The Stranger

Kalama

I was driving to work, thinking of what happened between Remy and me. The kiss never should have happened. Still, I get butterflies in my stomach thinking about it. I shouldn’t have let my vulnerability take the upper hand at that moment, and yet I can not see it not happening. I hope I didn't make a mess of our friendship.

I need to call him and talk about this situation. I didn’t have time to talk to him with all that crying I did and falling asleep afterwards. I just really hope I know what to tell him by the time we get to talk. 

I notice since I took the long way to work that the forest seems different. The air smelled strange, not the same morning crisp fresh scent of forest, but it had an acrid scent to it. I could almost taste the bitterness of it on my tongue.  Come to think of it, I didn't hear the birds singing this morning either.

This is very peculiar. Wrinkling my nose at the foul smell, I closed the windows and put the air conditioning on.

The gallery was the second favorite place I liked to be next to my little apartment on the edge of the forest. The gallery was modern and open, had this high ceiling where industrial looking lamps hang from it, emitting the perfect light to show all the art the gallery had on display.

White walls with beautiful masterpieces hanging from them. Black sculpture tables strategically placed, showcasing the art pieces, from vase to sculptures. 

Thinking about how silent the forest was as if it became soulless, I was arranging the last paintings and art pieces in the perfect spots, as to give each piece a chance to shine. The Grand opening of the exhibition is tomorrow.

The Fire Exhibition: From ancient to modern times.

I need to remember to call the caterer, to remind them they have to get here in time to set up. Busy looking at my to-do list to check off the completed tasks, and looking at what next on the list, someone cleared their throat behind me. Startled, I turn around to be met face to face with the most beautiful man that I have ever seen.

Normally I wouldn’t say that a man is beautiful. Handsome, attractive and sexy, all those can describe a man, but for this man standing before me, can only be described as beautiful. 

He was tall and dark, his eyes were glacial blue, full lips, a bit of a pale skin, broad shoulder, narrow waist, one could say a swimmer's body. He had a  dark navy suit on, complimenting his eyes. His face looks as if someone chiseled it out of marble. 

Too  beautiful to be just human.

I was standing there, gaping at him. Seeing that I didn’t acknowledge him the first time, he cleared his throat again and the corner of his mouth turned up into a charming smile. “Good morning” I stuttered and felt heat rising up my face. 

Regaining my composure, I straightened my blazer and made myself stand tall. Holding the clipboard against my chest. "Is there anything in particular you were looking for?" I tried using my professional voice but failed miserably, as it came out shaky.

Stepping a little closer, a bit too close for my comfort and looking at me, he said, “I’m here to see Miss Joyce.” His voice was deep and had a bit of a rasp to it.

“She is in her office, let me get her for you. And who shall I say is asking for her?” I ask while taking a step back. He really was too close to me, I could feel his body heat through my clothes. It made me uneasy and not the good kind of way.

Sticking his hands in the pockets of his pants, with gleaming eyes, he introduces himself as Antone Grim. 

While I continue to tend to the pieces and paintings for the exhibition, I keep throwing looks towards Joyce and her visitor. Even though he looks so beautiful, there was something off-putting about him. 

As Antone was leaving he glanced over at where I was standing, his icy blue eyes pinned me on my spot. I got an unearthly vibe coming from him, as a chill ran down my spine. 

This man is bad news.

Working to get the last details of the exhibition done, I remembered that I wanted to take a better look at the Phoenix painting. But I don’t know I will accomplish that without touching the painting.

Maybe if I use some gloves I could touch it. I wasn’t too thrilled to go find out if the cotton gloves would work, yet I wanted to know what happened and why.

As the painting wasn’t on the walls in the hall I went looking for it. With gloved hands I was searching the box the painting came in and to my surprise, it wasn’t in the box. Thinking maybe Joyce put it in one of the other boxes, I searched in the boxes in her office, but no Phoenix painting.

I was about to go look for Joyce to ask her where the painting was when the phone of the gallery rang. “Joyce Hall Art Gallery, good morning, how may I assist you?” Sounding all professional but strained as I wanted to keep looking for the painting. 

“Hallo Kalama.” Glancing up at the ceiling and rolling my eyes as I pinch the bridge of my nose. Recognizing my dad's gruff voice. 

Wondering why he was calling me at work I greeted him. For a moment I could only hear him breathing, and then he asked me to pass by the shop today after work.

Playing with the telephone cord with my fingers, I replied. “I’m sorry dad but I can’t, I already have plans for after work with Nyah. Besides, you know I don’t like to go to the shop.” My voice sounded irritated.

“Okay, don’t come then!” He said angrily and ended the phone call.

Inhaling deeply to control the need to scream my frustration with my dad. Why doesn’t he understand that there is nothing for me at the shop? But I was curious why he wanted me to pass by the shop. He gave up long ago asking me to come help, so why ask again and now?

Saying goodbye to Joyce, I left the gallery. Walking to my car, I still had the painting on my mind. Where could it be?  Putting it out of my head for now. I was ready for a girl's night with my friend from the University, Nyah. She was in town and had invited me for dinner.

Sitting at the table with Nyah waiting for our drinks and appetizers to arrive, I tell Nyah all that has been going on lately in my life. Also about the kiss with Remy, which I still don’t know how to feel about it. 

I didn't tell her about the painting incident. Don’t want to ruin the girl’s night.

We were having a great time talking about the boys we used to date at the University and laughing at what we used to wear and our not so stylish hairdo. I excused myself to go to the restroom. 

On my way to the restroom I noticed a handsome man entering the restaurant, no not handsome but beautiful as Antone Grim was. Almost too beautiful to look at, inhumanly beautiful.

The only difference with Antone were his eyes. They were bright, full of life, but I couldn’t say which color they were as they seemed to change color with every passing second. 

And to my dismay, he was walking toward me with a corner of his mouth lifted, which gave him a mischievous look. Wanting to keep walking to get to the restroom, I find myself unmoving. It felt like something trapped me in time. 

“Hallo Kalama, I have been looking all over town for you.” His voice sounded like a whisper, an almost musical tone to it. I was standing there with my mouth open and closing like a fish on land. I couldn't find my voice.

I try again, and this time I manage to ask. “Do I know you?” It came out trembling. “Yes and no, but that doesn’t matter right now. I’m here to talk to you before it’s too late for everyone.” 

I tried to move again, but it felt as if I was trying to move through mud. He chuckled, amused, and looked me in the eyes he said. “Stop that and listen to me. First, I will not hurt you. I just need your time for a bit.” For some reason, I believed him when he said he wouldn’t hurt me.

And he chuckles again, amused, his eyes twinkling, like he knows a joke I didn’t.

“Pay attention, because even I have little time.” Laughing, he continues. “Kalama you are an intelligent woman, with a good heart, capable of greatness. A passionate woman, a go-getter and not to forget temperamental.” I roll my eyes and say. “I’m not-” He stops me raising a hand.

“You are going to be an outstanding leader when the time comes. But you are convinced that you are not suited to be that leader.” 

With cast down eyes, I said. “I’m not a leader, I’m not the next chief. I’m just not made to lead.” A single tear rolls down my cheek.

Wiping away the tear with the pad of his thumb, he continues as if I didn’t interrupt him. “Not the next chief Kalama, but a great leader.” He emphasized the last words by squeezing my shoulder. His ever changing eyes searching my face, he must have found what he was looking for because he gave me a dazzling smile.

Turning away from me, he started walking, and I felt the invisible force holding me in place was lifting. But before I could move again, he turned back towards me. “And Kalama halt your search for the Phoenix painting. It served its purpose.” Then he was walking towards the exit.

Regaining movement, I followed him. I need to know who he was, and why he thinks I’m going to be this great leader.  He must have the wrong Kalama, because I’m not leader material.

Before I could get closer to him, a waiter bumped into me and spilled the drinks he was carrying all over me. I craned my neck to see where he went, but it was as if he had vanished in thin air.