing larger in the small backstage area and she followed him into the considerably cooler, dark corridor. The smell of sweat and make-up trailed them as her eyes adjusted to the dimness. She could make out signatures scrawled in both pen and thick markers of various colours on both sides of the pale grey walls. ‘DeNiro can kiss my ass. Jamie Kendall, 1985’...Another read, ‘Heeeeeere’s Johnny! Johnny Anders, 1989’ “We’ll have to come back and sign that later.” Craig said. Emily didn’t tell him that she’d already signed it. Her signature would be the hardest to fine, she imagined. She’d written it on opening night in plain blue pen. ‘I‘m here. Emily DiCarlo, 1999’ Poor guy, Emily mused watching Craig from behind. He made no real secret of his attraction to her and while he was a beautiful looking man who many of the female cast lusted after, Emily wasn’t among them. The electricity between them didn’t carry over off stage. Once the curtain came down, all she felt was an amicable affection for him. She wished she could feel for him what she felt for the man in her dreams. She’d give anything to be able to summon one ounce of the fire she felt burning through her body at the memory of the man she’d never seen, for this sweet gentle man whose face broke into a wide grin at her acceptance of his offer. Shoving one hand in his pocket, Craig turned off up ahead at the break in the corridor that led to the few small dressing rooms. “Give me a few minutes.” Emily told him, turning to the ladies dressing room. A few of the actresses had already sneaked past the mob and were in various states of undress. “Those over there are for you.” Bess Amerdon shouted above the excited cacophony. She had played Emily’s mother. Bess was a sweet faced middle aged woman with bright blue eyes and curly red hair. She pointed to a bouquet of fresh white lilies resting in a vase on the floor with the many other floral tokens of appreciation and admiration.. Emily smiled and picked up the card, already knowing who had sent them. ‘Try to have a good time and for God’s sake, don’t go home early!’ Laura P.S You’d better call me when you get home. Don’t worry, I’ll accept the charges. Emily surprised herself by actually enjoying the wrap party. She was glad that the restaurant was closed for the private event. She never enjoyed large crowds. Even her cast mates, with their dates and families made her slightly uneasy and she stuck to Craig like glue for most of the night. She sat next to him at one of the long tables propped against the wall, eyeing the glass of wine in front of her with trepidation. Should she indulge herself into drunkenness to get rid of this feeling of dread growing in the pit of her stomach? Risk the hangover for a numbing night of oblivion? She ran a clear polished nail along the rim. Emily was saved from making the decision for the moment by Murray’s sudden grip on her shoulders from behind. Emily jumped in her seat and had bit her lip not to cry out at the fright he had given her. “Here are my stars!” He bellowed. Grey eyes bright with his famous enthusiasm. “You two were magic tonight. Had me nearly coming in my pants.” He shook Emily’s shoulders with his exuberant pride. “That’s our plan, Murray.” Craig said shaking his head with amusement beside Emily. “Jorge!” Murray called out to the owner of the restaurant. The older man walked towards their table. “I want you to give these two free meals here for the next month. They’ve earned it.” Craig and Emily smiled at each other. “Free? What do I look like, a soup kitchen? You want to give them free meals. You put it on your tab, ” the tall Italian replied. “Goes without saying, my friend. Goes without saying.” Murray assured him. “Hey, what about the rest of us, Murray?” Paul McKinley called out from the end of the table. “You! You little maggot. I ought to serve you up to these two as the main course! How dare you ad lib.....” Murray let go of Emily’s shoulders and walked towards the target of his rage. Her nervousness, momentarily forgotten, returned once her mind was no longer focused on Murray. The heavy feeling of dread crept back teasingly. Before she could stop herself she downed the glass of wine in four long gulps. Craig stared at her, a dark eyebrow raised in amusement. “Thirsty.” she explained. Her hands ached with tension as they played with the white linen handkerchief in her lap. She was glad when the meal of veal and fettuccine was finally served. It meant the evening was half over. How long did she have to stay before it would be acceptable to leave? A sudden chill shot down her spine and Emily stiffened in her chair. The feeling of being watched pulled her attention towards the front door. She shifted forward in her seat. Out of the corner of her eye, Emily saw a flash of white by the door. Waiters on their cigarette break, she told herself. Scolding herself for her jumpy nature, she turned back to her food and attacked her veal with her fork. Her eyes shifted back to the glass door. Late as it was, the moonlight gave the Roman collar around the old man’s neck a silvery glow as he walked past the restaurant‘s glass windows. Emily’s eyes followed him, her dread increasing. He was tall, his hair streaked with grey. Not a priest from the church she occasionally attended. She didn’t recognize him. He’d looked inside the restaurant. She knew it. It was the collar she had seen out of the corner of her eye. It shouldn’t bother her, she insisted silently. She was Catholic and had been around priests for most of her life. But it did. The admission unnerved her. Why? Emily caught the last part of Craig’s invitation to dance and nodded eagerly, standing up. Leaving her meal for the most part, untouched, she let Craig lead her around the dance floor and nodded, smiling in the right places as she only half listened to him, her mind still on the priest she had seen. It shouldn’t bother her, she repeated. She forced herself to focus back on Craig, glad to let his chatter occupy her attention. He took her home at two-thirty in the morning. Laura would approve, Emily thought smiling. Craig didn’t even look like he expected a goodnight kiss. Thank God. He saw her safely to her apartment, which she appreciated. Getting off the elevator, they stopped in front of Emily’s door. “We kicked ass tonight.” he said proudly leaning against her black door. “We sure did.” she agreed with a smile, sharing in his happiness. “I’d love to work with you again.” he said softly. His blue eyes shone with undisguised intent. Emily felt the nervous lump in her throat return. She forced herself to smile as she reached into her coat pocket for her keys. “Have your agent call my agent and we’ll talk.” Emily joked. Craig leaned in to hug her and Emily tried not to stiffen. She lightly patted his back. “Chemistry like ours doesn’t come along every day, you know?” he pointed out. “We could be the next Bogie and Bergman.” “Alright Bogie, I had fun tonight. Thanks for driving me home.” Emily said anxious to get inside her apartment. She gave Craig a friendly pat on the arm. Before he had a chance to say anything else she turned the key in her lock. “Goodnight.“ she told him. Emily walked into her apartment, relieved to finally be alone. She closed her eyes and shook off the last remnants of nervous energy and kicked her heels off with a sigh. She let her sore feet rub against the soft beige carpet for a few seconds, rewarding them for four hours in four inch black heels. She picked up the receiver on her navy blue cordless phone, mounted on the kitchen wall and dialed Laura’s number. While waiting for her friend to answer, she pulled off her panty hose and wiggled her toes pleasurably against the cold pink tile. She took a small pot from the cupboard and filled it with water. She spooned some cocoa into a mug, gathering some of the powder off the rim and licking her finger . “Hey babe.” Laura’s groggy voice greeted her. “Were you sleeping?” “Yeah but don’t worry about it. I’m up now.” “Oh good.” Emily bit her lip and smiled, keeping teasingly silent. “Hello? I'm paying for that dead air!” Laura scolded her. “What?” Emily asked fighting laughter. “How did your date with the Keebler Elf go?” “Laura, it wasn't-” “I know, blah, blah it wasn't a date. So?” she urged. “I had fun. Got kinda shaky a few times.” Emily admitted. “Oh? “Laura asked concerned. “Don’t worry. Craig drove me home before I could completely lose it.” “But besides that, you had fun right? That's the important thing.” Laura reminded her. “Well I figured since the play is over now would be a good time-” Emily began, pouring the boiling water into the white mug, knowing her friend’s excited squeal was seconds away. “You're coming! You're coming to visit!” Laura cried happily. “Yes!” Emily said, entertained by her reaction. Dropping a few tiny marshmallows in, Emily took a careful sip and shivered as the heat spread on her tongue. “When are you coming?” “Day after tomorrow. I should be there in the morning.” “What time should I be at the airport?” “What airport? I'm taking the bus.” Emily insisted. “Oh for crap sakes do you have any idea how long a bus ride it is from New York to Toronto?” “Do you have any idea how many people die in plane crashes every year?” Emily countered. “Em- Forget it. I literally can't afford to get into this argument with you. I'll meet you at the bus terminal, you chicken-shit.” “Love you too sweetie. The bus should be there around nine.” Emily informed her and hung up. The dream never changed. Within seconds of closing her eyes and drifting off, Emily could feel his mouth on her breasts. Her fingers drove into his hair pulling his lips back up to hers. Her body was on fire for this man. She wanted him with a passion she only gave reign to when she slept. His fingers slipped inside of her, and Emily moaned at the rush of sensation. He lifted himself above her and Emily ran her cheek along the damp warmth of his chest, feeling his heart beat, strong and slightly quickened as if he was a man of real flesh and blood and not simply her every desire wished into being. She ran her fingers along his back, sliding them across the slippery muscles. Emily arched her neck as his tongue slid to her pulse. She eagerly lifted her hips to accept him into her body. With a groan he pushed deep inside her and held them both still before finding her mouth again. He thrust hard once, gripping her hips and setting a slow steady rhythm, taking her higher and higher with him until she came apart in his arms. The force of it jolted her awake and she was left breathless and throbbing at the memory. As always. |
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