Natasha
Natasha
The storm was blowing stronger outside.
Jake Bennett sat by the fireside, book in hand. His fingers caressed the pages of yet another volume of theological text. His right hand was preoccupied with taking down copious amounts of notes from the tome, and his mind was taken up with the task of memorizing the information that he couldn't fit on his notepad.
He was so caught up in his activities that when the scratching began at the door, he nearly leapt from his seat at the fireplace. He stood slowly and walked to the front door, turning the lock and allowing his dog, Logan, entrance to the house.
The dog trundled happily through the living room and into the kitchen. Jake followed him into the room and poured a bowl of dry food for the hungry animal, who began devouring it before it had even been completely dispensed. Jake chuckled and returned to the living room, and his studies.
A loud crash echoed through the night, and several moments of silence passed. At the end of that time, there was another flash, and the lights went out synchronous to the second roll of thunder. Jake stood still, waiting for the lights to come back on, but instead, the darkness endured. He gave up and felt his way to the fireside, removing a pair of candles from their place on the mantle. He removed a lighter from his pocket and lit the candles, taking them to opposite ends of the coffee table and leaving them to illuminate the room.
Logan howled, and Jake spun around, searching for something inexplicable as another flash of lightning illuminated the room. Jake's eyes settled upon the front picture window in that brief moment, and upon the sillhouette framed within it, before the thunder rolled through the darkness on the heels of the light.
Jake went to his end table and opened a drawer, removing his preferred weapon of defence. The twelve-inch long blade of Jake's knife seemed to catch the dim light of the candles and reflect an evil gleam, like the glimmer of a dragon's eye in a firestorm. He went to the door and reached to turn the lock.
There came a pounding at the door, and Jake jumped back, nearly dropping his blade. He gripped the weapon tighter in his hand and reached again for the lock.
He found the deadbolt and turned it, an audible click sounding throughout the house. The night became silent as death, and Jake turned the knob, pulling open the door. He moved behind it, ready to ambush whatever came inside.
A moment passed, and no one entered. Finally a voice unlike any that Jake had ever heard called out, "Hello?"
It was a deep voice, decidedly masculine, but held the grace and lilt of a female's voice. It was gentle, and kind, and warm. The undertones within that single word were enough to carry Jake away, and a moment passed by before he could finally respond. He took in a deep breath and peeked his head around the door.
The silhouette was roughly six feet in height. It was obvious that the owner of it wore longish hair. It hung, soggy, from the sides of his head. The voice spoke again.
"I am truly sorry to disturb you, sir. I was caught unawares by this storm, and I am without a place to take refuge. Would you be so kind as to allow me shelter for the duration of the deluge? I can pay you, if you desire."
Jake's jaw dropped. He recovered, and stammered, "P-p-please, come in."
The silhouette nodded, and stepped into the house. Jake closed the door behind him, and the figure moved to the fire. Jake stood, staring, and the shadow came into view.
The man was, indeed, roughly six feet tall, and his hair hung to his shoulders, black as the midnight sky. He was dressed in a black suit with a slim red tie, and wore a trench coat over all of it.
Jake stepped forward. "Let me take your coat," he offered.
The man looked at him. Jake stopped in his tracks, transfixed by the man's eyes. They were bluer than the deepest ocean, set in a face as white as snow. "Thank you," he replied, shrugging easily out of the garment.
Jake recovered and caught the coat as it was handed to him. He turned and placed the mantle upon the coat rack by the door, then turned back to gaze upon his guest once more. The man was slender, and carried himself with ease. Jake watched as he stooped to warm his hands by the fire. He perched himself on his feet and leaned forward, as though something were balancing him--something unseen. Jake shivered for a moment.
The man noticed. "Am I taking up your space at the fire, kind sir? I do humbly apologize."
Jake shook his head. "No, no, not at all. Be my guest."
The man smiled again. "Your graciousness is overwhelming, kind sir. Would that there were more of you in the world."
Jake moved to the fire hesitantly, offering his hand. "My name is Jake."
The man took his hand. "You may call me Natasha."
Jake released the man's hand after a moment. He was surprised by the handshake. It was firm, and warm, yet not the slightest bit rough. His eyes moved to the kitchen, and he suddenly remembered Logan. He begged Natasha's pardon and hurried off to search for his dog. When he entered the kitchen, candle in hand, he found the dog in the laundry hamper, trembling. He knelt beside his pet and stroked his fur, but nothing could placate the animal.
In the living room, Jake could hear his piano. He strode back into the room and stopped at the doorway, watching. Natasha sat upon the bench, his fingertips kissing the ivory keys as music unlike any he had ever heard swelled from the instrument. There were light harmonies drifting over deeper chords, with a hint of something darker--something...sadder.
Natasha spied Jake in the doorway, and the music stopped. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Bennett. I did not mean any harm."
"Where did you learn to play like that?" Jake wanted to know.
Natasha smiled. "I just...picked a little bit up, here and there. My brother plays the trumpet exquisitely. We used to play together, sort of a duet. Our father loved to hear us play."
The smile faded from Natasha's face, and Jake walked over to the piano. "What happened?" he inquired, leaning on the side of the instrument.
Natasha stared at the keys, running his hands idly over them. Finally, he looked back up at Jake. "There was...another child. Our father favored him over me and my brother. My brother accepted it. I was furious with my father, and said so. He threw me out of his house, and told me never to return."
Jake nodded. "My father and I had words once. It came to blows. I broke his jaw. There was an even bigger argument, and we both stomped off. He went inside, I went out to the barn. When I came back in the next morning to apologize, my suitcases were packed, and sitting on the porch. I took the hint--and the bags--and I've never been home since."
Natasha looked up at Jake, eyes running over with tears. "Whatever did you argue about?"
Jake laughed. "You know, I can't even remember. But I'm my father's son. We're both stubborn bastards who'll never let go of something once it's set in our minds."
"Pride is something I used to have," Natasha told him, his voice choking. "Pride and Grace. I lost my Grace a long, long time ago. All I have left is my Pride, and I'd give that up in an instant to be at my father's side again."
Jake stopped. "What about your brother?"
Natasha shook his head. "He's still with our father. He wants nothing to do with me."
Jake reached out and cupped his hand around Natasha's shoulder. "The bond between brothers is stronger than a tie to a father. Ask forgiveness of your brother as well. He is just as important."
Natasha smiled, touching his hand to Jake's. "Thank you for your concern."
Jake nodded, and Natasha moved off, bound for the kitchen. Logan scrambled from the room as Natasha entered. Jake looked worriedly after his dog, then turned to Natasha. The man was shivering.
"Are you all right?" Jake inquired.
Natasha nodded. "I'm not used to this cold," he replied. "I live in an area where we get little cold weather."
Jake nodded. "Florida?"
Natasha's smile was lopsided. "Further south. It hardly matters."
Jake shrugged, walking the length of the room to the coffee pot. "Would you like a cup? I just brewed it an hour ago."
Natasha nodded, rubbing his arms. "That would be extraordinarily wonderful, Mr. Bennett."
Jake nodded, extracting two cups from the cabinet. He turned to his guest as he poured. "Cream and sugar?"
Natasha shook his head. "Black."
Jake turned back, added cream to his cup, stirred, and turned back to Natasha, who had quit the room. When Jake caught up to him, he was in the living room again, regarding the bookshelves with interest. "You are a student of theology, Mr. Bennett?"
Jake nodded. "I've been attending a local Christian College for the past two years. I have to declare my major soon, and I'm poring over my texts in search of inspiration."
Natasha turned back to him, accepting the cup and taking a small sip. He nodded approval and savored the taste of the brew a moment, basking in the scent, before answering. "Your are a great teacher of the ways of the heart. You should counsel those in need."
"I tried several times, in a tutoring position," Jake told him. "I never managed to succeed with any of my students."
Natasha smiled crookedly. "There is a Chinese proverb which states that a teacher merely opens the door. The student must enter it. You give of yourself, your home, your sanctity of spirit, Mr. Bennett. You are one of the finest souls wandering the earth." In a lower voice, filled with unearthly fatigue, he added, "I should know."
Jake's eyes narrowed slightly. "Natasha. That sounds Russian."
Natasha laughed. "Your curiosity is your only weakness, Mr. Bennett. It is better that you trust your heart, and let the forces of the universe weave their skein about you. All that Creation asks of you is your best in whatever capacity you perform."
Jake reached out with his hand, and the men locked grips in a firm, unvoiced unity.
Natasha looked to the ceiling. Another crash of thunder echoed through the hills, and Natasha stood. "I must go."
Jake rose from where he was leaning. "The storm hasn't passed yet, you know."
Natasha nodded. "There are things that must be done." He turned around and stared into Jake's eyes, his own still glistening with the memory of his recent sorrow. "I must find my brother."
Jake nodded. "Good luck," he offered solemnly.
Natasha reached over and touched Jake's forehead with his first two fingers. "And to you, Mr. Bennett."
Jake closed his eyes, and all the suffering and beauty of a thousand lifetimes seemed to pulse through his mind all at once. He stumbled, and nearly fell, but caught himself on the side of the piano. When he recovered, the door was shutting.
Jake ran to the window and looked out, hoping to see Natasha's departing shape in the blackness. He peered out into the night and saw him as the clouds briefly parted.
He stood in the field outside of Jake's house, head bowed against the rain that glistened in the beams of moonlight. A second silhouette stepped out of the darkness, and reached out a hand. He touched Natasha upon the forehead, just as Natasha had done, and the two figures embraced.
The clouds once again covered the moon. Jake lost them in the darkness, but as the lightning flashed again, he thought he could see, just for a moment, two winged shadows taking to the midnight sky.
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