“They just want it signed. You’ve done everything you need to do. You’ve met the requirements.”
“I’m supposed to see Miss Dwyer a couple more times.”
“You are trying my patience, Amanda. You’ve gone to her three times, and you’ve been to your father’s house. Now, when you get back from school today, I’m going to have the Army people here, and you will sign those papers.”
Amanda opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself. She processed a myriad of thoughts faster than any computer chip might and decided to bite her tongue.
“I’ll see you after school then,” she said, breaking into a slight smile.
“That’s more like it.”
Amanda stood, twirled on her feet, and walked into the foyer.
“Amanda?”
“Yes, Mother?” She looked over her shoulder, noticing Nina’s shadow reaching from the dining room into the kitchen, cast by the rising sun blaring through the eight-foot east-facing glass in the bay window.
“Are you going to be okay?” The question was totally devoid of emotion, concern. It was more the stuff of a back alley pimp wearing a purple velvet fedora making nice with one of his girls.
Amanda cocked her head, pursed her lips and said, “Yeah, Mom. I’m good to go.”
CHAPTER 43
The morning sun glared through his window as he swirled his coffee cup. He leaned back in the faux leather chair of his makeshift home office and thought about the nom de plume, Del Dangurs. What did it mean to him? Who was he in relation to this name? Why was he at odds with himself over it? Was he his own Javert to the Valjean that resided within? So many questions wrestled in the mind of a writer, he mused.
He scrolled through the article destroying Colonel Zach Garrett’s reputation. He had to admit it was brilliant, if he did say so himself. If they wanted to seal the public image of this man in a nefarious light, he had to agree that the mission was accomplished.
How far should he take this, he wondered? To what end? And what would be the next move? That was his primary question.
As he thought about next moves, Amanda Garrett came to his mind. An image of her hovered in his daydream, looking just how he had last seen her.
Pitching forward, he suddenly stood, then abruptly sat down again. He was anxious, and he knew why. He ran his slender fingers along the worn seam of the chair’s armrest.
“I’ve tried so hard to resist,” he whispered. He traced the outline of his face with his hand, feeling its smooth contours. Was he becoming obsessed with Amanda? It seemed as though she was being offered to him.
The paranoia reminded him of the electric charge he had felt when he’d been caught with Emily Wilkinson in college. He had been careful since then and had narrowly escaped being registered.
The case had been handled discreetly. Given his age at the time and the fact that Emily’s parents had wished to hide the event as much as he wanted to get beyond it, the mediator was able to reach an out-of-court settlement.
She had been drinking, after all, and she had willingly returned to his dorm room, the argument went. There were multiple eyewitnesses that could place her as the aggressor at the party. While the college had forced the issue to court, her parents chose to settle and keep the record sealed. Ultimately, there had been no charges brought against him for having sex with the under-aged girl.
He clicked his mouse and pulled up the Photoshop program. Two more clicks, and he found her face staring at him. He had conducted a Google search on her and then found her page on Classmembers.com. Though considerably older now, she was his first. And this was how he liked to remember her. Her blonde hair was parted down the middle, and her head was tilted to the side just a bit in typical yearbook fashion.
“So beautiful,” he whispered. “And so young.”
He smiled as he recalled Matthew McConaughey’s character’s line from the movie Dazed and Confused. “I love high school girls. I keep getting older, and they keep staying the same age.”
He had been careful to avoid obvious targets. With the broad reach of the Internet, his hunt had not been deterred. There were legions of young girls looking for adventure, especially from experienced men. For every twenty he “worked” through e-mails and chats, he might choose one.
Paranoia had to reign supreme. He knew about the stings the television programs were doing and how active undercover agents were patrolling the Net.
No, he was like a stockbroker who, if a stock doesn’t feel right to him immediately, he unloads it. And so it was with the girls. There were plenty that really did want to be with older men, especially one who would be famous one day.
His passion, aside from young girls, was his short stories. He fancied himself to be something of a modern-day Edgar Allen Poe, though he couldn’t portray that persona in public. This double life was fitting for a Gemini, born in June, he thought to himself.
Instantly his mood darkened as his eyes caught the cork bulletin boards he had posted around the spare bedroom. He had converted it into his author’s den. Viking, Random House, Pocket, Doubleday — all had rejected him, many times.
“Thank you for your submission, but we only take solicited manuscripts… ”
“While your writing is interesting, it’s not right for us at this moment… ”
Others were less kind, containing only the submitted manuscript and a form letter, usually unsigned.
Lately his short stories had taken on a more macabre tone, his real essence, with titles such as “The Knife.” It was about a married couple who learns each of them is cheating on the other. They scream at one another across the kitchen island, which has a solitary butcher’s knife poised in the middle.
Then there was “Seductive Fire” about a woman who bedded as many men as possible and burned them in their sleep.
“Nectar of Darkness” was perhaps his most disturbing, and most Poe-like, he believed. He had submitted it to an agent and was only waiting for the word that it had been sold. This was the one.
As he usually did, though, he was toying with the ending again. The narrator was contemplating whether to kill himself after falling in love with a young girl, or whether he should kill her because the laws prevented her from being his. Naturally he could not let anyone else have her.
Yes, “Nectar of Darkness” would be the one. If not, he didn’t know what he might do. But in part, his addiction to teenage girls was like a research project for his writing. He rationalized that if tapping into that prohibited wellspring of inspiration was required to catalyze his genius, then it was worth the risk. Society would thank him.
He thought that with some effort, he might be able to have it all at once — the writing, the girl, the reputation. It was all possible. He had desperately tried so many times to abstain from his weakness, but he could not. And he kept crossing the line. Like the marijuana user migrates to crack cocaine, it was to be expected, he told himself. He had considered waiting until she was eighteen, but that would be… not improper. And therefore less exciting.
And so, Amanda Garrett would be his… soon.
His computer beeped as an e-mail hit his inbox. He recognized the name and decided that it was time for more inspiration.
He read the e-mail and grabbed his car keys. Del Dangurs would have to wait, he decided. Though he was close, he knew, there would be no more research or writing today.
In fact, he would make a brief appearance and then pursue his new conquest.
CHAPTER 44