Prologue

 

The building stood alone, at the edge of the college green. A neglected side door was in sore need of repair, but still allowed egress from the left side of the structure onto a narrow cobblestone alleyway. The hinges were rusty arthritic joints, and they spoke with squeaking complaint as a student pushed the door open.

He was in his early twenties. His dark brown hair was in slight disarray, as if he had dressed quickly, with rushed preoccupation. He was tall and slim, with broad shoulders but a non-muscular build. His pensive hazel eyes seemed to reflect some great disappointment, and his shoulders were burdened with regret.

He paused momentarily on the small landing, from which three weathered and uneven stone steps flowed like smooth waves of water from the aging door. The exit was a leaky and defective valve for the reservoir of activity that normally emanated from the building's interior. Given the late hour, he would be the final trickle from the building's human cistern tonight.

He stepped quickly down the steps into the quaint lane that ran like a stream parallel to the harsh jutting cliff of the building's left side. The alley connected the creek of the quadrangle's perimeter walkway in the front to the wider college walkway in the back, whose mighty river flowed forcefully passed the building on the opposite side.

It was a stark night in late autumn. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, as the fingers of the invisible chilly breeze combed through his hair with a counterproductive result. Shivering, he turned left towards the quadrangle and walked through a dusty cloud of brittle leaves that swirled around his feet with a hushed whisper of mocking insolence.

Having reached the perimeter lane, he scanned the deserted lane and the shadow-filled green. He looked first to the left and then to the right. His futile visual search of the quadrangle found that it was populated only by the ghostly silhouettes of ancient trees, whose portraits were drawn with dark black ink on a canvas illuminated by dim lamplight.

The quadrangle was deserted. The gentle breeze stirred the leaves that were precariously attached to their branches like fingers playing a harp, and the melody was unsettling. His hopes were swallowed by the darkening night, which closed around him with jaws of despair.

He was a solitary figure, standing alone on the quadrangle lane. The towering silhouette of the building stood behind him - a fortress that had just hosted the destruction of his romantic dreams. The structure that had seemed to embody his hope and passion a few hours earlier was now a menacing symbol of his profound and heart-breaking disappointment. Although he prayed that he was wrong, he knew that he would never see her again.

Turning right, he began his walk home, with a heavy heart and a soul that felt betrayed. It was 1984, and what had just happened in the building, which grew smaller behind him with each heavy step, would literally change his life forever.

 

 

Chapter One: Speculation

 

Dante Addison looked at his watch. As he walked, he did his usual mental calculation in order to organize his use of time. Even if he spent two hours at the art gallery, he would still have time to eat at his favorite city tavern. He took most of his meals there, since he lived alone, and the small restaurant was located only two blocks from his town-home.

He paused in front of the new student center, which had just opened in 2006. The campus had changed a lot during Dante's twenty-five-year tenure there. Many of the buildings on campus were constructed after he had completed his undergraduate and graduate studies, in order to accommodate the growing student body. He looked at the building, which did not appear conspicuous in the historic college setting. The architects had designed the exterior to blend in perfectly with the older structures surrounding it.

Dante straightened his dark brown hair, which had become mildly disheveled due to the gentle breeze of the warm summer evening. He walked rapidly, as always, which probably helped him to maintain his trim figure. Although in his forties, he looked twenty years younger. His colleagues and acquaintances were always commenting on his youthful appearance, and the absence of grey in his full head of hair. He would joke with them that being a bachelor was the key to his fountain of youth, and that they had unfortunately lost their opportunity to drink from its waters when they put on their wedding ring.

His thoughts returned to his plans for tonight. He had gladly agreed to meet one of his colleagues at a local art gallery that evening, and he was truly looking forward to providing moral support. His friend's latest paintings were on display, and for the first time price tags were attached to his work. Dante knew that Philip was talented, but until now his efforts had borne fruit only in lecture halls and in academic journals.

Dante's own career had taken a similar turn recently, and Philip had been encouraging and supportive when Dante decided to venture cautiously out of his comfortable academic arena and into the tense exposure of the realm of commercial literature. Not only was Dante a well-respected and accomplished academic, but he had also earned some recognition recently as a writer of fiction. His first novel, Reincarnation, had been published two years earlier in 2004, and was now in its second printing.

He thought about his novel as he walked. In it, an emotionally devastating romantic tragedy has the initial effect of shaping and defining the protagonist's life. Years later, the main character's existence is transformed by an impossible and coincidental turn of events, which lifts the curse of the original tragic heartbreak.

Dante's emotional exploration of the main character's psyche in Reincarnation had earned him critical and popular acclaim, and the proceeds from his first work of fiction had allowed him some newfound financial freedom. His thoughts turned briefly to his lake house upstate, which he had recently purchased with the accumulated royalties sent to him periodically from his publisher. Perhaps he would be able to spend the upcoming Labor Day weekend there, and make some real progress on his current project, also a work of fiction.

 

***

 

It was the summer session, and as a result the campus was uncharacteristically deserted, contrasting with the hectic activity this central part if the college usually enjoyed during regular semesters. A small group of students approached along the path, walking in the opposite direction, and as he stood aside to let them pass, he recognized one of them.

Nicole was an attractive brunette, with rich brown eyes and an appealing smile. She stopped when she saw Dante, and motioned her friends to continue on without her.

"Hi, Professor Addison."

She took a few steps forward, positioning herself directly in front of him. She stood so close to him that if she leaned forward even slightly, her cleavage would have been pressed firmly against him.

He acknowledged her greeting with a smile. Nicole had just completed her first year of graduate school, and she was taking his summer session seminar on American playwrights. She was bright, talented, and very attractive.

For the past six weeks, her gestures and interactions with him had been friendly and not so subtly flirtatious. She had apparently decided to intensify her efforts during this chance meeting, judging from her body language and the look in her eyes.

"I've really enjoyed the summer session. I love the small intimate classes. I've enjoyed your seminar the most, Professor, because it's just the four of us."

"I agree, Nicole. It's much different during the summer," he replied. "There's more opportunity for discussion when there are only a few students."

"Even four seems like a crowd, though," she said. "I would get so much more out of a one-on-one private seminar with you, Professor. Do you think we could arrange something like that, soon?"

She leaned forward, and her breasts brushed against his chest. He couldn't help but look down. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her large, firm and enticing assets strained against the insufficient confinement of her tight, low-cut tank top, seemingly pleading for release and exposure. He felt her hard nipples push against him as she took another half step forward to press her upper body against his.

He couldn't prevent himself from undressing her in his mind. He had no difficulty imagining how her body would look naked, and he felt his cock stiffen between his legs in response. The smile on her face told him that she had noticed his erection. With one hand, she adjusted her obscenely short denim cut-offs, which rode seductively into the inviting crease of her shapely buttocks. With the other hand, she reached out and touched his shoulder.

He had a keen eye for a beautiful woman, and it was hard for him to resist a sexual proposition. In this case, however, he knew he could not act on his primal impulse, since she was his student.

"I've enjoyed having you in my seminar as well, Nicole."

He gently removed her hand, while he took one step backward. He had to repel propositions from his students frequently, and he had become an expert at the art of the polite and gentle let-down. He tried to divert the conversation into a less personal arena, in an attempt to deflect the sexual insinuations and innuendos that had just passed between them.

"You're smart, Nicole," he said. "You have a very bright future ahead of you," he commented. "I hope you take my romantic poetry course in the fall. I've planned some of the curriculum with your interests in mind."

"I was planning on it, Professor," she stammered. She looked embarrassed and self-conscious. "Your courses are so popular, though. I will have to register on-line at a minute past midnight on registration day in order to get my spot." She looked down and wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Thank you, Nicole. You are very kind. Be prepared on Monday to defend your interpretation of Suddenly Last Summer that we discussed last week."

She looked disappointed, and it pained him to see her reaction to his rejection. He had made a decision years earlier that he would refrain from becoming romantically involved with his students, and he had unswervingly kept this promise to himself. Although he would never judge the handful of his colleagues who enjoyed this practice, he always felt as if the professional contract between a teacher and a student made a sexual relationship between the two immoral and unethical.

He worried that Nicole would misunderstand his diverting coolness, and hurting her was not his intention. She deserves the reassurance of an explanation, he decided.

Stepping closer to her, he took both of her hands in his. She looked at him with renewed hope.

"Nicole," he explained, "you are a striking, beautiful woman. I am very attracted to you, and there is nothing I would like better than to have a private seminar with you. But you are my student, which means that my professional obligation to you as your professor overrides any other considerations."

He paused momentarily. "That obligation will end someday, though." He allowed his voice to trail off, letting her complete the implied thought herself.

His explanation, and the hint of a future liaison, seemed to have its intended effect. Nicole's face relaxed, and she laughed. "I guess I should hope that your poetry seminar fills up before I even log on to register."

He nodded and smiled broadly. "See you Monday, Nicole."

 

***

 

He was known in the college community as an intensely private person, and although he was courteous to his colleagues and friendly enough to have many acquaintances, he seemed to shy away from the intimacy required to convert these acquaintances into friends. Very few people had been able to breach the hard, fortified wall that surrounded his deepest emotions and his well-guarded heart and soul.

He knew that he was the subject of much speculation, and he actually enjoyed his mysterious reputation. His students saw the passion in his eyes when he explored the romance of Jane Austen and D.H. Lawrence in his captivating lectures. They noticed a sad resignation and a potent nostalgia in his voice, when he taught Shakespeare's sonnets and the tragic romances. He seemed most alive when he interpreted the subtleties in the bittersweet novels of the romantic era, yet he seemed to live vicariously through his favorite characters of literature. Within him, there seemed to be a passion for love that did not seem to correspond to his reserved and private exterior.

There was an unspoken assumption that the basic theme of Reincarnation had an autobiographical origin. Many thought that perhaps Dante had suffered some monumental heartbreak that had resulted in a sadly bitter retreat into a life that was devoted to his work and profession. Yet others whispered that he was waiting for a mysterious lover who had promised to return many years earlier, but never had. Some thought that he had an alternate existence that he revealed to no one, like a man who was cursed with some supernatural secret. They imagined that he might have an uninhibited and reckless alter ego that enjoyed night-time sexual exploits, much like the vampire in Stoker's Dracula.

He smiled as he walked, thinking to himself that he could encourage these fantastic speculations with even the subtlest change in his dress or mannerisms. Maybe he would dress in a tuxedo for his next lecture, or feign an Eastern European accent during the breakout discussion that followed.

Lost in these thoughts, he at first did not hear her calling him. She was approaching him from behind, and as he turned he saw Samantha. She walked as quickly as her heels would allow. She wore a tasteful green dress that matched her beautiful emerald eyes. He recalled that she had been required to attend a reception for the Dean of Students, who had recently been promoted to Provost of the University.

Dante had been dating Samantha for about six months. He enjoyed her company immensely, and the physical aspect of their relationship was extremely satisfying. She had completed her post-doc in European History two years ago, and she was now an Instructor with aspirations for a tenure track position.

For him, their affair was casual and convenient. He knew that she did not have the same viewpoint, however, and he had been expecting a confrontation on this topic for a few weeks now. He had a feeling that they were going to have that discussion now.

"Dante." She was slightly breathless from her attempt to catch up with him. She was also flushed from the heat, and this combination brought to mind last night's sexual encounter with her.

Dante's pleasant flashback captured her in last night's coital ecstasy. Samantha loved it when he stimulated her orally. He fondly recalled how his lips had encircled her swollen clit, and how he had gently pulled and flicked it with his teeth. He smiled to himself as he remembered how it had grown harder as he rapidly licked it with the tip of his tongue.

Her pleasure had been intense. She had soaked his face with the wet gush of her orgasm. She had pushed her pussy urgently onto the hard contact of his mouth and chin to satisfy the demands of her pulsating sexuality. He could still hear the soft moans of her satisfaction that eventually culminated in her loud and extremely vocal climax.

He shook himself back to reality as she approached him.

"I saw you from across the street, Dante. I'm glad I caught up with you."

"Hi, Sam. How was the reception?"

"A waste of time. I can't wait until I have tenure, so I won't have to play this ridiculous political game anymore."

"I can hardly remember those days myself. You realize that I am almost old enough to be your father."

This was not entirely true. They had just celebrated Samantha's thirtieth birthday two weeks ago by spending the weekend together at the beach. Dante was only fifteen years older than Samantha, but he frequently used the age difference as a convenient excuse for his commitment phobia.

She rolled her eyes. "Not that again. After what we did together last night, you had better start thinking of making me a different kind of family member."

She had been hinting at engagement for weeks. He cared about her, but he was simply unable to transform any of his relationships into anything more than simple and superficial affairs. Ever since that night twenty years ago, he had apparently lost the ability to fall in love.

He ignored her comment. "Come with me to Philip's opening, Sam."

"You know I can't. I have to orient the new history faculty tonight."

Dante shrugged, and this gesture obviously annoyed her.

"You have been avoiding a discussion about our relationship for weeks. Dante, I need more than a fuck twice a week and an occasional weekend away. I love you, and I want to get married. Come with me on Labor Day weekend to meet my parents, and we can make our announcement then."

This scene was a familiar one. All of his affairs ended this way, usually after about six months. He looked for a way to escape the inevitable breakup, but there was no way out. He might as well get it over with now.

"Sam, I just can't do this anymore. I really care about you, and I enjoy the time we spend together, but I am simply unable to make this relationship anything more than what it is. I realize that this is not fair to you, and for this reason I think it would be best if we stopped seeing each other."

Samantha looked as if she had been slapped in the face. Her initial shock quickly turned to anger. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she clenched her fists tightly. She opened her mouth to reply, but at first nothing came out.

"Sam, please don't take this the wrong way. This is my problem, not yours."

"Fuck you, Dante."

She brushed passed him on the pathway, nearly knocking him over. She was gone before he could say another word.

He accepted this outcome with sad resignation. Unfortunately, Samantha had wasted six months of her life attempting to awaken his cold heart. He felt regret that she had expected more, and that her unrealistic expectations had led to today's disappointment.

He did not feel sadness that their relationship was over, however. He didn't love Samantha. In fact, he had been unable to feel love for anyone, for over twenty years. The only woman that he had ever, and would ever, love had left him long ago. Samantha could never replace her - nor could anyone else, for that matter.

He was surprised to feel the wetness of tears in his eyes. The tears were not for Samantha, he realized. He wept because his heart was dead. These tears were indeed tears of mourning, for the woman who had stopped his heart twenty years earlier. They were also tears of frustration and despair. He had lost the ability to feel love, and he feared that he could never feel that emotion again.

He tried to compose himself as he followed the pathway that led him past the mathematics complex. Emotion and tears clouded his vision as he passed under the black iron gateway that led into the central college quadrangle.