Dead Beautiful
Page 49

“What is this place?” I asked, running my hand up the banister.
“A boarding house.”
I glanced up at the numbers on the doors, and then at Dante.
The stairs creaked under his feet. “I live here.”
We walked up three flights of stairs and then turned down a hallway. It was narrow, with floorboards that were warped and uneven. Dim lamps hung from the ceiling, filling the hall with hazy yellow light. His room was toward the end. There were doors on either side of his, but it looked like no one had lived there for decades. He fished around in his pocket for a key.
His room was freezing. Both of his windows were wide open, letting in the thin November air. He turned on a small desk lamp.
“When I found Benjamin Gallow, he had already been dead for days,” Dante said. “His face looked older, like he had aged ten years. His tie was balled up and shoved in his mouth. That’s all I know.”
“His tie was in his mouth?” Just like my parents and the gauze. Sort of.
Dante nodded.
“Like a gag?”
Dante said nothing.
“Who do you think did it?”
“I don’t know. He might have done it to himself. People do odd things when they’re afraid.”
“What do you think scared him?”
“Death,” he said quietly. “Isn’t that what scares everyone?”
I glanced around his room. It would have been cozy if it hadn’t been so cold. It was clean but cluttered, with stacks of novels and stationery and encyclopedias coloring the walls. Piles of piano music sat on a side table by the window: Schubert, Rachmaninoff, Chopin, Satie, and dozens of others I had never heard of.
Beneath the window was a modest bed, with one pillow but no sheets or blankets. Across from it was a wooden desk, upon which lay an open book with a pencil lying in its crease. Next to it was a box of salt, three cinnamon sticks, and a handful of shells and rocks. Dante didn’t protest when I picked them up, turning them over in my palm. “Were there coins around his body?” I asked as I wandered through his room.
“No,” he said, watching me examine his belongings. He seemed surprised at my interest in such small, mundane objects. Of course they were only interesting to me because they were his.
A small collection of cologne and deodorants were gathered on his dresser. And at the end of the room was a bookcase. I tilted my head to read their titles. Rituals, Spells, and the Occult; Arabic Number Theory; The Metaphysical
Meditations; The Republic. Some were in English, but most were in Latin.
“When I found my parents, they were surrounded by coins,” I said softly, tracing my fingers across the worn spines. “And there was gauze in their mouths. The police said it was a hiking accident. That they died naturally. But I just don’t see how that could be.”
“Renée,” Dante said softly. He was standing behind me, his voice filled with yearning. He took a step toward me until he was so close I could feel his knees graze the back of my legs. “I believe you. And if I knew how to help you, I would. That’s why I brought you here. So you would know me. Trust me.”
“Why?” I said, blinking back memories of my parents dead in the woods. “Why me?”
“When I’m around you, I feel things....” His hair tickled my collarbone. “Things that I haven’t felt in so long.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“Like what?” I whispered.
He ran his fingers through my hair. “Warmth,” he said. I could hear him breathing.
My voiced trembled. “What else?”
He reached his arms around me and slipped my coat off. It dropped to the floor, and he laughed when he realized that I had worn two cardigans beneath it. Slowly, he unbuttoned them. He inched closer and leaned in. “Smells,” he uttered into my ear and buried his face in my hair. A draft blew through the open window, and I shivered. I felt his hand on my shoulder as he brushed the hair away from my neck.
“Tastes,” he said, and kissed my neck so gently that I could barely feel it.
A prickling sensation budded underneath my skin and began to travel down my body. I leaned into him, and he let his hand slide down my arm. His fingers were cold, and my skin quivered under his touch, cooling and then warming, as if an ice cube were being rubbed across my body. He slipped his palm into mine, entwining our fingers together. I turned to him. “What else?”
He gazed at me with a yearning look that almost seemed sad. “Pain.”
Raising my hand to his face, I touched his lips. As he kissed each of my fingers, I closed my eyes, feeling his hand on the small of my back.
“Desire.” He tightened his grip around me and kissed my collarbone. I ran my hands through his hair, pulling him closer, and raised my lips to his. But he turned his head and pulled away before we kissed. Surprised, I shrank back from him.
Then he pressed his body against mine, pushing me against the bookcase. It banged against the wall. The books on the top shelf clattered to the floor. His hands roamed across my body, tangling my tank top.
My body felt soft and watery, like my insides were melting. “Dante.” I hardly noticed his name escape my mouth. “Dante.”
The entire room blurred around us until the only thing I could see was Dante. Suddenly I felt weak. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t feel, I couldn’t smell. Everything tangible seemed to be slipping away from me.
“Stop,” I said softly. “Please stop.”
He let go of me, and I folded onto the ground. “What’s wrong?” he asked, kneeling beside me. Fallen books surrounded us, their pages open and fluttering in the draft.
I searched for the words but I couldn’t find them. How could I possibly explain the dozens of contradicting ways he made me feel? “It’s too much,” I whispered. “My legs... I can’t hold myself up.”
Dante went rigid as he stared at me with alarm, but his face softened when he realized he was frightening me.
“I... I don’t know what’s happening to me,” I said, my voice cracking. “What’s happening to me?”
He pressed his forehead to mine. “Please, don’t leave yet. Just lie with me for a little while.”
He led me to his bed, pulling a coat over me, and I curled up beside him.
“You make me feel alive,” he breathed.
And we lay there together until the sun rose, Dante resting his head on my chest, listening to my heart beat.