HEAVEN BESIDE YOU

The tale of a girl searching for Heaven in Hell.

Chapter Two:

Like the Coldest Winter Will…

Donovan's car was parked outside. It was a simple black Camaro, not really fancy but not shabby either. It was an older model, with a fading paint job. Standing outside the bar, I realized that I left my jacket inside, with my sanity.

"Oh, here," he offered, pushing his jacket onto my shoulders. "You must be cold."

"But now you're cold," I muttered, inhaling the subtle, inexplicable scent of his jacket.

"No," he replied, chuckling. "I'm not cold." He led me to the passenger's side of his car and I sat in a daze, wondering when was the right time to bolt. He sat beside me, behind the wheel, and the engine hummed to life. With a sideways smile at me, he guided the car out of the parking lot and onto the main roads.

"I live at the apartment complex just down the road," I directed with resignation and stared out the window. "I can't believe I just left the bar unattended."

"They will forgive you," he said with a smirk. "I'm sure of it."

Despite how hypnotized I seemed to be by that weird fucker, he still creeped me out in a major way. I crowded against the passenger door, putting as much distance between us as I could. The night blurred around us, common university hangouts blending into nothing. It was as if that car became a bubble, an isolated window into another universe. My head felt heavy, full of cotton, as I peered over at Donovan. The car stopped and I blinked several times, trying to rid my brain of this heady intoxication that was pulling me deeper into the unknown.

"Are you alright?" He leaned close, to inspect my pupils. Instead of concern, his face was cloaked in darkness. His blackened irises glinted in triumph like a snake peering at its pray. Black veins stood out against his neck. I shook my head, widened my eyes, tried desperately to see what was really there instead of what was deceiving me.

Cadence… your life is in danger. Leave the car and go to apartment number four.

The voice echoed in my head, like a recording on an answering machine, and the rich timbre of it jarred my senses. I clutched my head and felt my chest heaving, my blood screaming out for more oxygen.

"Cadence!" It was a shout, and it brought me gasping back to reality. Donovan was leaning in close, his eyes that signature shade of blue once more. He appeared concerned, as I expected him to be, and the violent tempo of my heartbeat slowed to a normal trot.

"I'm fine," I whispered, untrusting of my voice's stability. "Let's go inside."

"You should probably lie down. You look ill." Donovan vanished from the driver's seat and appeared on my side of the car in a flash. I closed my eyes, unwilling to accept that my mind was playing wild tricks on me. He took my hand, which sent ice shooting up my arm, and guided me toward the apartment complex.

"First floor, third door on the left." I leaned against the wall while he fished my keys from my pocket and unlocked the door to my apartment. I managed to walk in without stumbling, but fell onto my sofa with a grunt as soon as the door shut behind us.

I watched him stroll around the room, examining the scarce wall decorations and photos of family. He lingered on a vacation photo of my parents and I, the year after Tamara took her own life. Beside that was a photo of Tamara's baby boy, little Charlie.

"I'm surprised," he mused.

"Why?" I asked, my composure leaking back to me like warmth from a flame.

"There are no paintings or sketches on the walls. You would think an art student would have paintings displayed in their home."

I decided not to answer. Once he thoroughly examined my living room, his eyes zeroed in on my writing desk. Pencils were scattered across the wooden surface and the locked drawer snagged his attention. "Is this where you keep your portfolio?"

"It is," I admitted with a huff. "I don't show it to anyone."

"Then why did you bring me here, Cadence?" There was something in the tilt of his head that forced me to ask myself that question. Why had I brought him there? Was I under some sort of spell that loosened my lips, opened up my mind for him to judge and inspect? Or, deep down, did I just want to show my work to someone who would appreciate it?

Lips pursed, I walked over to the locked drawer and spun in the combination. The sketch book was there, tossed haphazardly to the bottom, and I retrieved it with careful hands. His eyes gleamed, as if I held a great treasure in my hands. I began to sweat and became hyper aware as he took the book from me and sat on the sofa.

Anxious to see his reaction, I sat beside him and watched as he flipped through my sketches. He scanned each page with great interest in those pale eyes of his, and a grin tilted his lips. I felt as though he was there, beside me, reading the contents of my soul and judging them as good or bad.

He flipped past several sketches of trees. One tree was lightly shaded, bathed in sunlight with each individual leaf meticulously imitated on paper. In the distance was a skyline, a foggy sunset. The next sketch was at night, the gnarled branches of a leafless tree reaching up to the moon's ashen face, a cemetery the backdrop. The eyes of a wolf gleamed from the shadows.

"Amazing," he whispered, reverently, and turned the page once more.

There were two more trees, each one representing a different atmosphere. Then came the portraits. I drew the laughing face of a clown, wrinkled and caked with makeup. The next seven or eight sketches were of the park where I sat, in the spring, and drew the life around me. When he turned the page again and his face appeared, I gasped in surprise. I had entirely forgotten that my sketch of him lay within those pages. A deep blush colored my face and I reached for the book, trying to take it from him.

He reared it away. I watched him feast on the image of himself, taking in every intricate detail, smiling savagely all the while. "You flatter me, Cadence."

"I'm sorry," I muttered, humiliated. "I forgot about that one…"

"An artist should never apologize for what she creates," he asserted, placing a warm hand on my wrist. "It just causes me to question…why did you draw this?"

The sudden intensity of his eyes was channeled onto me. It was like being struck by lightning, and I froze beneath its power. His hand came to rest on my knee, searing through the fabric of my clothes, sending goosebumps to the surface of my arms.

I saw his neck up close, then, and swallowed thickly. He was drawing closer… or was I just hallucinating? My eyes were fixated on that perfect fleshy throat, as he spoke.

"Have you become infatuated with me, my dear?"

Panicked, my eyes shot up to meet his. They gleamed with mirth and I realized that he was teasing me, playing with my emotions and turning me into a fool. Fury built up in me when his carefree chuckle filled my ears and expanded around me. I gathered the courage to shove him away, but before I could motivate my limbs to do so I saw that he was inching closer. In particular, his face was becoming closer to mine, tilting forward. His eyes, unforgiving orbs of ice, were watching my lips. I had the sense that he was about to kiss me, and then a knock shattered the illusion.

Donovan straightened, a flat, unreadable look on his face. Wide-eyed, I staggered to my feet and opened the door. Standing before me was a stranger with hazel eyes and brown hair, a hearty smile revealing rows of perfect white teeth.

"Hi, neighbor," he greeted, extending an open palm toward me. I took it and shook hands with him, feeling warmth and calmness seep into my very bones. He was an anchor of reality, and I was happy to see him.

"Hey," I said, actually offering a half-smile. His clothes were casual and nondescript, just a brown long-sleeved shirt worn over a black t-shirt, blue jeans and sneakers. He did, however, wear a pair of thick, black-plastic-rimmed glasses. His hazel eyes twinkled kindly from behind the lenses.

"I'm Lucas." He shook my hand with adorable enthusiasm. "Is this a bad time to visit? I just moved in next door and I want to get to know all of my neighbors."

I cast a wary glance back at Donovan, who was motionless on the sofa, wearing a slight frown. "Uh, no, come right in. I'm visiting with my professor, but you're welcome to join us."

Lucas came in with a broad, unwavering grin on his lightly tanned face. "It's dark in here," he laughed, and flicked on a light. Lucas' eyes fell on Donovan, sitting rigid on the soda, and his smile wavered. "Am I interrupting?"

"No, not at all," Donovan chimed in, a charming grin replacing his pursed lips. "I'll get out of the way, let the two of you get to know one another."

"Uh…bye, Donovan." I watched him place my sketch book on the writing desk and leave without another word. My attention shifted to Lucas, once the door clicked shut. The tension leaked from my body and I sighed in relief. "You want something to drink?"

"No thanks. I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name." He mimicked Donovan's actions, peering at the photos in the living room. I watched him curiously, trying to understand why the stranger put me at ease.

"Cadence," I announced, and came to stand beside him. He was looking at the photo of Charlie, the bright-eyed little boy who lost his life prematurely.

"Cadence," he mused quietly. "That means 'rhythm,' right?" He touched the glass surface of the photo of Charlie, a strange somberness in his dark eyes.

"Yeah," I said, smiling. "What does Lucas mean?"

"Light," he returned, facing me. "And your professor's name, Donovan, means dark. How strange."

I furrowed my brows and shook my head. "That is strange…"

Lucas lingered at the photo of Charlie for a bit longer before fully facing me. "A drink sounds great, actually."

"Are you OK with soda? I don't have any alcohol in the house…" I paced to the kitchen and shuffled through the cabinets for two cups.

"Soda is fine. I don't drink alcohol, anyway."

My mind was abuzz as I poured two glasses of Sprite and brought them back to the living room. Lucas was sitting on the sofa, flipping through my sketch book. The sight startled me so much that the drinks nearly toppled from my hands.

"Wait! Don't look at those!"

"They're so beautiful, Cadence, but so sad." He turned the page to the sketch of Donovan and he visibly paled. "You make him look so dark, here. Why is that?" His hazel eyes openly inspected me.

"I think you should leave," I grumbled, snatching up the sketchbook. "It was nice to meet you, but I think I'm going to turn in early. It's been a long night."

"Goodnight, Cadence," he said softly, and went to the door. "Sleep peacefully."

It sounded more like a command than a pleasantry. He was an odd individual. I shut the door after he left, thinking that I'd met two very odd individuals in the last twenty-four hours.

My first order of business was locking up the sketchbook. I placed it gently in its drawer and locked it away from possibly prying eyes. The evening left me feeling exposed and uneasy, like a chess piece that was being moved of someone else's volition. It wasn't a good feeling. I thought about how I walked out of work without a care, about how I brought Donovan into my house, about how all negative emotion flowed out of me once Lucas stepped into the room.

Thoroughly perplexed, I crawled into bed and fought with sleep, all night.