My Funny Valyntine: Book One - The Pull

Chapter Six - On Green Dolphin Street

i.

The sound of a door opening rouses Valyntine. The man with the white hair has gone. Did she dream him? Sitting up, blinking her eyes through the darkness, she squints at the entrance. A woman, large in form, walks through the darkened threshold. She comes into view after switching on the muted glow of a porcelain table lamp. Someone else walks in behind her. Valyntine hopes it is the man with the white hair, and he's here to hold her hand again. But as the door closes, the second person keeps back, out of reach of the light, lingering in the shadows.

The woman – whom Valyntine puts in her early sixties – stands close to six feet tall, with skin a half-shade darker than Tunisia's. Her long, coarse, white hair is tied back in dreadlocked braids and held up with a multicolored, silk scarf. Every feature on her face looks molded from potter's clay; an over-pronounced nose, ridged forehead, and cheeks freckled with dark brown spots. She appears to Valyntine as the embodiment of wisdom and experience, her gait suggesting she is triumphant in every encounter. The woman moves toward a chair, turns it to face Valyntine, and sits down with the confidence of one in power.

"Thank you for helping me," Valyntine says, nervous, breaking the silence. The words sound weak and shallow. The woman folds her hands, placing them beneath her bosom, looking hard and long at Valyntine. Intimidated, she feels the back of her head swelling. She knows who this woman must be, and doesn't want to have the conversation she knows they must have. Averting her gaze, the guilt of Tunisia's death engulfs her. Glancing to the door, she again wants the man with the white hair to return, and hold her hand. The large woman must have sensed this.

"The gentleman who sat with you, his name is Softly Moses." Her voice matches her robust features; it's a voice that commands respect. "He has a unique gift. Judging by the state of you when you came in, and seeing you now, I have to assume his gift works. Would you agree?"

Valyntine can't manage any words, busy trying to master the torrent threatening to return to the surface. Instead, she manages to nod her head; although, the statement, "He has a unique gift," is ridiculously disproportionate to what she experienced.

"I am Mrs. Jones," the woman says. "I hear you asked for me by name."

Valyntine looks up into the stern and freckled face and still says nothing.

Undeterred, Mrs. Jones continues, "Since you arrived, bursting through my doors like a screwy off her nut, you've only said a few words. 'Tunisia,'" she says, and again waits for Valyntine to respond. A few beats pass before she adds, "and you said another, 'the Traveler.'"

As she says the second name, Valyntine sees an anxious shade fall over Mrs. Jones's face as she, again, waits for a response. None comes.

"How do you know those names?" This time, as Mrs. Jones folds her arms, she also cocks her head to the side.

Tears fill Valyntine's eyes, the posture reminding her of Tunisia.

"Child," Mrs. Jones says, with measured understanding, "I know you are scared. But, I need to know how you know Tunisia. Why did you say her name? Have you seen her?" Mrs. Jones's controlled demeanor shows the slightest crack. Her voice softens, "What do you know about my niece."

Inside, Valyntine is breaking. She sees the torment of not knowing on Mrs. Jones's face, and draws in a deep breath. Tears brim at the corners of her eyes.

"She's... gone... died... killed," Valyntine's voice, below a whisper, hangs in the room. Mrs. Jones closes her eyes, and the figure near the door lets out the smallest of gasps. Those words, saying them out loud, rip through Valyntine's heart like a serrated spear. She doesn't think she will survive it. She doesn't want to survive it. Part of her hopes Mrs. Jones takes instant revenge.