Slave: The Ghost of Cambria - Book Two

Chapter Sixteen

Valon noticed Margaret Cole that first night she slept at the house. The noise and discord of the previous month when Pamela left him had swelled Valon with such pain and resentment, he had chosen to close himself off altogether from the sound of change. If a threat were to arise, something Valon must attend to, his faceless master would pull him to attention.

But while no danger cam, the smell of death woke Valon. He could smell it in her, the parasite that grew within this new woman who now resided in the house. It was a unique presence he'd never been confronted by, and it captured his attention, forcing him to remain conscious. Even Pamela's anger and dark bitterness never released such a unique fragrance. This other woman was being eaten alive, and she did not seem to know it.

Valon entered her thoughts when she was dreaming, during those moments when her mind's defenses were at rest and most susceptible to his observation. Margaret dreamt of many things that first night: playing as a child and fighting with the girls across the street. Then the dream shifted to the narrative of a television show; some disagreement between two lovers on a soap opera. Margaret inhabited the role of the scorned woman, feeling the pain of humiliation and rejection when the son of a bitch betrayed her. She obsessed with how to get even for what he'd done. And finally, the melancholy of disappointment opened the door to another memory, one which Valon could tell was a real experience the woman had suffered through.

Margaret was little more than a child. In fact, she had just turned eighteen and was beginning her first semester at The University of California at Los Angeles. The girl was terrified to be there; she didn't know a soul. It hadn't been her idea to come to this place, but rather the oppressive expectation of her parents. Unlike Margaret's much older sister, Ruby Jean, college wasn't something that aroused her enthusiasms. Margaret wanted to be married because she wanted a husband to take care of her. Ruby Jean had gone on and on about how important it was to have an education, to be prepared for a competitive world. But the woman's logic always sounded like nonsense to Margaret - modern propaganda for unattractive women to intimidate others. The girl knew only too well that the finest women in the community of Pasadena were wives. What woman could own one of the houses west of Brookside Golf Course by herself? An heiress, perhaps. Otherwise, they were the homes of physicians, film producers, politicians, and attorneys - the men who ran Los Angeles.

If she must spend the next four years in this place, Margaret would damn well be sure to find herself on the arm of a future doctor. But today, she was by herself in search of an English literature class that would begin in seconds.

When Margaret's eyes read 'Room 206' on the sign affixed to the dark oak door, she ran smack into a young man with a chest like a wall. The collision bumped her so hard that Margaret fell backward on her rear, causing the books she carried to crash to the floor around her.

In her shock, Margaret looked up to see the young man staring down in confusion from his towering height.

"My God, I'm sorry," he said, before kneeling to reach for her hand.

When Margaret was again standing, the handsome boy knelt again to swiftly gather her books.

"Are you alright?" he asked, pushing back a forelock of his silky dark hair that fell in his eyes.

"I think so," Margaret answered, reaching to adjust her blonde curls, ensuring they hadn't fallen apart.

"I'm awful sorry - that was my fault," he told her with his deep voice. "Where are you headed?"

"I need to get into that classroom there," she pointed to the door that was only five feet away.

The young man turned and reached for the classroom door handle and pulled it open with a smile, extending his hand to invite her in.

"Thanks," Margaret answered him and proceeded through the threshold, turning back to look at the chivalrous young man's smile before the oak door closed between them.

And in two hours, when the miserable class had concluded, Margaret found the dashing young man waiting for her in the hall where she'd left him. The sight of his dreamy eyes beaming at her when she entered the hallway startled Margaret, and she stopped walking without meaning to.

"How was your class?" he asked with a cocky smile.

"Dreadful," she answered, fighting the urge to laugh.

The simple act of surprising her sent Margaret to the moon. She felt scalding color fill her cheeks. The girl was overcome by an erotic attraction to the exquisite young man, so tall and broad-shouldered, and the whole of these sensations made her slightly dizzy.

"I didn't get the chance to introduce myself before you got away from me," he smirked, clearly enjoying the effect his stunt had achieved. "My name is Chris Jackson."

And that was the moment that stayed with Margaret forever. She thought of it frequently, whenever the slightest event prompted her to remember the sensation of young love. Chris Jackson became the very embodiment of everything about love that was fresh and exciting to her.

In the days after Jackson had introduced himself, Margaret became infatuated by the dazzling young man. Even if he hadn't been studying pre-law, she would have gladly forgotten any notion of her quest to find a rich future husband to be with him. Margaret was obsessed with Chris: the warmth of his large hand when he held hers, the confident smirk he shot back when she attempted to land a joke, the light in his eyes when they spoke of the latest film they'd watched, and the deep bass of his voice when the boy whispered how he loved her.

It was all there, these moments of perfect joy; they composed the very framework of her memories, and each was filled with its individual flavor of ideal bliss. It was only after these memories had played again and again during the dream that Valon detected a dark well of pain begin to overshadow them.

The day came when Margaret saw Chris smiling in the distance while he sat on a bench in Dickson Court. Beside him sat another girl who shyly giggled when he bent in to kiss her cheek. As powerful as Margaret's first memory of Chris had been, she now felt its inverse as adrenaline rushed through her veins. The chemical poisoned her with its sharp blade, threatening to slice into her very soul.

It was the end for the girl, the last moment she ever allowed herself to feel love in that way; so wholly with such blind trust. And by the time she'd been ready to let the next boy take her out on a date, Margaret's soul was closed off. In time, the young woman did find someone she cared for, someone who was financially successful and would take care of her, but it was never the same as it had been during those first months in Chris' arms.

The darkness of Margaret's resolve shocked Valon, and he reached out to stop the dream from descending into anguish and bitterness. He coaxed her thoughts back, scene by scene, slowing her raging heartbeat until she was standing again in the hallway with Chris. It was at this moment that Valon walked right into the boy's body and stared into Margaret's azure blue eyes.

She was so beautiful, enhanced by the scarlet that flooded her high cheeks when she realized what the boy had just done.

"I can't believe you waited for me," Margaret said, her white smile finally breaking through any semblance of self-control left to the girl.

"Can I buy you a soda?" Valon asked. "There's a cafeteria just down the path away."

Margaret looked down at the floor as if she were wholly unprepared for this moment.

"Sure," she answered, and smiled again when her eyes returned to meet his gaze.

Valon extended his arm to let the young girl take it shyly, then led her through the building and out into the warm sunshine.

"So, what is your name?" he smirked with his deep voice.

"I'm Maggie," she answered.