Sparks in the Darkness Pt. 02

As she drifted, Zoey composed emails, allowed her mind to make insightful connections, mentally practiced her rituals, and organized and ordered her day. She smoked a cigarillo; more accurately, she let it burn down in the ashtray beside her, and enjoyed the scent.

Beside her, Oscar spent most of the night curled into a tight ball, fetal position, sweating under her cotton sheets. Occasionally, he'd make a noise; a whimper, a moan, a gasp, and start shuddering and twitching. Idylly, softly, she'd drift her fingers up and down his back, giving a sing-song, "you're okay" and the twitching would stop; he'd give a ragged sigh, and drift back to sleep. Zoey wondered if he slept like this every night.

But, eventually, that first light of dawn kissed the windows of her bedroom, and it was, at last, time to be awake. She kissed two of her fingers, and pressed them to the back of Oscar's neck, then quietly climbed out of bed, snagging her phone from the nightstand.

On her way to the shower, she texted the kitchen quickly, ordering a light fruit breakfast for herself, and letting them know she'd be wanting a full American breakfast on short notice later that morning. In the bathroom, she stepped into a scorching-hot shower. The hot water ran over her body, and her sore hips; as the head relaxed the muscles - and washed away what was left of the lube - Zoey smiled to herself, as her mind traveled back to the previous evening's events. She allowed herself to dwell on them a moment more, as she let the hot water run through her hair, burnishing her white skin red, and filling the bathroom with steam. After a few moments, she slipped out of the shower, and wiped the steam off the mirror. Her reflection looked back at her - eyes shining, its lips upturned; just like her, her reflection's little butterfly was clearing flitting about in her stomach - having been joined by a half-dozen companions.

It's not as if she'd "never felt this way"; she was neither a useless schoolgirl, nor hopelessly naive. Moreover, she knew that she couldn't love - love, real love, required the soul; a sacrifice of the self to a greater whole that Zoey wasn't capable of. But she wasn't a psychopath - she could feel affection, joy, happiness - as much as anyone else could. And, she could crush, she could be excited... and she definitely could now admit to herself, there were feelings forming there, for Oscar.

She picked up her phone, and went to the door, not bothering to wear a towel - except on her hair. She took the food cart from a young man with remarkable self-control, who did a very good job of almost maintaining eye contact. She texted her manager, and tipped him $ 1000. Nibbling her way through her fruit breakfast, she answered forty-seven emails, and rescheduled a 11 AM meeting with DaCosta Finance Group into a 1:30 pm walk & talk - it was likely "Sleeping Beauty" would be up by then. And if not, the whole world couldn't entirely stop spinning just because Oscar wanted to have a lie-in. She turned on her six televisions; four on different financial stations, plus two directly displaying the London and New York markets - Hong Kong wouldn't be open at this hour. Since she had the time, she fired off the quick, formal email to her Tokyo branch manager than she'd formulated while resting, indicating she'd prefer to review their portfolio summaries two weeks earlier than expected - a missive she would cancel that afternoon. But, by then her request would have already caused the Vice-President of their Kyoto office to have pulled his office's transaction files - and found out he was missing three months worth of data, allowing him to find the corporate spy in his office a little bit faster, and without tipping Zoey's hand. And then, a quick pic of her half-finished fruit cup for the 'gram, hashtag, whatagreatmorning, hashtag, CapitalLife. Finally, she sent a quick text to her driver, giving him the morning off and use of the Rolls...

... aaaaand tried very hard not to bounce in and wake up Oscar just to see his big, soft eyes and hear his gravelly voice. How long did the average person sleep? After a quick check on Google, and Bing, the answer was eight hours, apparently; eight hours sounded needlessly long. Eight hours! That left her... about four hours to kill, before Oscar got up! Wasted time.

Oscar slept.

But it's not enough to say Oscar slept. When one sleeps, their soul wanders, loose, exploring the deeper self - but long ago, Oscar had burned his deeper self. The kind of deep use of the Dark Power that Oscar had engaged in had done real, lasting damage to his soul. His dreams were no longer a refuge; he had nightmares, far more often than dreams. He dreamt of corpses, moving and still; the scent of rot and decay present even in sleep. He could see people whose killings his waking mind had forgotten, recall gory deaths his conscious mind had struggled to move past. Still-sizzling fragments of disrupted or poorly-cast spells drifted through his mind, blazing through whatever memories they might encounter. And wracked and agonized souls, unable to find an end to their torment, sought him out as he slept - and they always would, until Oscar's death released them. Ghosts in his mind, begging him to do right by them, and die.

But tonight... quiet.

Next to Zoey, Oscar slept deeply, exhausted in body, and his soul calm. He still felt the pressure of Zoey's will, here; like a weighted blanket, inducing him to be at peace. In Zoey's bed, Oscar dreamt of a warm, welcoming darkness, and if his mind drifted too far from the peace, to the edge of the darkness, a soft hand, stroking his cheek, pulling him back.

He woke gradually, as the room was warmly lit by the sun through the white curtains. Then, suddenly, sharply, with a gasp, he was awake - as he realised he had slept, restfully - and was in Zoey's room - and it was, at the earliest, long into the morning. He heard voices - a swirl of them, talking over each other, all sounding calmly professional, coolly impersonal - talking in the next room; and Zoey's voice, cutting through all of them, in another language - was that Mandarin? There were no time-pieces in the room, he realized, and then remembered that his phone wouldn't be in here, either.

Or his pants, come to think of it.

As he stood up, the bed receded, into the wall. A voice, from nowhere, greeted him, "Good morning - Guest! The time is - eleven forty-five - AM. Zoey has set your breakfast preferences. The kitchen advises it will be served in - fifteen - minutes. The shower in the main suite is - available - for your use." Oscar blinked, shaking his head, and lightly laughed to himself as he said, "Uh, thanks."

The voices in the other room had fallen abruptly silent. Oscar wondered if the computer had told them he was awake. Cautiously, he walked towards the door, and peered through the frosted glass.

Zoey, having heard her bedroom computer, had muted her televisions. She saw Oscar's ghostly image form in the frosted glass, and giggled to herself, as he leaned on the window, obviously trying to peer through. She gave a puff at her vape, and called out - a little louder than needed, "It's cool, Lover - it's only me out here."

Oscar opened the door cautiously, only as wide as his head - Zoey smiled at him, reassuringly, as he looked back and forth, around the large open room. "Morning, sleepyhead! I have, like, thirty minutes, before I have to get into the office; I'm so glad you're awake! I ordered you breakfast already."

Oscar stepped out, naked - but with no timidness; he didn't hide himself from Zoey, and she bit her lip, delighting in it. "Yah, your, uh - the bed computer told me. Shower?" he asked, and Zoey pointed to the door beside the bedroom. Oscar smiled at her, and nodded, and she felt the swarm of butterflies dance inside her. "Shower first, but I hope you ordered a coffee with that breakfast."

Oscar caught himself staring at her for an extra moment. In the late morning light, dressed in her white-tan business suit, Zoey was stunning. She posed, smiling, and let him stare a moment - and then smirked at him, and gently waved with her fingers, brushing him towards the shower. He chuckled, and walked towards the bathroom.

Zoey felt herself flush, a little, as Oscar started, just a bit, when she waved him off, having been caught staring. He wasn't the first man to find her sharp attractiveness distracting, but, in this moment - he might well have been the most adorable.

The shower stall was larger than Oscar's bathroom. Six showerheads were arranged to cover the space, which seemed intended to accommodate several bathers at once. Oscar, however, indulgently directed several of the jets at himself, taking a hot shower of the type his apartment couldn't provide. As he stepped from the shower, he heard a ding, and the closet door opened automatically - to offer him a heated towel. It seemed far too much to him, too terribly indulgent. He took it. Delightful.

"I had them send up some clothes for you. Five pants, ten t-shirts, ten shirts," Zoey called through the bathroom door. After another pull from her vape, she continued, "I swear to God, I am not love-bombing you! I fucking cut up your clothes last night, and, inshalla, I'm gonna do it again, so..."

She heard a chuckle from inside the door. "You didn't have to buy me five" Oscar called back.

"Well then," she said, loudly, "Pick and mix, whatever. The ones you don't want, I'll..." she paused; more quietly, with a smirk, she said, "... probably, keep on a shelf, since... you'll need them eventually," but then more loudly continue, "... donate, to like, a men's shelter, or something."

Oscar walked out of the bathroom, scratching at the scruff on his chin, toweling his hair; he was nude and unabashed, and Zoey was delighted. "You just... walk around that way?" she said, with a giggle.

Oscar glanced down, then back to her. "You're the one that cut up my clothes, remember. And, I've got nothing to hide. I know what I'm about," he said, and Zoey giggled again.

"About eight inches!" Zoey laughed. "I set your clothes in the bedroom. The food cart is by the dining table; there's a second one coming, five minutes. Get yer pants on! I gotta catch my helicopter in, like, 10 minutes."

Oscar padded into the bedroom. "Catch a helicopter?" he asked, to make sure he'd heard her right.

"Ugh, traffic, in Steel Canyon? This time of day? I'd never have made it in time. So, I ordered the helicopter. It can make the trip in seven minutes," Zoey said. Oscar shook his head. He didn't want to think about how much an on-call helicopter ride inside city limits cost. The practicalities alone boggled his mind.

The shirts and pants were all hanging on a clothes rack that had not been in the bedroom when he went in for his shower. The shirts were brand-new dress shirts, all black silk; the pants looked expensive, as did the selection of leather belts. The t-shirts - also black - didn't look too exorbitant, but Oscar doubted that. They were probably hand-sewn by rare South American caterpillars, or something. Below the clothes on the rack were fresh, sealed packs of (also silk, obviously) boxers - and, finally, socks. Oscar chose a pair of boxers and socks, put on a t-shirt - took another - and pulled on a pair of pants. He walked back out to join Zoey.

By the time Oscar emerged, Zoey taken the silver lids off breakfast, to reveal pancakes, waffles, bacon, sausage, a half-loaf each of white and whole wheat toast, eggs - scrambled, and over-easy - a decanter of coffee, a decanter of orange juice, a decanter of pineapple juice, and a spread of fresh, diced and sliced fruits. Zoey was holding a pineapple ring in her mouth, with two strips of bacon plus her vape in her right hand. With her left she was lifting (a second) decanter of coffee, to pour into a travel mug with the DaCosta holding company logo.

"Woah woah," Oscar called, crossing the room quickly to her - tossing the extra t-shirt on the back of the couch - and taking the piping hot decanter from her hands. Zoey nodded in appreciation, and released the decanter to save her pineapple ring from falling, as Oscar poured coffee into the mug.

"Mmm, my hero, thank you," she murmured. "I take the no-cal whitener, please - big pour," she said, taking a bite of her bacon. Oscar shook his head, and poured the sweetener into her mug, then pressed down the lid. "Oh, yes, perfect; handsome and smart. Ooh, that shirt looks good on you, lover!"

Oscar glanced down at the black t-shirt. "Uhm, thanks," he murmured, blinking, his mind taking a moment to process being nicknamed lover. Zoey circled the table to stand beside him, with a 'click-clack' of her heels. Setting her vape down a moment, she threw her arms around the back of his neck, and... let the rush pause a moment.

With Zoey's arms around his neck, Oscar caught himself staring again, at her stunning face, and into her luminous eyes. Zoey's lips curled up into a grin. "Last night," she murmured "... was pretty fucking awesome."

Oscar wrapped his arms around her middle. "It was... really incredible," he sighed. "It felt... so good - to be with you."

Softly, Zoey said, "It felt so good to be with you," and leaned in, and they kissed; Zoey kicked up her leg, and leaned on Oscar, and she felt his lips smiling, into the kiss. She let it hold, an extra moment, and loved the sensation of her butterflies, joining Oscar's own and flitting about the whole room, indulgently crushing.

Then, she forcefully broke the kiss. "No no no no, I have gotta go," she said, physically pushing herself away from Oscar. She hustled around the room, gathering her vape, phone, briefcase, and travel mug, as she talked. "I have a thousand dollar helicopter waiting to take me to a million dollar meeting. Eat - eat! You're skinny! My car is downstairs, take it wherever, he knows he's at your discretion, take his number... we could grab dinner tomorrow, probably nine-ish? Figure out how we -" she made a throaty noise, and a motion across her neck with her thumb, "- this she-bitch. Probably out for tonight, though, I have catching up to do! Tah; love; have fun; my driver has an expense card if you need anything!"

The door swung closed behind her, and Oscar distantly heard the whub-whub-whub of the helicopter settling down on the pad on the roof. He was alone, in Zoey daCosta's apartment, at the peak of the greatest city in the world.

And he was starting to think he might be falling in love.