Page 32 of An Immaculate Deception

He laughs. His smile is brilliant, and there is a slight flush to his cheeks. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this expression on him before, it’s almost coy.

“May I?” He lifts his hands in my direction. I have no idea what he’s asking, but I nod and say yes. My blood tingles in anticipation.

He brings his hands to my shoulders. His touch is gentle as he takes off my coat-basque. He pulls my hair aside, carefully, as he does. I become aware of my own breathing. Then he gets down on his knees before me and slowly takes off my shoes one by one. I stare in stunned silence.

“Take off your petticoat.” I do as he says, trembling. I wonder what he must think of me, of my body. When I have my petticoat in hand, I hesitate awkwardly, unsure what to do with it, then he takes it from my hand and sets it on the chair by the wall. Now I’m down to my chemise. I can’t even look at him.

“Sit.”

I perch on the edge of the bed. He tells me to sit back against the pillow and drop my shoulders. I then realize that my shoulders were almost to my ears. Then he sits on the bed, too, facing me. I can’t help but notice he hasn’t taken off any articles of clothing.

He pulls a copper watch from his vest pocket. He clicks open the cover and holds it up by the chain. The watch’s hands are thin, delicate silver spades pointing to black, rounded numbers. He swings the watch gently and directs my gaze to the steady side-to-side motion. He draws my attention to the ticking sound. There is something different about his voice. It’s quieter, fuller. It makes me feel that we are the only two people that exist in the world.

No…It makes me feel that he is the only one that exists in the world.

“You hear nothing but my voice.”

His voice is like a breeze, a soft light in a dark room.

“Imagine that you are ascending a staircase…”

A dark expansive place where I am ascending a staircase. At the first level, I see myself sitting in Mass a few days ago, nervous and scared that everyone was going to find out my secret. I resume my ascent, leaving that version of me behind. At the next level I see myself as a teenager, in my community, sitting in lessons. I leave that version of me behind also as I go up, and I know it is gone. At each level I see a new version of me, which I leave behind. I come to a level where I see myself as a child, playing, and everything I learned in school falls away, gone forever, as I move up the staircase. At almost the top level, I see myself as an infant with my parents, being baptized. They are giving me a name.

That name, too, stays behind as I move up.

At the top, what is left is the real me.

“You feel different,” he says. “The images and voices of the past do not have the weight on you they once had. They are more like faded photographs. They are distant. You are untethered. You feel an urge to follow your instincts. Your legs and hands lead the way. And you hear my voice. You hear nothing but my voice.”

17

He’s here.

He’s always been here. If not always, then at least for a very long time.

The room is dark. He stands by the bed, watching me.

It seems right that he should be here, like I’ve been waiting for him my whole life.

“Doctor Lobo?” I whisper.

He doesn’t speak. The candles have all been put out. He’s still, a solid dark silhouette against the window. Then he moves in my direction. His long arms stretch toward me like tentacles.

He climbs into bed, underneath the covers. My blood pulses with excitement. It’s not him—I realize this as he gets closer, as he lies with me and wraps himself around me. It’s not him at all. His hands are not hands but claws, and they feel rough against my skin, though pleasant as it sears. His body is wide and strong as it fills my pores. His warmth envelops me from all angles. Twice the size of a man, and still his body merges with mine. His cloven tail rises up behind him. His gaping mouth reveals cavernous depths with long rows of sharp-pointed teeth and a massive tongue which splits in two. The rest of him metamorphoses before my eyes like the thieves in the eighth circle of Hell. His skin is made up of smooth blue reptilian scales. His golden caiman eyes are lidless and unblinking with a slitted pupil in the center. His forklike claws lock my arms against the bed and prevent my movement as fangs descend upon my flesh.

He carves into my jaw and neck. Warm blood drips on my skin. My cry of pain is laced with pleasure. He runs his lizard’s tongue along my neck and makes me quiver.

What you want is not love, he says, but destruction.

With a gasp, I wake up.

I sit up in bed. I’m shaking slightly, my forehead clammy. It was only a vivid dream. I touch my jaw and my ear. They are still there. There is no blood nor wound. Yet something of the dream lingers. A searing ache, a strange longing. I shudder. I think it was wicked, but it is only a thought. I was taught that one can sin in dreams but that, too, is only a thought, a faded memory, something I used to know that doesn’t carry so much weight anymore.

I don’t remember Doctor Lobo leaving the room. I must have fallen asleep during his mesmerism. I remember how tender he was when he told me that what I want matters. That finding myself matters. When he told me that he, too, hides a part of himself from the world. I remember earlier, in the carriage, he held me as I cried into his shoulder, brushing my hair with his fingers. Kneeling before me and taking off my button boots in the most gentle way.

I light the candle on the mantelpiece, though I don’t mind the darkness so much. There is an eerie stillness. I listen. I think I hear a faint noise coming from downstairs. It sounds vaguely like footsteps. At this hour, it wouldn’t be a servant out and about. It must be him. The thought of him moving about the house at such a late hour makes me feel wide-awake. The buzzing sound I hear, it could be his voice. Every particle of my being feels called to it, wants more of what he offered.

I recall that Leandro was up and about last night as well, and not in his room when I checked. I never did find out what he was up to, and where he was in the middle of the night. I suppose now I will never know.