The House of Dark Shadows

By Digger Cartwright

Alex Rommel, a debonair Charleston playboy, is skeptical
about online dating. When he encounters an old college
buddy by chance, he learns his friend has found love over the
internet. Tormented by demons from his past, a contentious
land deal, the memories of the woman he loved, and his sexually
insatiable secretary, Alex wades into the shadowy world of
internet dating only to fi nd the woman of his dreamsa French
freelance journalist, Hope. Just when he thinks he has found
true happiness, Alexs relationship takes a mysterious turn, and
he fi nds himself immersed in Hopes worldone plagued by a
nagging mother, lies, and drama. As pressures mount in the
relationship and in his business dealings, Alex, torn between love
and reality, fi nds himself questioning Hopes motivations. As the
sinister web of deceit and danger slowly begins to envelop him,
Alex frantically searches for the truth. Not knowing who to trust
or believe and with time running out, Alex must summon the
courage to face the truth before the doors close and he is locked
in the house of dark shadows forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 29, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465399953

Digger Cartwright

Digger Cartwright is the author of several mystery stories, teleplays, and novels including The Versailles Conspiracy, a modern day political thriller, Murder at the Ocean Forest, a traditional mystery novel set in the 1940s, The House of Dark Shadows, a psychological thriller, and The Maynwarings: A Game of Chance, a mystery set in the Old West. His latest book, Conversations on the Bench, is an inspirational/motivational novel. Mr. Cartwright has contributed to a number of articles on a wide range of financial, strategic planning, and policy topics. He frequently contributes articles, commentaries, and editorials focusing on current economic and political topics for the private think tank, Thinking Outside the Boxe. Mr. Cartwright is an enthusiastic supporter of local no-kill animal shelters. He enjoys golf, participating in charity golf tournaments, and attending WWE events. He divides his time between Washington, D.C., South Carolina, and Florida.

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Copyright © 2011 by Digger Cartwright.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011960879

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4653-9994-6

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4653-9993-9

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4653-9995-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

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93022

To my friend

Sam

For always being there to listen,

For the wisdom and insight,

and for coining the term House of Dark Shadows

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter One

THE BOOKSTORE CAFÉ, the latest in urbane chic in the downtown historic district of Charleston, South Carolina, was fairly empty, despite the eclectic mix of residents and tourists passing by the large windows facing Market Street outside. Bright sunlight streamed through the thick glass windows that had replaced the original panes of the historic brick and stucco building, erected in the early 1800s. The stately construct was situated not too far from the old slave market, adjacent to a small green space that once housed a carriage house; now it was lined with palms and a mighty oak tree. The three-story building had served many purposes: everything from a lawyer’s office, pre-Civil War; to Confederate Navy offices during the War of Northern Aggression; to a bookstore that played home to several rare and historic books; to its current use as a modern-day bookstore café and general gathering place for businesspeople, residents, and students for both studious and social purposes.

Every once in a while, the soft, intimate laughter of a couple nestled on a large faux leather sofa across the business section of books distracted the quiet and seemingly somber Alex Rommel from his serious perusal of the Wall Street Journal. He looked up with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, as if the very existence of the jovial couple annoyed him. His quick glance at the lovers, with their heads close in intimate conversation, stirred a cauldron of emotions within him, as bitter as they were sweet. He turned his head away, distracted from the article he had been reading, and gazed out the window to the passing automobile and pedestrian traffic. So many of them, he thought. Where are they all going in such a hurry? he wondered as he gazed at the travelers on the warm but comfortable afternoon in September. They were all abuzz with their own agendas, most of which involved others—friends, family, girlfriends, wives, and significant others. For a moment, a sense of regret and longing wandered through Alex’s mind, and then, as if to suppress the feelings, he again lowered his eyes to the newspaper he was clutching like a newsprint security blanket.

But the sharp intellectual mind of the handsome, blond-haired, blue-eyed young man was not on the editorial on recent political developments regarding the massive bailouts of the unions’ pension schemes and the backlash from the public. No, Alex’s mind was far away from the cold air in the bookstore, the gentle piano music wafting through the background, the bright sun streaming through the high glass windows, and the black and white words and letters on the paper. His mind had been transported to another time, only a few years prior—a time when he was with the woman of his dreams, the woman his relatively small circle of friends believed would one day become Mrs. Alex Rommel. He recalled her sitting in that very same bookstore, enjoying a cup of hot chocolate on a blustery winter afternoon, when the icy wind whipping off the harbor could cut through every layer of clothing and chill one to the bone. He remembered those happier days, when everything seemed to be right in the world—when his life was in order, the Republicans controlled Washington, America was hated but respected, and his seemingly innocent business dealings had not yet been corrupted.

The lettering on the paper seemed to blur before his eyes, and a calm overcame him, much like the calm and peacefulness that presages falling into a deep and restful slumber. His senses were suddenly heightened, and he could smell the sweet scent of her perfume, mingled with the aroma of her silky auburn hair. He could almost hear her delicate but seductive voice and feel the touch of her hands, always cold but loving. It had an intoxicating effect on his mind, and he could visualize ancient seafarers who were lured by the Sirens to their fate. So it was with Shannon…

Suddenly, a rude slap at the outside of the newspaper snapped Alex to attention, and the nostalgic images that had conjured before his eyes abruptly vanished. He sighed and slowly looked up at the assailant with his piercing blue eyes that seemed to know all and see all. Under normal circumstances, he may have verbally lambasted his tormentor, but his mind was still weak and distant. After several seconds, he grinned when he recognized the source of the impudence as his friend, Brad Slater.

Hey, Brad. Long time, no see, Alex said in a soft and equally perpetually seductive voice of his own as he neatly folded the paper and placed it on the table on which he rested his right elbow.

Sure has been. Over five years I guess, he said, returning the grin with a smirk that could easily have been mistaken for smugness to those who did not know him.

Alex leveled his gaze at Brad and rubbed his chin as he thought about the statement. He was utterly surprised by how quickly time had passed. Hardly seems that long since graduation.

Gesturing to the empty contemporary leather chair opposite Alex, Brad queried, May I?

Apparently startled, Alex offered with a short nod, Oh, of course. Please do. After Brad appeared to be comfortably seated, Alex continued with a socially obligatory effort of joviality and feigned interest, What have you been up to? Weren’t you a marketing major?

Brad offered a tepid smile, though his furrowed brow indicated his displeasure and his remark was more derisive. Not much, unfortunately. The job market hasn’t been very good. Been waiting tables over at California Dreaming. With a warming smile that was more indicative of his generally affable personality, he added, Can’t complain about that though. The tips are pretty good, and it pays the bills. He hesitated and ran his hand through his greasy-looking slicked-back black hair, then smiled to reveal brilliantly white teeth that contrasted starkly with his tan complexion. And it gives me time to spend at the beach and the pool.

Mmmm… Alex mumbled, as if a show of contempt for the lack of initiative and the suggestion that lying by the pool or on the beach tanning had any meritorious value whatsoever. He steepled his fingers and, looking thoughtful, said with some sarcasm, Well, I’m sorry to hear that.

Brad shrugged nonchalantly and maintained his smile. Something will come along in time.

Yes, I suppose so, Alex said flatly, then tilted his head slightly. Have you been checking with Marsh and Nelson? he asked, referring to the locally owned advertising agency, one of the largest in the state, that had recently undergone a minor shareholder dispute that led to the ouster of the management team that had founded the firm nearly a decade ago and built it to its present strength. Alex smiled with the satisfaction of knowing he had had a hand in fomenting the discontent and watching it play out exactly as he had foreseen. The new CEO did some housecleaning recently, and I understand they’re looking for some fresh blood.

Brad pursed his lips and tapped the granite tabletop with his fingertips. Hadn’t heard about that, but I’ll check into it, he said with genuine interest.

Alex thought for a moment and considered the value of his next offer, knowing that his help could have multiple benefits for numerous parties, current and future. He liked having friends in strategically valuable places, particularly if those friends owed him a favor or two, and Brad definitely fell into that category. I know some people over there. I’d be glad to make a few calls and put in a good word for you, if you’re seriously interested.

Brad’s eyes brightened immediately, and he seemed to sit at attention in his chair. Very kind of you. I’d be beholden. He started to add something but was interrupted.

Enough of that, Alex said dismissively.

Brad cleared his throat and looked away quickly, not wanting to ruin the opportunity that had been offered by his acquaintance. I hear you got a good job thanks to certain members of the finance faculty at College of Charleston, he said with another smirk.

Though not at all amused by the comment, since his own performance in college spoke for itself and was enough on its own to secure him a good position, Alex managed to hide his displeasure as he nodded slightly and added, I count my blessings. They did look out for me, and I’m very fortunate that I got into my field, especially in this area. I really can’t imagine myself living in New York or even Charlotte, for that matter. Perhaps London in the future, but this is my home. I don’t really want to leave Charleston. I’ve too much invested here, he added with narrowed eyes that gazed by Brad into oblivion.

Don’t blame you, Brad agreed with a shake of his head, unaware that his counterpart was oblivious to the comments. There’s nothing like the historic district and the beaches. Then he switched gears. The business school, and particularly the management department, benefited by having you there, their star student—number one in the entire college. And you benefited from them too. So, it was a mutually rewarding relationship for both of you.

Looking toward Brad from the corner of his eyes, Alex said, I must admit I’m grateful for all they did.

Brad was about to speak when a short but very attractive young woman in her early twenties approached. She was clearly of Hispanic descent and was carrying two biodegradable cups full of coffee. He turned his attention to her and flashed a smile. Glancing at Alex with the glowing smile of the Cheshire cat, he said, Alex, this is Lisa Lopez, my fiancée. Lisa, this is Alex Rommel. He and I went to college together.

Alex scrambled to his feet and grabbed an empty chair from the adjacent table. He moved it closer and offered it to her with a welcoming gesture. He was immediately captivated by her large, round, dark eyes that emanated seductive prowess and perfectly complemented her slightly colored skin. Her jet-black hair that seemed to glisten with deep purple highlights in every glimmer of light was pulled back in a tight ponytail that fell past her neck to between her shoulders. Her lush lips were unadulterated by lipstick, only adding to her outward perfection.

Please have a seat, Alex said graciously. Congratulations to you both. Turning to Brad, he said, I don’t mean to be nosy, Brad, but I thought you and Sara Lawson were very serious. You were quite an item during our college days.

Veiling a small frown for Lisa’s sake, Brad was dismissive when he said, Things just didn’t work out. After we graduated, Sara moved to Atlanta and got a good job with one of the big accounting firms, so we just went our separate ways.

I see, Alex said quietly as he nodded and looked at Lisa. Did you go to the College of Charleston? Do you know each other from there?

Lisa’s startlingly beautiful eyes were focused on Brad as she replied, No. I actually went to Duke. I’m from Greensboro, North Carolina. Brad and I actually met on the Internet.

Brad, with a flat palm up as he sensed the natural skepticism that was apparent on Alex’s face, defended, Now don’t go jumping to conclusions, Alex. I know how skeptical you are about that kind of thing.

From a contemptuous pursing of the lips, Alex could not suppress a smile. Very skeptical.

Brad turned to an attentive Lisa and offered an explanation. Alex was very vocal in his opposition to the Internet and its role in the ‘new economy’ when we were in college. He gave a few speeches out there and took a lot of flak for his views from both students and faculty.

Alex, leaning back in the chair with satisfaction and a tinge of smugness, said, If you recall, I did predict the collapse of the Internet-related stocks and the tech sector in the markets. Everyone thought I was crazy then, but time proved me right. A lot of people are now wishing they had listened to me before they invested everything they had in those doomed dot coms.

Lisa’s eyes flashed the smile before it reached her lips. He who laughs last…

Alex lapsed serious. It was unfortunate for many, and I don’t take any pleasure in it. A lot of people lost their savings and retirement funds because of all those fly-by-night tech companies.

Brad interjected, It didn’t do much for the reputation of financial analysts either.

Yeah, the whole profession suffered because of it. But you know how it is—a few drunks give drinking a bad name. So it was in that case, explained Alex.

Lisa turned her attention to her fiancé’s college buddy. What do you do, Alex? You look like a banker or something, she said in reference to Alex’s heavily starched and pressed light green dress shirt, open at the collar, with French cuffs and sterling silver cufflinks, along with his neatly creased black dress trousers, held up by suspenders as opposed to a belt, and his highly polished Bruno Magli shoes.

I work for a management and financial consulting firm, Alex replied as he looked her straight in the eyes.

Brad laughed. "Yeah, he works for them. His sidelong glance at Alex was meant to question the modesty. He’s only their executive vice president."

Lisa raised her eyebrows. Impressive, she said, then added, and important.

Not as nearly as impressive or as important as it sounds, I assure you, Alex said, but I enjoy what I do, and I get to meet a lot of interesting people and learn about their businesses.

How in the world did you ever strike up a friendship with this bum? she said with joking admiration, gazing at her fiancé.

Brad jumped in, Alex and I worked on a couple of group projects together when we were in school. He hesitated. I lucked out there, he added with a laugh.

Alex relaxed slightly and laughed as well at the self-deprecating humor. I guess you did.

Do you get to travel a lot? Lisa queried. I imagine the client base is somewhat limited around here.

Alex nodded. It is limited to some extent, but I’m not much of a jet-setter. I prefer to send others out—my foot soldiers, I guess—to do the groundwork. They bring the information back to me, and then I do the hard stuff.

Must be nice, Lisa said with a slight nod as she eyed Alex curiously from her comfortable position in the leather chair, leaning back with her smooth legs crossed, her yellow and blue sundress revealing a delicious-looking part of her thigh.

And what do you do? Alex queried of Lisa.

Lisa smiled. I’m a lawyer. I work for Brannigan International Partners.

Really? Alex said with surprise at the mention of the largest law firm in the Carolinas, known for everything from tackling industrial polluters to high-profile divorces to defending corrupt politicians to international business dealings. Are you at the local office or in North Carolina?

I’m at the Raleigh-Durham office right now, she said, but I’ll be transferring to the Charleston office by the end of the year. I need to wrap things up with my life up there.

I see, Alex said. What do you specialize in?

Business law, predominantly, Lisa said, mainly international stuff.

Alex nodded, and a chill ran down his spine at the mention of international business dealings and a renowned law firm. He was all too familiar with the complex maze of international business dealings—the hazards, the pitfalls, the nuances, and the risks, both personal and financial. He could see how dangerous Lisa could be in business dealings and litigation, her stunningly good looks captivating the parties and giving her the advantage to manipulate once their guards were down. If it came down to it, he would want her on his side; she seemed like far too dangerous of an opponent.

Excellent, he said. I may have the occasion to discuss some personal business with you.

Hmm. Well, we’re always looking for new clients, she said, particularly influential and affluent ones in this community.

Alex is definitely a good person to know around here, Brad interrupted and broke the visual lock that Lisa and Alex had on each other.

You overestimate me, Alex said quietly as he lowered his eyes and fumbled with his cufflinks to be sure nothing was out of place.

Somehow I doubt that, Lisa concluded. Then, out of nowhere, she asked, Are you married?

There was a subtle but noticeable narrowing of his eyes and a glance away that hid the pain that was evident from his body language: the tightening of the lips; the sudden, sharp intake of breath; the immediate sorrowful demeanor. No, I’m not, Alex answered sharply and with finality.

Anyone in your life? Lisa continued with a tilt of her head and an inquisitive look in her eyes.

No, he said a little too quickly and a little too flatly.

Lisa wasn’t one to let a sleeping dog lie. "But there was someone?"

Alex seemed once again lost in the moment, his mind drifting to another place as he replied, I lost someone several years ago. I got wrapped up in my studies at school and some personal business dealings, and I just never had the chance to get involved with anyone new.

Oh, Lisa said sadly. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. May I ask what happened?

She just… well, she just disappeared one day, Alex said, his voice cracking at the end. We don’t know what happened to her.

The emptiness seemed to envelop him as he spoke of her, just as it had done each and every day since she had gone, leaving a void in his life that had yet to be filled; he didn’t know if it ever would be. Deep inside, at the thought of those final days, his emotions swirled into a vivid cocktail of questions and pain, as if it were happening all over again. He had relived those moments so many times over the last few years, each instance hurting as much as the first.

There’s no one now? Lisa asked.

Alex’s eyes refocused on Lisa. No. Not too many other opportunities, I suppose.

Brad seemed to sense the tension that was boiling inside his friend. Oh, come on. Alex. You and I both know you were a heartthrob in college. You were great academically, and you played tennis like a pro. There were a lot of girls after you, but you were too busy with things.

That’s a bit of an overstatement, Alex said softly.

Brad shook his head. Felicia was crazy for you, but you wouldn’t give her the time of day. She’s still here in town, you know. I understand she still has a thing for you.

Your enthusiasm is touching, Brad, Alex said.

Continuing where his girl left off, Brad said, Well, how about now? You’re one of the most eligible bachelors in town. I’m sure there are young ladies available. After all, there is a very favorable female-to-male ratio in this town. What is it? Two to one?

Avoiding solid eye contact and shaking his head in what could only be described as a forlorn manner, Alex said in a near monotone voice, It’s not easy. When you’re working behind a desk all day, you don’t meet a lot of new people. I’m sure you know I’m not one for the bar scene or nightclubs. I just wouldn’t be comfortable there anymore.

Brad became pensive at the last comment and nodded in agreement. I know how you feel, Alex. I was in the same boat after Sara and I went our separate ways. That’s why I turned to the Internet.

Alex shrugged, then tapped his index finger on the tabletop, as if he was growing impatient with the whole conversation—or at least the existence of the World Wide Web. I’m glad it worked for you, but your case is a rarity. Those relationships nurtured by the Internet don’t typically last. Most of them never go anywhere, and those that do usually end up in divorce.

The comment drew a raised eyebrow from Lisa. Is that an assumption?

Not at all. Alex shook his head. There have been plenty of studies to back that up, he said sternly to indicate his authority on the topic.

Brad attempted to lighten the situation. You’re being too rigid, too skeptical, Alex.

Wouldn’t you like to meet a beautiful woman to share your free time with? Lisa chimed in.

Alex gazed at her impish smile that melted his heart. It was a smile similar to one he had gazed upon a thousand times, with the same tender effect each time, making him feel secure, appreciated, and—most importantly—loved. It was the smile he had seen on Shannon’s face when he kissed her goodnight for the last time, the smile that was now, in retrospect, almost blatantly but quietly foreboding. Had he thought more about it and what it may have meant; had he taken the time to do more yet at the same time do less; had he not taken it for granted, perhaps he would have seen that smile the next day and every day thereafter. That smile was emblazoned in his mind, and that caused him pain each and every time it crossed through his complex mind.

Like me? Lisa added, as if she sensed that Alex was drifting away.

Alex’s mind snapped back to attention, yet he was unsure if he had been absorbed in the memories for too long and worried he had caused an awkward and rude silence at the table. Unsure still if it had been seconds or minutes since Lisa had spoken, he cleared his throat. Uh, that would be wonderful, he said sanguinely, then added flatly, but there are other issues.

Brad crossed his arms in what was almost an act of defiance. Such as? he queried equally sternly as Alex had injected in his tone before.

His mind was already on the offensive, and Alex was ready for the challenge to his assertions. Any person you meet online could be virtually anyone, he offered with a dismissive wave of his hand. They may not actually be who… He hesitated and pursed his lips before adding, ". . . or what they claim." The inflection in his voice with the addition of the last words would have tempted most to take the bait and be lured into his argumentative trap, but the words were duplicitous, he reminded himself consciously, as he recalled the trove of e-mails from certain business ventures on which he had found himself on the opposite side of popular sentiment.

Brad smiled ever so slightly; the casual observer in the conversation would presume the smile was a result of the opportunity to use Alex’s own words against him. You’re being paranoid, Alex. In your own words, ‘It’s the drunks who give drinking a bad name.’

Alex pursed his lips and nodded his head, cleverly concealing the counterpoint made by his acquaintance. Still, Alex said, hesitantly but defiantly, the Internet is undeniably somewhat impersonal and a bit ambiguous. The people you meet are just a name and some words on a screen.

He had always been skeptical of the Internet, ever since his days in college, and his opinion had not changed despite the overwhelming improvements in productivity and efficiency that he would have argued in support of in an economics debate. The Internet was a shadowy world, a realm of smoke and mirrors. Anyone could say they were anyone or anything on the Internet with little need to offer documenting support. He had the bitter taste of this in his mouth with the dealings in Hawaii with an organization that had presented itself as one thing but remained clouded in mystery—not knowing the people behind the façade.

In Alex’s opinion, it was merely a distrustful instrument the world used each and every day, an instrument most had become sadly addicted to and could not live without. He, himself, was heavily dependent upon it for his work and livelihood, and he couldn’t imagine a world without the Internet’s functionality and accessibility and tremendous benefits. Still, though, he could hardly fathom meeting someone online and falling in love with them without the benefit of seeing them in person, watching their mannerisms and their demeanor, gaining valuable insights into their character, their person, their very being in real, everyday life. It certainly wasn’t the way he wanted to meet the love of his life.

In the true spirit of the matchmaker, Lisa asserted, Until you meet them. Then you would know, wouldn’t you? That smile of hers was weakening him bit by bit.

Alex again hesitated, then continued to enhance his argument. Then there’s the type of people you meet on the Internet. His voice was tinged with contempt.

Since he had left the insinuation dangling in the air, Brad glanced at Lisa and said, Best be careful there, Alex. Lisa and I might take offense. Apparently not wanting his comment to be taken too seriously or interpreted as a slight, Brad smiled and added,

We seem to be a good match. It worked for us.

You two are the exception to the rule, Alex snapped sharply. You know full well that most of the people on the online matchmaking sites are big women, losers, or dysfunctional derelicts. None of the three of us at this table fit that bill. He raised his eyebrows inquisitively, as if daring either of his guests to challenge the statement. You have to wonder why anyone would resort to the online dating scene in most cases.

Well, Brad said with a sigh, "you do have somewhat of a legitimate point. There are a lot of big, beautiful women on there. They may not be what you want, but they’re all you’ll ever want."

Lisa shot a contemptuous glance at Brad. There is certainly a wide range of people on these sites, she said derisively, but there are a lot of good, normal people among them. There’s someone for everyone. Saying that everyone on the dating sites is, in general, ‘a dysfunctional derelict’—I believe those were your words—is quite judgmental and narrow-minded, don’t you think? It’s like throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Leaning forward slightly in her chair and tapping her right hand on the tabletop, as if indicating a growing assertiveness, Lisa went on, Brad and I were online simply because of time and lifestyle issues. I work a lot at the law firm, and I didn’t have the time or the desire to go out bar-hopping to find my soul mate. Besides, that restricts your selection to people in the same geographic area. Alex, try to look at it is as a legitimate introduction service, a way to be introduced to other singles. What you do from there is entirely up to you.

Alex, stubborn in his convictions, fought on despite the mounting logic against his opposition. But it goes back to not knowing whom you’re really being introduced to until you come face to face with them… and I have never been one for blind dates.

Brad threw his arm over the back of his chair and slumped down to a more comfortable, relaxed position. You might be pleasantly surprised, he quipped. He watched Alex’s reaction intently as he added with a smirk, And wouldn’t that be something? Mr. Skeptical finding his soul mate online?

It would be ironic, Alex said with a brusque laugh, breaking what had become a slightly tense moment in the discussion, but I still don’t think it’s for me, he concluded with a sense of dejection.

Lisa tilted her head slightly to the right as she surveyed Alex’s expression and his melancholic, cold eyes, then asked, Are you lonely? She quickly caught herself, realizing the question may have been too personal and a touch painful. "No, wait… let me rephrase that. You seem lonely."

Alex’s eyes narrowed and looked intent, perhaps bordering on irritated. His gaze fell upon Lisa, and after making eye contact—which in an instant revealed a glimpse of regret and loss—he looked quickly out the window at the passersby. Thoughts of quiet nights alone in his condo, the essence of a suave bachelor pad, with a cold, empty spot next to him in his soft bed, a spot that had once been occupied by warm, soft flesh, stabbed at his mind violently. The emptiness that gave his once-warm and inviting home a cold, sepulchral feeling was overbearing at times and tugged at his subconscious as it did each and every day; he longed to avoid going back to that lonely, depressing, hellish tomb. It was the feeling of loss that encompassed one who had just lost a life companion to the dark recesses of death.

Nobody lies about being lonely, he said sharply, his eyes slowly turning back toward Lisa’s own, which were filled with solace and what appeared to be genuine concern. I’m not going to lie, he continued in a soft tone, as he slowly arose from his chair and seamlessly tucked the folded newspaper under his arm. He looked like he regretted the comment in some deep and personal way. Anyway, I have to be going. Brad, it was good seeing you, buddy, and Lisa, it was nice meeting you. He offered his hand, and when she accepted it, he squeezed it gently, the feel of her soft hand reminding him of Shannon’s own delicate hands and carefully manicured nails. There was a longing in his touch that lasted a second too long before he consciously pulled his hand away, as if he feared the gesture opened a window to his soul for Lisa to see through. He puffed his chest out ever so slightly and raised his chin fractionally, as if commanding the situation. Maybe the three of us could get together for dinner soon, he concluded.

Brad glanced at Lisa for approval, then smiled warmly. We’d like that, he said. Give me your card so I can get in touch with you.

Alex removed a silver money clip, engraved with his initials, from his side trouser pocket and carefully removed a business card from between two credit cards and a wad of what appeared to be a mixture of fifty- and twenty-dollar bills. He gave it a cursory glance, then offered it to Brad, who accepted it and looked immediately for a cell number and an e-mail address. My cell number is there, Alex explained. Give me a call or shoot me a text message, and we’ll set something up. I’ll be around. The last comment and the tone of his voice seemed to indicate and encapsulate his quiet torment.

I’ll make sure he does it, Lisa assured Alex. We’ll look forward to it.

As Alex walked away from the table and toward the door, putting no more than twenty feet between them, he heard Lisa’s voice softly say, He seems so sad. There’s something tragic about him.

Instinctively, Alex slowed his pace and diverted his path to the cashier stand next to the door so he could continue to eavesdrop without being seen.

Women do that to us guys, Brad said in a tone that was audibly more than a whisper or muted conversational tone. Look, Alex comes from old money, he continued, but he’s shy about it. He was a top student, and he has a reputation for being a tough businessman. I’m sure he’ll hook up with someone.

Alex suppressed a contemptuous smile at the remark then indicated to the cashier that he wanted a copy of The Financial Times. He was intently focusing on hearing the conversation, though it was quite difficult with Lisa’s muffled tone and the sound of the door opening and closing as new customers arrived. Alex fumbled around as if looking for his money clip in a slick stall for time at the counter.

He said he ‘lost’ someone, Lisa said. I get the feeling he really means lost.

Yeah, I think she was South American, Brad admitted. I saw her once at one of the championship tennis matches at school. She was smoking hot—I mean, a flat-out eleven on a ten-point scale. I heard she was killed in an accident of some kind, but it’s really just a lot of rumor and speculation. He was a great tennis player for the college, but he seemed out of place socially, as if his mind was always on something else, never the here and now. I remember he got sick with pneumonia in school our senior year, first semester. He missed about two weeks of classes. When he came back, he looked like death warmed over, and he never stepped on the court again. His personality changed, and he was suddenly even more mysterious. He didn’t socialize at all and was always very guarded, very reserved—not like any college kid I ever knew. The rumors around school were that there had been a threat on his life and that his girlfriend was murdered, something to do with some people he did business with in Hawaii or Tahiti or somewhere.

The air in the room seemed to become suddenly thin to Alex at the recollection of those days, stirred up by Brad’s comments; the thoughts that were resurrected from those days and the lingering anguish, uncertainty, and anxiety caused his mind to swell and produce an intense anger and bitterness deep in his soul. He wanted to lash out violently and decisively to put an end to it all, but he knew that was not possible now, despite all it had cost him and so many around him. No, it would continue, just as his pain and suffering would. He had lost so many days already to that pain, and he would never get them back.

He wanted to turn back to Brad and Lisa and tell them the real story, to set the record straight, if only for his own satisfaction, so that perhaps they, unlike others, would understand and sympathize. But he knew he could not do that, not after he had left their presence and made his goodbyes, lest it be obvious he had intentionally stalled in order to overhear their private conversation. No, I’ll let it go for now. It’s not the time or the place. Let them speculate. Like Brad said, they’re only rumors.

Drugs? Lisa asked skeptically.

Brad laughed. Heck no! Alex is totally square. It was just some people he apparently dealt hard with. I guess they took offense. Nobody really knows what happened, though, and it all made him more suspicious and paranoid about people and things. You can see how guarded he is.

Hmmm, Lisa mumbled. I’d like to see him hooked up.

Are you thinking of playing Cupid? Brad asked suspiciously. Careful if you are. There are lots of pitfalls in that game, you know.

We’ll see, Lisa said confidently.

And that was the last thing Alex heard as he stepped out the door and into the warm Charleston afternoon, putting on his mirrored aviator sunglasses in a suave manner as he suppressed a smile.

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Upon entering his condo that was situated on the waterfront overlooking the harbor in one of the most expensive areas of the city, Alex nudged the door closed behind him with his foot. He placed the newspapers and his keys on the small bureau in the black and white tiled foyer, accented with a crystal and silver chandelier, the soft glow of which reflected off the mirror behind the bureau. He locked the deadbolt and two additional safety locks on the door, which seemed to be a bit of overkill, given that the building was already gated with a manned security station at the entrance and twenty-four-hour concierge situated in the modern, stainless steel-laden lobby. Nevertheless, as unnecessary as his subconscious knew the extra locks were, they made Alex feel all the more safe.

The elegance of the condo suited the handsome, cosmopolitan businessman, though it seemed oddly out of place in the modern glass building so sparsely decorated with furnishings and a rather minimalistic design. The building looked as if it had been uprooted from a place like New York or London, not Charleston, a town known for its history and laidback nature. Alex, however, had kept his fourteenth-floor, 3,000-square foot condo in tradition with the city. The place was lavish, yet understated with its oriental rugs, gleaming hardwood mahogany floors and butter-soft leather sofas. The Modigliani above the imported Tuscan marble fireplace offered the perfect counterpoint to the classical beauty of the rose marble. He set his compact leather briefcase down by the hand-carved desk with glass top and headed for the mirrored wet bar to mix an evening drink of Crown Royal and ginger ale. The silver-tone mountings of the Beaumont-style Waterford chandelier overhead tied the stuffiness of the decorative era that Alex wished to capture to the ultra-modern design of the building.

As the last rays of the setting sun slanted in, it played off the crystal chandelier with matching table lamps and the amber-colored liquid in the glass in his hand. He slipped off the powder-blue bowtie that perfectly offset his handsome eyes, slipped his arms out of his suspenders, and took his drink to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows on the corner of the building, where he could gaze out at the choppy waters of Charleston Harbor, on which pleasure boats and massive cargo ships caught the glimmering rays of the dying sunlight. Far out in the harbor, he could see the distinctive outline of Fort Sumter, the small Union garrison, standing lonely guard, as if it was still protecting the city that had been involved in the first shots of the Civil War. The lights of the Ravenel Bridge, a modern architectural marvel covering the span of the Cooper River, cast an eerie glow in the distance, but it also added a wonderful focal point for the skyline.

It is indeed a beautiful, historic city, he mused. Rich in tradition and old money. Alex appeared perfectly at home both in his opulent high-rise and the city of Charleston, both of which offered all the conveniences of a good life without the headaches and costs that were so often associated with a much larger city like Charlotte, Atlanta, or New York—not to mention a much better climate. He lifted the generously poured drink to his lips and took a grateful sip, allowing the warm liquor and cool ginger ale to have their invigorating, yet numbing effect on his mind and body as he watched a young couple, obviously in love, frolicking on the poolside veranda that was outlined with glowing tiki torches many floors below.

Lucky, he half-whispered, gazing at them with some envy that gave way to longing and remembrance of times when others may have thought the same thing as they watched Shannon and him carousing about the town from one fine restaurant or lounge to another, whatever the hotspot was at the time—the places people went in order to be seen. He recalled hot summer nights, cruising the downtown streets in their silver BMW convertible, the still air clinging to them like a warm wool blanket, and her playful but snooty laugh at nothing in particular. In those stiletto heels and thin, colorful sundresses of hers that revealed a little too much of her shapely figure and toned, flawless skin, she could turn the heads of both men and women whenever they walked down the street. And when the evening was over and they were both a little tipsy, they would return home to be with each other, holding each other close, lips pressed tightly together, bodies embracing, feeling the slightest touch and twinge of anticipation.

Theirs was a real and meaningful relationship; their togetherness had meaning. And while he had tried to replace her with other women, Alex could not suppress her image from his mind. Every time he embraced another woman in his condo, no matter how beautiful her features, how soft her skin, or how sexy her dress, he could only remember Shannon. In a city where women outnumbered men three to one, he could have found a young woman most men only dream of, for nothing more than a drop of a few drinks in the right bars, but he never found another woman who satisfied him wholly. He knew he was being too difficult, too picky, and that he had set his standards too high, comparing them all to her. He knew, too, that it would be difficult to find someone who offered all that Shannon had: stunning good looks, keen wit and intelligence, intoxicating seductiveness, tender understanding and compassion, unwavering decency, and playful sauciness. He knew she was special, but he had not realized how special until he went back on the circuit looking for a new companion. After she was gone, he truly appreciated all she had brought into his life. Perhaps if I had appreciated her more then . . . he began to scold himself but quickly stopped from going down that road.

It took the ringing telephone to bring him back from his meandering. He calmly turned and crossed the room back to his desk, where he picked up his compact cell phone and saw that the caller was one of his former professors from college. His friend Thomas Samuels was a preeminent scholar in the field of statistics and economics and had befriended him and Shannon during his studies and tennis endeavors at the college. Though he was forty years Alex’s senior, the two had been close friends ever since Thomas offered Alex insights on improving his tennis game, advice that could not be gained from how-to books or lessons—the kind of know-how that could come only from experience and wisdom. Thomas had always been there for Alex and Shannon; he was someone they could both turn to whenever they needed advice or guidance on or off the courts.

It had been a rewarding relationship for all of them. Alex and Shannon had been there for Thomas when his wife, thirty years his junior, took ill with breast cancer. Alex was there for Thomas while Shannon was there for Julie—until the bitter end on that cold Christmas Day a few years earlier. It was a devastating loss for everyone, but it was a blessing in disguise, for Julie’s pain and suffering was