Sunday, September 28, 2008

A History Mystery: Day Four / Part One

From the Memoirs of Jean Baptiste Morgane

Monday, 27 October

If only God had taken mercy upon me by letting death claim me when Diabloque cursed me. I found perfection only to taint it with this beast I have become. Hell would be a just reward for the sins that weigh heavy upon my troubled brow. Morgan deserves better than the thoughts whirling inside my brain, but my own selfishness prevents me from doing the honorable thing and ending this existence before my satanic urges propel me any further down the path before me.

When I woke to the growing dusk, I perceived this evening proceeding differently. For the first time in centuries, I felt human again. I knew my time with Morgan to be the cause. Still, I should have known better than to trust my frail happiness to hold my nature in check. My delusional acceptance of my newfound humanity drove me to attempt the impossible.

Leaving Morgan this morning, I had already decided to bequeath her a gift worthy of her beauty on this most special of days for her. After rummaging through the dust and mire of my past, I found just what I was looking for. The rosewood box had been covered in layer upon layer of dust but the treasure inside remained as pristine as the day I placed it inside the velvet lined tomb.

The necklace glistened in the pale light. How easy it was to remember the way it had rested around Constance’s swan like neck oh those many years ago. Vainly I tried to erase the image from my mind’s eye. It would have been easier to ignore the tell tale scent of blood that still clung to the patina of the gold or the barest blush of pink staining the diamonds nestled between the blood red rubies. The faint tint to the diamonds might be blamed on the rubies, but I know better. No manner of cleaning had been able to wash the horror of my actions from the jewelry.

I shoved those thoughts from my brain. Today was too glorious a celebration to let old haunts mar with old recriminations. It was my intention to erase the infamy of my past by giving this to Morgan. No amount of penance could change that which had been done all those years ago but perhaps I could gain a second chance at happiness. Now hours later I see the futility in that assumption. The damned are offered nothing but damnation. Second chances are for those who still cloister a redeemable soul within their beating breasts.

Oblivious to the future, I left home alive with the promise of that fleeting dream. Several times I stopped myself to feel for the unfamiliar weight of Constance’s box in my coat pocket. Foolishness, I know, but against character I was as giddy as a schoolboy. I am sure some semblance of a stupid grin had been plastered upon my visage as I made my way to the Bombay Club. It was not one of my frequent haunts but the establishment has a certain reputation among the populace and it seemed to be the proper choice for this evening. Assuredly, Morgan’s face had lit up when I proposed we dine there. That alone convinced me I had chosen wisely. What I wouldn’t give to be able to place that emotion on her face for all time.

My joy intensified when I caught sight of her waiting for me sitting at the edge of club’s bar, the seat closest to the foyer. I stood spellbound by her beauty. Her ebony locks cascaded down her neck, landing like a starless night upon the red flowing landscape of her dress. Never in my life had I seen someone more beautiful. My dead heart fluttered to life in my chest as I gazed upon the vision of her sitting there. I dare say not even fabled Aphrodite could rival her as she looked before me tonight.

I broke the paralysis that held me and walked to where she sat. I bent and took her hand, surprising her. I grazed my lips over the warm flesh of her wrist, feeling the pulse of her life flowing beneath the tender flesh. The prick of my fangs brushed against my lips and I pulled back before my black soul betrayed me.

Her eyes danced over me. The happiness shined from them at seeing me. I hoped mine showed even half of the joy I saw reflected there. I was about to suggest we sojourn to our table when the bartender came over, his face drinking in her body. He made some sly retort under the guise of offering a refill of her drink. I recognized his words for their true meaning. It was impossible to mistake the want rolling off him, but Morgan was mine, not his. I felt the thirst demand his life. Only the press of the crowd and Morgan’s presence saved him. I glared hate toward him so dark it should have killed him where he stood, promising myself that later the death he so richly deserved would find him. For now the look was sufficient to send the blaggard toward the other end of the bar, where the prey was of a mind to accept his advances.

The maitre d' found us shortly after to announce that our table was ready. I was glad I had arranged a secluded alcove for our dinner. After the bartender’s display, I found myself loath to share her company with anyone. The need to have her solely to myself overwhelmed me. In fact, the intoxication of being with her sped time around us. If pressed for details, I dare say I could not recount any but the barest of details of our meal.

Finally, I knew the time had drawn near. From the folds of my coat. I pulled forth the rosewood box. Morgan’s eye flared to life at the sight of it. I pushed it toward her with the assurances it was but a humble token. When she made no move to open the case, I reached over and took the necklace from its resting place and held it out for her. There are no words to describe the joy I saw grace her face when she beheld the necklace. It was like looking for one brief second into the face of an angel.

Not waiting for her to tell me no, I stood and moved behind her. With fingers shaking from the knowledge they would soon touch her flesh, I placed the necklace around her neck. Fumbling with the clasp, I secured it in place and bent my head to offer a tender kiss to her lips. I knew better than to give in to the passion being this close to her invoked. My hold on my self-control was tenuous at best. I very nearly lost it when she returned my kiss and said in her smoky voice, “Take me home, I want to model this necklace properly.”

I was only too happy to oblige her wishes. The trip to her home was a blur as easily lost as my lessening self-control. Being this close to her drove all my hard won composure into nothingness. My fingers caressed the smooth flesh of her neck while my lips hungered across the warmness of her. No inch of her exposed body was safe from me. I wanted each and every bit of her, not simply what I saw but all of it. I could feel the beat of her heart through the touch.

All too soon, the cab pulled in front of her home. We extricated ourselves from the vehicle and, too eager by far, I swept her into my arms and raced up the stairs. A clich├ęd move to be sure, but most effective. Once inside, our feeble attempt at decorum fell away.

My hands quested along the gentle curves of her body. She let out a muffled moan as I nuzzled the back of her neck. Morgan fell back into me, the press of her firm ass against me igniting more than my interest. My body stirred like it hadn’t in years. Reaching around, I cupped her firm breasts, their weight electricity in my hands. She wiggled herself over my swollen manhood and I felt the burning as my eyes went red with hunger.

Only it wasn’t the hunger for her flesh. I tried to back away, knowing if I didn’t leave I wouldn’t be responsible for what happened next. If only Morgan would have cooperated. Even in the haze of my blood thirst, I sensed her lust. Her desire would not be denied. Holding her to me, I knew mine wouldn’t as well.

The rich scent of her washed over me. Beneath the fragrance of roses mixed with the barest hint of vanilla, the smoldering sensation of her want came wafting through. My control broke. The pain of my fangs extending tore through me. My gaze dropped to the gentle slope of her shoulders. I saw the throb of her jugular calling me. Heaven help me, I was too far gone to stop myself.

Morgan twisted like an erotic ballerina before falling onto the bed, her long white neck, encircled by the burning jewels, stretched back on her pillow. I could feel her wanting me with an intensity that mirrored my own. Making my way toward her, I let my fingers trace the outline of her body through the sheet she had pulled just above the gentle rise of her breasts. I flipped it away with a twist of my wrist, opening the magnificence of her body to me. Her lips curled into a tempting smile and my body awoke to the need for her.

Hell take me. The last thing I remember before stumbling through my own door was the rich copper taste of her flooding my mouth before damnation washed over me…


Maithe said...

Hi Morgans! Wow, this story gets better and better!!! It reminds me of Dark Shadows...delicious. *G* Please tell me there is more to come...pretty please...with a cherry on top. *L*



J. Morgan said...

Got to love a well placed Dark Shadows reference, a show so close to my heart, I'm think about changing my name to Jmo 'Barnabas' Collins.

So glad you're enjoying the story.
Believe me, we are far from finished Jean Baptiste and Morgan are about to put you on the edge of your seat.


Aubrey Leatherwood said...

that's one poetic pirate!