|
Scene #91
Paulo watched, mesmerized as drops of bright red blood, his blood,
fell and splattered on the smooth surface of the ice beneath his
bare feet. Somewhere in the distance, his fiancée Kim shrieked in
terror. Paulo turned his attention to the head of the axe,
partially lodged in his hip. Numb from the cold, he felt nothing as
he gripped its worn, wooden handle and attempted to wriggle it
free. Closer now, Kim let out a hair-raising… Giggle? Angel
Harrington looked up from the horror novel gripped in her hand to
find her twin sister seated cross-legged on the living room floor,
a weathered stone alter in front of her. The flames of two stubby,
taper candles, one red and one white, flickered and danced
hypnotically at opposite ends of the alter. Heaven giggled
again. In her hand, an old-fashioned quill pen scrawled fancy
script across yellowed parchment paper. “And strong, muscular arms.
And big hands, with small calluses.” “Are you still working on
that love spell?” Heaven nodded, pausing to dip the tip of her
pen in a pot of blood-red ink. “Your list must be ten pages
long by now." Heaven Harrington frowned as she flipped back
through sheets of the thin paper, each holding the same flowing
scrawl. “Nope, five and a half. And you'd better believe I'm still
working on it, sis. I‘m not taking any chances. If I'm going to
conjure a perfect man, then he's going to damn well be perfect."
“Uh huh,” Angel said, dog-earing her page then shutting her book.
“And your perfect man has calluses?” “Just small ones, nothing
gross or hideous.” Angel shot her sister a dubious look. “Then
why have them at all?” “Come on, Angel, don't tell me that
Corporal Dennis never ran his rough, callused hands over your bare
breasts before he got shipped off to Afghanistan?” Angel felt
her cheeks warm at the memory of her fiancée's caress. “All right,
I see your point. Calluses are good.” The flame of the crimson
colored taper candle spluttered and spit droplets of hot wax on
Heaven's wrist. “Ouch. Shit. I'd better finish up before the
candle goes out or this will all have been for nothing.” Heaven
carefully folded the sheets of paper containing her ideal mate's
qualities and attributes into a diamond shape. She sat up on her
knees and waved the list over the flames of first the red candle,
then the white one. “I ask that the Gods send to me now, this
person that I desire. I may not yet know their face, nor name.
Still, I know they are out there and they are looking for me just
the same.” Heaven dipped one tip of the diamond shaped list
into the red candle's flame and held it there until it began to
burn. She moved the opposite tip into the flame of the white candle
until it too lit. Raising the burning list high over her head, she
repeated her incantation as bits of blackened ash fluttered and
fell around her. She dropped the remains of the fiery list into a
sand-filled cauldron set beside her on the floor then sat back and
let out a wishful sigh. The doorbell chimed. “Holy shit,
that was fast,” Heaven said, rising to her feet. She ran her
fingers through her long, auburn curls and pinched her cheeks. “How
do I look?” “Gorgeous, as usual.” The doorbell chimed
again. “Coming,” she called out. “I guess patience wasn't
something you were looking for in Mr. Right?” Angel goaded.
“Hush.” Heaven stood in front of the solid wood door, her hand
poised over the doorknob. “Here goes nothing.” She turned the
knob and pulled the door inward to reveal a lanky, pimply-faced,
greasy-haired boy of about seventeen, holding a large, flat, white
and red box. “Pizza,” he said, his pubescent voice cracking.
“Good for you, Heaven,” Angel said, between snickers. “He's cute
and self-sufficient. ” Heaven threw her sister a glare, then
turned back to the delivery boy. “We didn't order pizza.” “Are
you sure?” The boy held the box with one hand and wiped his nose
with the heel of his other. “It says on the bill, suite
three-three-one.” “And this,” Heaven said, not bothering to
disguise her irritation, “Is three-thirteen. Goodbye.” She closed
the door on the boy before he could utter another word. Angel
burst into laughter. “Oh my God, that was totally priceless. You
should have seen your face.” Heaven narrowed her emerald green
eyes at her sister. Her nostrils flared. “Yeah, yeah, yuck it up,
sister. I will meet my perfect man, you'll see. This witchcraft
stuff is going to work.” “I'll believe it when I see it.” Angel
rose from the couch, raising her arms high overhead. She arched her
back in a stretch and yawned. “Right now though, I'm going to bed.
You?” Heaven shook her head as she took her place on the floor
in front of the alter once more. She lit two fresh candles and
placed one at each end, then started flipping through the worn
pages of her book of spells. “Don't stay up too late. You don't
want to run into Mr. Right tomorrow with bags under your eyes.”
“Ha ha,” she muttered. Heaven read through the spells one by
one, pausing to study the carefully written notes left in the
margin by her long-dead mother and a grandmother she'd never known.
As the old grandfather clock in the corner of the room ticked,
Heaven found her heart beating in time with its rhythm. Her
breathing slowed and her eyelids grew heavy. The clock struck
midnight. She turned the last page, closing the spell book with a
sigh and almost missed the soft tapping that whispered through the
room. Heaven looked around her confused. “Ang, is that you?”
That rapping came again and this time, there was no doubt as to
where it had originated. Someone in the hallway was knocking on her
door... at midnight.
| 
