―Stendahl
Returning to work after a weekend at Esther's house always leaves me moody and brooding as a day of fog and rain.
So, credit the Fates with irony, since Monday again dawns wet and misty.
Elementals are so beguiling. Their pathetic fallacy producing rain inside me.
Yes, I was reprising recent history, sipping coffee at Hart House...
Staring at rain bubbles, on dark puddles,
Musing about Cindy.
"Why so glum, Chum?"
Her voice summons me from my reverie and the girl herself is standing before me.
She's smirking mischievously, in a black raincoat with jewels of rain in her hair.
She takes my breath away.
"You seem to always know where to find me," I sigh.
"You always seem to be lost," she replies.
And then adds, " Your turn to buy coffee, Prof...and a croissant with blackberry jam."
"Such specific requests," I tease.
"Maybe we can talk about specific needs."
"Let's not. Make yourself comfortable."
I ty to look casual, indifferent, as I saunter toward the counter, but am trembling as waves of her thunder and roll over me.
She's a changeling and looks different today.
I wonder if it's deliberate, and if it is, how many disguises she wears. Probably her variety is infinite...
Don't go there, I whisper in my head but it's useless―I can smell her fresh rain and if embraced, wouldn't brush it away, but welcome it.
And that's why I keep her at arm's length―that's the trouble with Sirens―her song is sad and sweet, not just to flesh but spirit.
I have to take myself by the ear and tell myself sternly:
She's a detective and I'm treating her like we're on a date. Not a good idea.
My wise mind is telling me, we need boundaries, but I catch a glimpse of her hair burnished under the lighting, and something melts inside me.
She could probably break me in two if she wanted, so why do I keep seeing her as so damn vulnerable?
As if I could protect her...
Yeah, makes no sense, mainly because I don't want it to.
We don't make sense, and that's the truth I keep denying.
"So, what you have learned this week, Prof? Any help with our cold case?"
"Yeah, quite a bit actually. Did you know Abe's case has a tie back to that house? The Christie Pitts Riot in 1933―Nazi sympathizers who started it came from that house―some dark Aryan Brotherhood. Maybe the guy that killed the cop in that bank heist was part of that group."
Her eyes are dark immense with wonder. I could lose myself in them.
"That's pretty good work, Professor. Anything else?"
"Doesn't that satisfy you?"
"No," she whispers wistfully, "it's never enough."
I don't have to read between lines to figure that out.
"Okay, there is something else. We found a metal container buried in the garden that contained a notebook but it was in code. Nat's checking it out―some of his colleagues play with ciphers and ancient manuscripts. Oh, and he's trying to authenticate a Nazi briefing document Esther found behind a panel in the house."
"Well, you have been a busy bee, haven't you?" she says, with a sarcastic edge, but it's plain to see she's impressed.
I was a fool. I knew I said too much.
I said it to grab her attention, to amaze and dazzle her.
But the moment I blurted it out, I regretted it, because I knew then how she fished men in...
I wasn't immune to her charms, and now, not without sin.