A Deadly Desire

The wine glass sat on the table, right at the centre. Within, the dusky hue of the deep red merlot seemed to swirl in the candlelight like a storm over the ocean.

It was the smoke from the candles, creating the distortion, Annabel told herself. She adjusted the glass, making sure it was perfectly aligned with the circular pattern of the cloth on the table. The French lace one her grandmother had adored, with its abstract motifs of flowers and birds.

She had almost not used it for fear of spilling wine on the brilliant white lace. But this was a special night and she never used the lace tablecloth, too fearful of ruining it. She had insisted to herself she pull it out of the cupboard and place it on the table.

She adjusted the glass again, then swore at herself for her obsession. Everything had to be just right. After so long waiting for this night to come, it ought not to be spoiled.

She knew Jonathan was a bit of a wine buff. Wandering around the supermarket, trying to pick out the perfect bottle had been arduous. She had no notion of what made a good wine and what did not. She preferred beer, or a gin and tonic. Wine had always left her a little disappointed. But this night was about Jonathan, not her.

After the supermarket had proved a disappointment, she instead used her phone to search for a dedicated wine merchant. She found one close by and half an hour of talking to a gentleman who spoke very slow and softly about the wares in his shop, she had a bottle she was satisfied with.

It had cost a small fortune, but Jonathan was worth it.

Now it was later. The evening sun had set on the horizon and the waves of the ocean she could usually see outside her living room window were reduced to a sound, a rushing, pebbly sound that spoke of rough seas to come.

She looked out the window, but not into the darkness. She stared at her reflection. Annabel saw a woman who looked afraid, yet determined. Her eyes were darkened by the hue of her makeup - maybe she should have chosen a lighter colour? - her lips were a plump half-circle of plum red.

She had not seen Jonathan in so long, she just hoped he would not notice how she had aged, or that sagginess around her eyes she had just recently become aware of. She was no longer the young girl she had once been, the tail end of her youth was just a hint in her eyes, a soft redness in her cheeks. She was aging and she did not like it.

Wasn't it her approaching birthday that had led to this invitation in the first place? She had meant to ask Jonathan out for so long. There had always been enough time ahead and he had seemed willing. So why had it never happened? Why had they kept leaving things until it was too late?

Sometimes you had to take a chance. Tonight, she was taking that chance.

The candles flickered and she felt a draught slip through the room. She turned and Jonathan was stood in the shadows of the doorway, the sea crashing behind him. He seemed hesitant to come in.

"There is a storm brewing out there," Annabel said nervously. “You best come in.”

Jonathan stared around the room, seeming to see it for the very first time – was it the first time he had been here? Annabel suddenly couldn’t remember, and she felt awful about that. He still stood there, wearing the vintage leather jacket he had bought one warm summer day and his motorcycle boots. It was raining outside now, but his hair was not wet.

Annabel moved across the room and edged behind him to close the door, shutting out the storm which was whipping up into a proper tidal surge. Jonathan moved forward, into the room as she shut the door. She moved to take his coat and then hesitated, not sure if it was the right thing to do or not. It had been so long since they had seen each other. The time felt like a barrier between them.

“You look good,” she said, the words sounded pathetic. “Just the same.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan said as if he was not really listening. “You look…”

He turned and finally took her in. She felt his gaze wash over her and her nerves eased, replaced by a desperate urge to clasp her arms around him and hold onto him forever.

“You look just as I remember,” Jonathan said and for a moment there was a smile on his lips, then lightning struck outside, and it faded back to the stern expression he had worn when he entered.

He headed to the table and glanced at the candles and the wine.

“That is for you,” Annabel said quickly. “It is a very good Merlot.”

She felt stupid as she said it.

“I can’t drink it,” Jonathan said, a hint of anger in his voice. “You know that.”

“But, I thought…” Annabel licked her lips, things were not going the way she had envisioned.

“It was a kind gesture,” Jonathan said, throwing her a bone and becoming more like his old self. “It is just, under the circumstances…”

“Yes. I suppose,” Annabel said, feeling an idiot for spending time over the wine. “Is there anything I can get you?”

Jonathan was looking out the window, standing where she had stood mere moments before. The storm was building up outside, waves crashing hard against the stones of the shore. Jonathan was staring at his reflection, lifting a hand to his face, running it along his nose. He mirrored what Annabel had been doing just moments before and this strangely unsettled her.

“I am so glad you could come. I should have asked you so long ago, I just did not know how. In the end, a friend of a friend gave me the advice I needed,” Annabel felt she was rambling again. “Anyway, you don’t want to hear about me. What about you?”

“Annabel, about the motorcycle accident…”

That was the last thing she wanted to discuss.

“Let’s not talk about that,” she said firmly. “What have you been doing, since I last saw you.”

Jonathan stared at her as if she had just asked him whether the sky was blue. It was a cold, hard look that made her shiver. Had he always had such a temper? Had he always been so indifferent towards her?

“If you don’t want to talk about the accident, why am I here?” he demanded.

Annabel felt the words choking in her throat, but she spat them out, nonetheless.

“For our first date. The one we should have had so long ago.”

Jonathan burst out laughing.

“You went to all the effort of dragging me back here for that?” he asked. “I thought you wanted to talk about the accident, about how it happened.”

“No,” Annabel said miserably. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

Jonathan gave an amused snort.

“Well, it hardly matters, I suppose,” he said. “I mean, it destroyed my life, but why should we wish to discuss it?”

“I thought it would be better to think of happier times,” Annabel said weakly.

“Oh Annabel,” Jonathan turned to her and his eyes were no longer angry but sad, very, very sad. “You have no idea what you have done, do you?”

Annabel wanted to cry.

“I brought you here,” she said. “That is what I have done. I brought you back.”

“For what? A glass of wine I can’t drink? A first date we can never really have?” Jonathan gave a sigh. “You have to move on, Anna.”

“I can’t.”

“You must,” Jonathan glanced back towards the window. “I have to go.”

“Already?”

“Time is short,” Jonathan shrugged. “Look, I cannot do anything for you now, but I want you to take care. Ok? Bringing me back here like this, well, it was not a great idea. There will be trouble.”

“For you?” Annabel asked anxiously.

Jonathan looked at her with that strange mix of sadness and annoyance.

“For you,” he said firmly, then he headed for the door.

“Don’t leave!”

“Got to,” Jonathan replied. “It was always going to be that way. I don’t know why you put yourself through this torment.”

He reached the door and paused.

“You would have been better off forgetting about me.”

Then he was gone, though his last words rung in Annabel’s ears.

She could hardly move at first, then she managed to make it to her bedroom before she let out a scream that seemed wrenched from her heart. She had made such effort! Given up so much to bring him here and he had been so dismissive of her!

That was not the Jonathan she remembered.

Annabel slumped at her old desk, the one that had seen her through high school and which she could not part with despite it being rather worn. Her hands went to the diary in its little nook. Not a current diary, the one from all those years back. The one she kept returning to, time and time again. She had felt as if there was a story unfinished within its pages, and tonight she had thought she would at last end it and be able to start anew.

All this time, she had been stuck in a year that had long ended, never able to move forward, to move beyond. Tonight was meant to change that, instead, she felt more stuck than ever.

She ran her fingers over the worn cover and then flipped over the first page. Here was her name, written in a dozen different styles, coloured with pencil, underlined, framed by a hand drawn box. Here was Jonathan’s name.

She skipped the pages, the ones where she fell in love with him, dreamed of that first date, and then she was at the point she always ended up. The page with the newspaper clipping.

‘Young Motorcyclist Killed in Bad Storm Named as Jonathan Hope.’

Her eyes welled as she read the article she knew by heart. There had been a storm, just like tonight, and he had been riding out to her. Coming for their first ever date. She had been so desperate for him to come, but he had never arrived.

They found his body in a gully the next day. He had veered off the road in the storm. A terrible accident that had occurred ten years ago to this day.

She had wanted him back ever since and she had found a way. A deadly, secret way, but a way, nonetheless. She had been careful; done exactly as she had been told and he had appeared. But he had been so angry!

Annabel clutched her head in her hands. She wanted to cry, but the tears refused to fall. She had felt this way for a decade, and nothing had changed.

Nothing.

She sat in silence a long time. It was a while before she noticed the storm had dashed itself out. The quiet that followed seemed deeper than anything she had experienced before. As if it engulfed her small house alone.

She could hear every small sound. The creak of the windows, the ticking of a clock, the gentle hum of the fridge down in the kitchen.

The sound of someone drinking a glass of wine.

Annabel froze.

“Jonathan?” she called out tentatively.

But she knew it was not him.