As I Fade (One Breath at a Time: Book 1) (6 page)

“What the hell was that?” I shrieked, as I ran through the winding corridors of the metro. With my instincts kicked into full survival mode, all I knew was I needed to exit the subway and fast.

I was suddenly overcome by a tidal wave of disorientation. I didn’t know which way to go. I ran in circles for what seemed like forever. The sounds of car horns, voices and chaos traveled through the subway in battering waves, trying to drive me to my knees. Everything began to look the same as I searched for a way out of the train station.

My gasping, burning lungs begged me to stop, yet my legs couldn’t stop racing toward my inevitable destiny.

Instinctively, my fingers fumbled for and gripped my necklace. Begging for guidance, I cried, “Please, not yet, let me get home first.” As if in reply to my plea, another tremor shook the tiles beneath my feet. In theory I hoped this was a dream.

Reaching the ground floor, seconds away from the exit, I ran as fast as my flimsy stupid high-heels would carry me, up the cement stairs. Slapped in the face by the powerful wind, I stopped to gulp in a breath of the cold evening air.

The painful knot in my ribs throbbed. Out of breath and strength, I bent at the waist, panting rapidly to relieve the need for the oxygen my exhausted lungs craved.

I stayed that way long enough to pacify—if not satisfy—my greedy lungs, then straightened my posture. I tossed my straggling hair out of my eyes and quickly assessed my surroundings. Unexpectedly, the sun had already set. The streets were desolate of people. There wasn’t a living soul in sight.
Where did everyone go?

“
I don’t have time to stand around wondering,”
I thought as my mind kicked into gear again I inhaled a deep breath of endurance and leapt into action, taking a shortcut through the back-alley and down through the city. Every so often, I flashed a glance over my shoulder, praying I would find nothing but the woeful darkness.

There was an unnatural force approaching me from behind. Although I couldn’t yet see it, I felt it fiercely moving forward; its power tugged at me, pulling me backwards. Like treading in quicksand, and getting nowhere. A dense fog crept up on the back of my heels, changing the look of the world that I once knew right before my eyes. My cheeks stung against the sharp wind, hot tears turning cold, streaming down my face. Intermittently, I continued to glance behind me.

In the path behind me, the lights of Paris powered off one by one. I couldn’t believe what my eyes were reporting to my brain. Inexplicably, the buildings were changing shape. This sent my heart rolling down into the pit of my stomach, which was telling me to run, run—
run faster!

A burst of fear-fueled speed put more distance between my invisible foe and me. Still, I was losing precious time, and couldn’t succumb to the temptation to look back. I hastened my movements, cautiously forging into the grayness. Fear ran through me. Encroaching darkness drew my gaze upward. The roiling gray skies looked like a paint bucket was being emptied from high above. Black liquid dripped over the city like an oil painting gone wrong.

I careened around the last corner, just short of my destination and paused for one more glimpse of the city that I’d grown to love. The Eiffel Tower lights flickered to black. My heart nearly stopped. There was no time to delay. Just a stride away from the old brownstone, even in my treacherous (not to mention,
torturous!)
high heels, I was reluctant to slow down.

I flew up the weathered steps and keyed in my entry code with no regard, 4-4-4. A simple pass-code that I wouldn’t have to give any thought to remembering. I pushed through the front doors, heartbeats slamming out the scary moment that passed and raced towards the dark stairwell. My heart pounded with anticipation. I was certain he would have been long gone by the time I had returned.

Panting and out of breath, I yelled up into the vacant stairwell, “Hello! Are you here?”

Glancing down at my watch it read the stroke of midnight. How was that possible? When I’d disembarked the train, it was rush hour. Where had the time gone? The tiny hairs on my arms rose. There was no beginning or end to the goose bumps that covered my body. I flipped the light switch at the end of the staircase. No surge of electricity powered the lights on.

In the dark, I paused for a fraction of a moment, listening for a response. I stood there wondering if I should risk venturing upstairs. At this point, having received no reply to my call, I really had no other option. Why wasn’t he answering?

I called out for the second time, “Please if you’re still here, let me know. I’m scared and I don’t know what to do. The city—everything is fading away.
Or maybe it’s just me,
” I muttered under my breath.

Feeling as if my heart was giving out on me, I sat down on the first step of the staircase, thinking that, like the old song says, “what will be, will be.” In the meanwhile, I needed to calm down and allow my racing heart time to relax a bit.

Upon the inside of my closed eyelids ran a slide show of scenes from just a few days ago: he, and me.

His flawless features were engraved onto every cell of my memory. He wore his jet-black hair styled long and carelessly swept off his face, exposing his chiseled jawline. His bone structure would have been a sculptor’s dream to recreate into a fine work of art. Those strong muscles that traced along his jawbone would tighten automatically, an autonomic response whenever a negative energy was looming nearby. He had a prominent nose, perfectly positioned and straight as a blade. When he laughed out loud, I could swear the end of his nose moved ever so slightly. He said that was impossible. I had my doubts, for I had seen it with my own eyes. Either way it didn’t detract from his rugged manly features.

His lips were full and highly kissable, but his eyes—his eyes were the windows to his soul and more! They were nearly indescribable. Charcoal gray eyes dotted with tiny constellations of soft midnight blue stars that left no doubt about his superior intelligence. Thick dark brows and long, wispy lashes accentuated those wide-set eyes, and sometimes when his eyes looked into mine, I felt as if he was effortlessly gazing into my very essence.

Sometimes his left eye fluttered, resembling the damnedest wink. It was actually devilishly sexy. I grew to know every detail, flicker, and emotion that crossed his face. A man of many layers, he exuded confidence, and was at once, mysterious, non-threatening, and quietly dominating. He possessed a subtle sensitive side that he was not afraid to hide from me. He wasn’t a pretty-boy type; on the contrary, he was dark, tall and ultra masculine. And for all his sensitivity, there wasn’t a single trait that contradicted his essential
maleness.

As for me, I was far more emotional than he, and showed it when I probably should have refrained. Hey, after all I am human. In my book, he was far from human.

I was overly sensitive, outspoken, argumentative, and insecure sometimes. I hid most of my negative traits and wore an armor of confidence as many people do. He would push my buttons just to arouse me. He found it amusing when my temper flared, but he knew how to handle me with kid gloves. A time or two, he even threatened to spank me when my short fuse got the best of me. I facetiously told him if he could catch me, I would grin and
bare
it
.
The truth was I knew he could move faster than the speed of light.

He was the entire package of all the greatest men rolled into one. Any woman would have fallen for him, and I Fell...completely. He was possessed of patience, trustworthiness, humor, and love...shall I go on? Why not? He was my universe, and should this world suddenly come to an end, my last thoughts would be of him. His deep, cultured voice with just the faintest of raspy timbres would stop my heart then, just as it does now. It was almost unnerving that one man could have inherited the best of the best qualities. In short, he surpassed my image of a god...pure male perfection at its best.

A strong wind filled the atrium of the brownstone, forcing me from my reverie. The front doors shook against the frame as if someone was trying to get in, scaring me spitless.

I quickly jumped to my feet, expecting Mr. Piccart, my landlord, and his new girlfriend to come strolling in as usual. Being that he liked attention, he was always a bit noisy, announcing his entrance.

“Mr. Piccart, is that you?”

My eyes darted over the dark lobby area before landing on the large double doors. Moonlight splashed over the room. I could make out the curve in the French provincial humpback sofa. Maybe I could just sleep there for the night. The grand gilt-edged portrait of Mr. Piccart’s father hung over the fireplace, staring down at me. The portrait was incased in one of those antique shadow boxes with thick convex glass, causing the eyes to appear as if they followed you around the room. In the dark the beautiful lobby transformed into an abandoned museum, causing the furnishing to appear extra ghastly. On second thought, hiding out in the lobby was no option.

The double doors shook against the erratic wind bands that kicked up outside. Again it sounded as if someone was trying to get in. I crept to the door, cracking it open and cautiously edged my head around the frame. The fierce wind hit me in the face, stealing my breath away, and causing my hair to billow out in all directions.

The streetlamps were out so there wasn’t much to see. I heard a trash can, or so I thought, hitting against the fence that surrounded our building. I pulled the door shut, wondering again where everyone had gone.

Catching my breath, I tiptoed down the hall to Mr. Piccart’s apartment and knocked on the door. “Mr. Piccart, are you in there?” I asked as I jiggled the handle. Too my surprise it opened. My heart picked up its pace as I stepped over the threshold.

“
Mr. Piccart, are you okay?” I called out tremulously. There wasn’t a reply just the whistling of the wind, and the rattle of loose papers blowing everywhere.

I noticed that the living-room window was completely open.
How odd.
I managed to make my way in the dark to the window and slammed it shut. I scooped up a few papers and laid them on the desk; Mr. Piccart would thank me later for that one. As I made my way toward his bedroom—just checking things out—a fleeting thought of finding him dead caused my heart to drop. I froze in my steps.

Mr. Piccart was an elderly man,
but
he exercised everyday and indulged in a healthy diet, surely he was fine. Either way, I was too chicken-hearted to go trekking through his place to find out. I pushed away any dreadful thoughts. It just wasn’t like Mr. Piccart to stay out past midnight, or to leave his window open and door unlocked. It was something he would never do if he were leaving the grounds. I needed to get some help, just in case, and perhaps I’d find he was upstairs, keeping my man company—he loved to tell his old stories, often losing track of time. Surely, there was a reasonable explanation as to why Mr. Piccart was MIA.

I retreated, and closed his door behind me. Calming my nerves with a few deep-breathing techniques, I tamed my irrational fancies and took a firm grip on reality.

I made my way back toward the staircase, avoiding eye contact with Mr. Piccart’s father. If Mr. Piccart, Jr. was in need of help, I didn’t want to have to answer to the man in the painting. Of course, he was six feet under, but all the same, his large, bulging brown eyes gave me the heebie-jeebies.

Then, it dawned on me, I laughed out loud at myself for overreacting and expecting doom to come crashing down on me.

I remembered overhearing some folks in the metro talking about the weather forecast. The news reported the possibility of a tornado hitting Paris by morning. Because it was a sunny afternoon, although a bit on the cold side for the majority of the day, I really didn’t allow the possibility of a tornado to worry me.

This surely explained why the streets were deserted. Everyone was home battening down the hatches, just in case the weather turned for the worse. Perhaps this is what Nuilley was trying to warn me of too.

A sense of relief enveloped me, and without the aid of my vision I made it back to the bottom of the staircase. Tonight was no different than any other night, I inwardly reassured myself. Still, I didn’t want to go into the deeper darkness up the staircase alone, but it looked as if I had no choice.

“
Hey you two boys...can you come down?” I yelled loudly. “We all need to talk. I have so much to tell you—both of you—you’re not going to believe what happened today!” The voice that filled my ears didn’t sound like mine. It sounded confident and as if nothing was wrong. Nothing was wrong...I kept telling myself. A little tornado was far better than what I had expected. “Today was everything you said it would be!”

Damn it any way! Why weren’t they waiting here for me with bated breath—what I did today, was their idea—both of them had encouraged me to meet with her in the first place.

I called out again, “You know, she was so nice, even though it was the most surreal event in my life. Now what—you warned me it might turn out awful—but look—I’m still here...and everything is going to be fine,” I said, chatting to myself as if I was having a conversation with someone. I suppose this calmed my nerves. “So, I guess it will be wine and cheese tonight since there’s no power. Hey guess what? There’s a tornado coming! Can you hear me! Hello!” my voice rang out, echoing against the domed ceiling.