FROZEN ANGEL

Chapter 3

Elise ran her fingers through her still-damp hair, trying to squeeze the curls dry as she walked down the sidewalk. Flickering gas lanterns fought with the electric glow of shop windows and the sound of clopping hooves succumbed to the traffic's roar. Everywhere she looked, the aggressive present bullied the past--for everyone but her, that is.  

For her, the past often expanded inside her heart with such illuminating intensity she temporarily lost sight of the present. For most of her life it had been like an overlay, a vision of another time superimposed over modern sights and sounds, something she dismissed as hyperactive imagination. Until recently. Now it was as if something commandeered her mind like a separate entity, threatening to swamp her own existence with someone else's emotions, someone else's life. Navigating the crowd that evening, she could almost feel a presence ghosting her shadow.  

I am drowning in the past, she thought. I am dying in someone else's life. Would Adrian believe her enough to help? 

Shivering in the heat, she tried to focus on the upcoming meeting. Whatever happened, she could not seem crazy. Free from greasepaint and the white plaster-like substance usually smeared in her hair, she looked human again, though the just-showered freshness never lasted. Already the air pressed against her body with a hot, sticky embrace that caused her skirt to cling to her legs like a lover's touch. As if, she laughed to herself. Her last lover had been years ago and now the only man she wanted wasn't interested.  

She had chosen a black print shift, chic in that it hung with a simple grace from her shoulders, practical because it was still loose enough to catch a random breeze, and attractive because she knew its plain lines revealed her figure without being vulgar. She needed all the confidence she could get. A glance at her reflection in a shop window confirmed that she looked pulled-together and composed and, for once, she hoped appearances would be deceiving. 

She checked her watch: 7:15--less than a half an hour to reach Adrian's door, ring his bell, get past his shocked expression, and say what had to be said before scrambling off to meet Cindy's tour group at 8:00. She'd favor succinct. More time might lead to more words and more words might lead to more embarrassment. She only wanted to get this over with. Either he'd help or offer packaged notions of the way the world worked, after which she'd leave and hopefully put the man out of her mind. 

Practicing sentences in her head, she paused in the door of a gift shop and gazed over at the two-story building across the street. 

Leave it to Dr. Adrian Countway to commandeer one of the choicest pieces of Old Quarter real estate. Located in the center of Royal Street, the house had been built just after the fire of 1794, with all the rounded pediments, wide, tall windows, and ornate wrought iron balconies common to Creole-Spanish architecture. It has survived Katrina only needing minor repairs. Joquita's aunt, a prominent real estate agent, had located it for him after the professor had decided to augment his Baton Rouge apartment with someplace 'deep in the throb of history', as he described it. He leased the street level shop to an upscale clothing boutique while taking the upper floors as his own.  

The balcony's wrought iron traced an intricate silhouette against the tall lighted windows. Elise stared at his light. Damn, he was home, not vacationing in Europe, not visiting family in Boston. No excuses left. Now she'd have to take care of something she should have done weeks ago. How long since that fateful day-three weeks, a month? She stepped off the curb and gave the thin fabric clinging to her legs a tug.  

Moments later, she had climbed the stairs and forced herself to ring the bell, listening with amusement as the device tinkled out the opening strains to When the Saints Go Marching In. She knew without ever having been inside that his new flat would be decorated like his office - a semi-organized jumble of artifacts and antiques gleaned from his travels and multiple interests. If he ever managed to find a decorator to suit him, it would have to be someone with a curator's eye combined with a sharp wit.