The Accursed_A Dark Psychological Thriller Novel Read online

  “Now we wait,” he said.

  He walked up to her and crouched. Their eyes met once more as he reached for a magazine on the stand beside her. The woman leaned close as the breath halted in Chase’s chest.

  “Wow,” he said. He bolted upright and scratched his head. “I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

  “No, no. It’s fine. I’m used to it,” she smiled.

  Up close, he noticed her eyes, brilliant, icy sapphire within what he considered being Japanese eyelids. Despite the cold tones, the immense blaze of a thousand stars shone through her.

  “I’m sure. You’re… I mean, I’m…” He halted as his cheeks brightened.

  “I’m just going to go back to my machine and beat myself up for making an ass out of myself,” he laughed and turned away.

  “You’re not an ass. Here. Sit. Keep me company. I only have a couple of minutes left on my dryer. I’ve never been in a laundromat before. What’s your name?” she said and pulled her hair away from her face. It was divine the way the last two fingers of her exquisite hand, hooked upwards as she combed her black tresses behind her ear with the first two.

  “Me? I’m, um, yeah—” he smiled.

  She took him by the hand and directed him to the seat next to her.

  “Okay, Mr. Um. I’m Mrs. Hess, but people call me Misa.”

  Misa. Japanese. Thank you for all those years of watching Anime and reading Manga.

  He shook his head and laughed to himself as he sat. His leather jacket creaked.

  “Chase. Chase Romano,” he said.

  “Hmm,” Misa sighed and put a finger to her lips. Every move she made seemed delicate, deliberate.

  “Hmm, what?” he said.

  “Nothing. Just… you remind me of someone, Chase,” she said.

  He didn’t believe her. And that was fine. Just fine.

  “Really? Who do I remind you of?” he said.

  “Don’t worry about it. Tell me a little about yourself, Mr. Um.”

  He smirked.

  “Well, I just came here to wash some clothes, mind my own business, when this incredibly beautiful woman caught my attention.”

  “Wow, really? How beautiful is she?” she said. He blew through pursed lips and rocked his hand.

  “That beautiful, huh? But do you think she’s sexy,” she said.

  “What?” Chase leaned away.

  “Do you think she’s sexy? I mean, I think all women are beautiful, but not all women are sexy.”

  He summoned her closer with his hand and leaned in. “Never seen anyone sexier,” he said as his eyes locked onto hers. She bit her lips as she smiled.

  “Thinking about heading to Dickinson’s tonight. It’s a nice place in Downtown Brook—”

  “I know it,” she interrupted. “I’ve been hanging there for a while now. Never seen you there,” Misa said. It rang more like a question.

  “Once. I was there once. About a year and a half ago. My two best friends took me there for my twenty-first birthday. Figured it was about time I check it out again.”

  Her brows tilted. So did his.

  “You’re an onion,” she said.

  He considered raising his arm to make sure he was wearing deodorant.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean that how it sounded. I mean you’re layered. So far, I see three.”

  Three?

  “Is that a compliment or something?” he said.

  “Yeah,” she smiled. “Something like that.”

  The dryer buzzer had gone off some time ago. He thought of adding quarters in expectations of her remaining longer.

  “What?” he said as she stepped towards the large, rounded glass door. He swiped his nose with his fingers. She flashed back with the same analytical leer.

  “What,” he said.

  “What’s my name?”

  “Hess. Misa Hess.”

  “You want company tonight? At Dickinson’s,” she said.

  He bounded from his chair. The jacket farted as he straightened up against the plastic seat back.

  “That wasn’t me. Yeah, I’d love it if— sorry, back up. That would be cool,” he said in failed composure.

  She shoved her clothes into her laundry basket, half folded, half rolled into balls.

  “Eight-thirty,” she said as she crumpled her lace panties and stared him down. He absorbed all of her and what she did.

  “Don’t stand me up, Romano.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s a da—”

  “Get together. A friendly get together,” she interrupted. “To get to know each other more.”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  His hand jerked, and he resisted the tension in his jaw. Everything had been going great. He swiped at his beak again as he mulled over her abrupt resignation.

  She’s not resisting, dummy. This girl knows how to play.

  Bullshit.

  He studied Misa as she rifled through her purse and admired the same delicate, deliberate motions. She held something as her wrist whirled about. She spun around and returned to Chase and handed him a fabric softener box.

  “Here, I saw you didn’t have any. You call me if you change your mind,” she commanded. “I don’t like waiting for someone who doesn’t show up,” she said. He noticed their significant height difference.

  “How am I supposed to call you?” he said as she stepped away towards the exit. “I don’t have your—”

  “Look on the box,” she said and stepped out of the laundromat.

  He did. On the flap of the mangled, perforated box, he glimpsed over her phone number. A grin cut across his face when he read her name with a heart, instead of a dot, above the I.

  III

  “Have another beer, why don’t you,” Chase grumbled as he rocked himself and hopped on one leg in front of the urinal.

  “Finally.”

  He trotted over to the sink, scrubbed his hands, and rubbed the water on his face. Staring at his own dripping reflection, “Come on, man. You got this,” he commanded.

  Anxiety wrested his ego and thudded his spirit like a helve hammer. Nerves had never gotten the better of Chase. Anger, frustration, sure. But not fear.

  Fear was the two years at Spofford. Fear strangled Linda’s depravity. Fear screamed from within when he was stabbed.

  Misa Hess terrified Chase. It wasn’t her petite, lean, athletic body. It wasn’t how she spoke and moved with absolute purpose. Not her flawless, tanned porcelain face and icy blue eyes. Nor her black, spun silk hair, pinned up in a somewhat non-traditional Japanese style.

  What unnerved him was what he assumed she hid behind her stare. It was receptive but calculated. Sincere, but analytical. And he thought she kept something buried.

  “You got this,” he huffed and exited the men’s room.

  Dickinson’s seemed different than he recalled. The brick walls were taller, the floorboards felt unsteady, and the exit seemed further away. Aromas of blended Scotch, fried foods and stale beer filtered through the air conditioning system.

  The saloon hummed with conversations, amusement, and thunderous heavy metal. Dim lights twinkled in alluring tones, wanton intentions drifted between friends and Chase’s heart thudded when he glanced at Misa.

  Her watercolor floral, hilltop maxi-dress pulled tautly around her crossed legs as she swung a buckle laden, bondage heeled boot. The skirted top of her dress covered her modest bust and displayed her toned, silken shoulders. And those sapphire eyes all but pierced the amorous distance he closed in on.

  “Everything come out Okay?” Misa said.

  “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I’ll get a clothespin next time we go out.”

  Misa leaned into the stool back.

  “Next time? You think there will be a next time?”

  His smile lilted, and his head bobbed.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I... I guess I—”

  “Stop it, Mr. Um. I’m kidding. But if I hear another sorry out of you, I’m out of here.”

  “I’m—
” He stopped and smiled from ear to ear. “You got it.”

  Misa put two fingers in the air towards the waitress while her focus remained on Chase.

  “Tell me a secret,” she said. “Something maybe only a few people might know.”

  He shook his head. “You first.”

  “No,” she snapped and took his hand. “I asked you first.”

  Misa hung onto every expression as he spoke about the incoherent, distant remembrance of how he was spared at the final moment from a mouthful of Chuck Clementé, and he always speculated if he did chug the bleach in what should have been an agonizing suicide.

  Whenever Misa questioned about his foster parents, he redirected the probe with long-winded yammering about the latest horror flick. He noticed she didn’t buy it, but he knew out of politeness, she let him sell it.

  He listened with more intent as she told him about an attempted rape and what happened next. His jaw dropped when she told him the rape had never developed into a second thought, but the nightmares of his death haunted her every night.

  “Okay, your turn again,” she said. “Who broke your heart?”

  His attention drifted as she continued.

  “What are you, twenty-two? Some girl must have broken your heart by now.”

  He thought for a moment.

  “Nobody. I mean, I’ve loved, but haven’t been in love. I still have time to get my heart ripped out of me,” he quipped. “What about you?”

  She chugged the rest of her beer and gestured for two more.

  “Yep. Many years ago. She— I mean he! Damned beer! I’ve always been independent, but this one, this—” she paused. “Guy— had me wrapped around her finger.”

  Chase fixed on her as her veil fluttered open.

  “What,” she said.

  “You said her. Again.”

  Misa froze. Her eyes, deep as oceans, blazed in azure hues from the overhead light.

  “I don’t judge. Really, me? My life isn’t exactly rainbow farting unicorns. Which is it?” he said.

  Misa considered her fists for what appeared like too long a moment and cracked a few knuckles. She lifted her head, faced him and an apologetic smile.

  “Her.”

  He faced away and permitted her to recompose herself. He shifted back and caressed the top of her hand with his fingers.

  She looked at him, through him, he felt. There was no hiding his heartbreak. Although this was not a date, and only a friendly get together, he had hoped beyond hope that this chance encounter with such a beautiful woman would have meant something.

  Sorrow clung to her lids. She ripped her hands away and whacked him.

  “Fuck you! You don’t get to see me cry on the first date!”

  He bounced back and snickered.

  “Ha! I knew it. It is a date,” he yelled as childish elation swept through him. “If it looks like a date, sounds like a date. It must be a date!”

  “It’s not a date,” she huffed, folded her arms, shot a sideways leer and a childish smirk.

  “Well, I guess not, if you’re into chicks. Can I watch,” he said, raised his arms and awaited the barrage.

  “You’re an ass.”

  He relaxed. “If you were in love with a girl, then why—”

  Don’t ask.

  “…are you here with me?”

  You fucking asked.

  He closed his eyes and waited.

  “Really,” she said. Chase didn’t respond.

  “You’re hot. And I’m kinda into you. But listen to me, Romano; this is not a date. En-Oh-Tee. Not,” she said.

  Chase leaned in close, interlaced his fingers and caressed her hand with a finger he pointed out. He searched far into Misa’s eyes. She considered his inquisitive honesty behind his dark chestnut gaze.

  “Misa. Please. Let me tell you something. I came here expecting absolutely nothing but a fun night, getting to know the most beautiful woman I ever had the privilege to lay eyes on, and nothing more. If you knew me better, you’d know that’s the truth.”

  “I may not pick up on some of your little nuances, but there’s— you’re going to make me fire the first shot, aren’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “This is definitely something more than just a friendly get together. I can’t be that far off.”

  “You’re not. It’s just—” she trailed off.

  “Yes, I am,” he muttered. “I’m that far off. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “No, you’re not. One of my little nuances, as you put it It’s getting late. How about you walk me to my car,” she said, as she removed the wallet from her purse.

  “No, no. I got this.” He shook his head and felt the gentle, buoyant sway of being dead in the water.

  “Wow. You really are independent. Sure. I’ll walk with you.” Chase smiled. “Now put your money away, little Miss Get Together.”

  IV

  The full moon of midnight illuminated Atlantic Avenue where the sodium streetlights failed to shine as Chase and Misa strolled towards her car.

  “This is yours? A fucking Mustang King Cobra! Holy shit!”

  His face contorted at his onslaught of obscenity. “Sorry— oops, I mean it’s cool.”

  Misa laughed and hit the auto-start button on the remote control.

  “Sweet. Love to ride shotgun someday,” he said and brushed his palm along the fender.

  Misa opened the door and looked at Chase.

  “You will call me tomorrow,” she said.

  “Tomorrow? I’m going to call you when I get home. We’re not done here!”

  Misa stepped up to Chase.

  “I hope not. There are so many more layers I need to peel back.”

  A pulse shot between his legs.

  Chase lifted her chin and leaned in close. His heart thundered, astonished, eager, apprehensive. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine the opportunity to kiss a woman this delicate, this sensuous, this…

  Something was awry. But he was more than prepared to waltz across the blazes of hell to find out what it was.

  His eyes closed as she inclined her head. Their noses bumped, and their heads jolted backward. As soft chuckle passed his lips, and she hummed.

  “Here. Like this,” Misa said as she clutched the back of Chase’s head and turned him towards her.

  Their lips brushed and opened. Her warm, soft tongue pressed against his. He savored the pure malt of beer as they twisted together. Drawing her closer, he heard her moan and welcomed her warm embrace.

  V

  The Forever Yours Gallery hummed with admirers and amateur artists under the dissipated light of twilight. Despite the inquisitive countenance towards Chase every now and again, Grace Whitmore addressed her clients as properly as her namesake and introduced Brooklyn’s latest, dark sensation.

  Chase had invited Misa after their second “get together,” in which she wavered to accept. During the last two weeks, they had become to know each other thoroughly. Between Tony’s shop, painting and the ordinary humdrum of adulthood, Chase always made time to call or text Misa.

  They had become good friends. Friends that kissed. Three times.

  The third time had been earlier in the day when he took Misa to Luna Park in Coney Island. After the white-knuckled terror on the Cyclone, Misa accepted his invitation.

  “Wait—You’re coming?” he said.

  “I hope,” she answered.

  Grace strolled over to Chase and took him by the hand. The same pulse coursed through his body and fired an intensity into his groin.

  Not now, boner-boy. Not now.

  He looked to Misa and grinned as Grace led him before the clients. Eyes squinted as he sought to get a read on her as she riveted on Grace.

  Standing before the eager guests, Chase removed the cloak from the first painting he called Ghosts of the Past. A panoramic cityscape muted in browns, blacks and stark distant highlights below violaceous skies. He hinted at the dimmer of skulls and brushes of evil intention
s within the amorphous darks.

  As he presented the next painting, he considered Misa. She put a hand to her lips when he called it The Reaping Hour.

  Though abstract in shape and color, hundreds of bare figures in the agonies of lust and agony, writhed, perverse and tempered into each other. Bright vermilion splashed throughout the tumult and ran across the black and gray marble floor of the Romanesque ballroom. Stone columns decorated with rich tapestries dripped with English or poison ivy in cascading tints of muted emerald, washed black and corpse gray.

  A knot filled his throat when he watched Misa turn away and stride towards the liquor table.

  VI

  The applause of the crowd met Chase’s, and his humbled, boyish grin returned.

  “I have to tell you something, Romano. You are one fucked up artist. My kind of fucked up, may I add,” Misa said as she sidestepped her way through the crowd.

  “Can I ask you a question? The second painting, where did you get the idea for it?”

  “Chase, darling. Brilliant presentation. We should socialize with your fans, not wander off with individuals. It makes you look despondent,” Grace said, took Chase by the arm and tugged him away from Misa. “These ladies and gentlemen love your work and want to know more about you Come. Indulge our desires.”

  “Misa, I’m—” he began.

  “Don’t say it! It’s your night. Go. Mingle,” Misa waved Chase off and scowled at Grace. She looked down at her.

  “My apologies. Is there something I’m missing?”

  “Excuse me. This is Misa. My—”

  “Girlfriend. I’m Chase’s girlfriend,” she interjected. “We’ve been together for, how long is it now?” she said.

  “Um… A while. You know me, I’m no good with dates,” he simpered and scratched his head.

  Grace put a finger to her lips. “Hm. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” she said. “Chase, you should have told me you intended to bring your little girlfriend. I would have afforded her the same accommodations. It’s a delight to meet you,” Grace finished and granted her hand.

  Misa looked at it for a moment before she grasped.

  “Pleasure’s all mine, I’m sure,” she said.

  “I agree,” Grace said. She strode away towards a meandering guest and massaged his arm. Every now and again, she would refer to Misa with a wagging finger. From what his crippled hearing discerned, it wasn’t polite.