A kind of Homecoming - Chapter 7

7

                Abbey realized she had been holding her breath as she stared out of the window, her muscles tensed reflexively as she gasped for air.  She squinted at the curtains; they were pushed back as far as they could go along the length of the black metal curtain rod.  The tail on the left side was flipped up hanging over the arm of the chair; the other side twisted exposing the lining.  The window sat undisturbed, the glass still intact, the sash still tight against the frame.  How could someone have simply passed through glass, it could be the story line for an X-Files episode or Stephen King novel but this was real.  Even as Abbey tried rationalizing this there was no way around the evidence, at least the stuff that was still in the room.  She looked all about her as if to confirm what she had been thinking, and yet, if someone was telling her the story she would be the first one waiting for the punch line.  A trace of a smile passed over her lips just as a wave of nausea pushed in, a simple reminder that this was no joke.  She fought it off, being sick anytime felt like a sign of weakness and at the moment if felt like an excuse. 

A headache followed close behind and she closed her eyes to trying to block it.  Raising her hand up to her face she winced as her fingers brushed across a large bump forming above her right temple.  The dull ache reminded her of when she was twelve; her brother had been fooling around in the house with a tennis racket, pretending he was McEnroe performing one of his signature temper tantrums.  Abbey caught the edge of the racket right between the eyes and she tumbled backwards into the hallway.  Jorge of course had rushed to her side but she remembers that when she looked up it was not Jorge that was kneeling beside her, I was her Grandmother. Her face, she was so young and beautiful – she said everything was going to be all right.  Abbey broke into tears.

Another wave of nausea hit hard and fast, there was no fighting this one off, nothing to do but hang on and go for the ride.  She rolled to one side catching a glimpse of her right foot that had been neatly folded under her after falling into the hole in the floor.  She cried out as a sharp pain telegraphed up her leg.  Shaking and crying she wrapped her arms around her bare legs; pulling them together panting loudly and growling underneath each breath hoping that it might somehow relieve the pain when she heard a faint knock at the door.  Abbey held her breath and listened but it was quiet, panic washed over her not sure of what she may have heard.

A second knock echoed inside the room and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.  She inhaled deeply, on the verge of yelling when she heard the unmistakable sound of someone walking across the floor and down the steps to the front door.  A chill ran up her spine, the hairs lifting on her neck and arms.  Then she heard the unmistakable sound of the deadbolt as it clicked and turned inside the cylinder.

“Oh, hello, I didn’t think anyone was home, I hope I’m not troubling you?”

“No, no, not at all.  How can I help you?”

“What the hell?  Holy shit, who is in my house?”

There was a short conversation too quiet for Abbey to make out but for more than a few words.  She thought she heard the name Strauss, then a hearty “Merry Christmas” just before the sound of the door closing.

Abbey’s breathing increased and her mouth went dry. “What the fuck?” she whispered to herself.  Whoever was out there was coming up the stairs,  Hard souled shoes clicked on the tiled staircase, pausing briefly as they reached the top and started getting closer.  Her pulse rocketed and she could hear the pounding in her ears.  The door!  She had to block it somehow; block out the searing pain as she leaned over and dragged herself across the floor.  It was getting closer.  Click, click, click, Abbey tried to picture the length of the hall, she’d walked it a million times. How come she couldn’t think of how many steps it took.  Six, seven, maybe 8 tops and whoever it was would be at the door.  Abbey pulled herself up on her hands and lunged at a chair close to the door managing to slide the back just under the handle as it began to push down.  She began to breathe again and there was a rapid jiggling on the handle and the door began to shake.

“Who are you, what do you want!”  Abbey screamed.  The rattling stopped.

“Very clever Abbey, I hope you didn’t think that was someone coming to stop us.”

“Stop you from what? And what do you mean us?

“Us?  Why you and me Abbey!”

Abbey sat leaning against the door, her mind whirling. “There is no you and me, I don’t know who you are.”

“Ah but you do, and I know you very well my darling we’ll have plenty of time to chat once things get back to normal.”

“What the hell are you talking about, back to normal, normal left sometime after supper last night? This... I don’t know what this is and I don’t like you being in my house!”

“It’s our house now darling; you might want to keep that in mind.  Oh, and you better wash up now, dinner will be ready soon and the guests will be arriving.

Abbey closed her eyes and started shouting, “No, NO, NO! Get out go back to where you came from!”

There was a few seconds of silence before the sound of footsteps clicked and echoed down the hall towards the living room, within seconds a fire orange glow of light flickering under the bottom of the door and Abbey realized that there was a now a fire in the other room.  The images from the other night flashed behind her eyes; what she thought was only a dream was something much bigger. 

The familiar buzzing of her cell phone announced an incoming call.   She was terrified to move from the door but knew she had no choice.  Abbey rolled on to her left side and began clawing her way over to the phone reaching it just in time.  “Hello?”

Silence, for what seemed like forever then – Hello, Abbey is that you?  What’s the matter?”

“Francis, I’m so glad you called, I don’t have time to explain, please…click. “Francis,  hello, are you there? Francis!” Abbey knew that the call was lost and was just about to call back when it began to buzz in her hand. The reception was horrible and there was a lot of static. The voice of an overly cheerful operator came on the line, “We’re sorry, your call cannot be completed as dialed, please hang up and try your call again, we’re sorry, your call-.” The light flickered and went out. The phone was dead, she began to cry.

After about 5 min the sobbing had subsided, she wiped her eyes and looked down at the floor letters strewn about her when she noticed a familiar name, Albert Brude.  She picked up the envelope and flipped it over and saw it was addressed to her.  She had just finished closing his estate, how was it possible to have a letter concealed in the floor of her bedroom.  She put it to the side and picked up another one that had Ted Jacobs name printed in sharp precise lettering, he was the train engineer in the accident with Albert.  She began organizing and stacking the envelopes, most of them were from people she had helped over the past year, all of them with a family member that had died or were dead themselves like Albert.  Others she didn’t recognize at all and stacked them in a small pile to the right.  She found a large manila envelope covered in doodles of moons and stars that had her name handwritten across the front and below it were three small words. Don’t be afraid. She sliced it open and searched the edge with her fingers for a piece of paper but it was empty.  She pulled the ends apart and looked into the sleeve and saw a small business card and reached in and read the name on the card, Mystic Angels -psychic readings by Anna Krauss.  Abbey stared at the card and read it over several times before she realized why it sounded so familiar.  It wasn’t Strauss she heard the voice at the door say, it was Krauss.  It was too much of a coincidence for it not to be.  Abbey pulled herself over to her desk and pulled down a pad of paper and a pen and began to write.  When she was finished she sealed the letter in an envelope and addressed it to Anna before dropping it into the hole in the floor and covering it up.  She waited 5 minutes before removing the section of flooring again and smiled, there was nothing there, just as she thought.

A Winter Poem

A Winter Poem

                I stand looking at the small window at the back of the house, a candle yellow hue framed in black. 

I breathe in the freezing air and it feels like the blackness of night as well; the sting of it burning my lungs and bleeding steam as I exhaled. 

You are not there, no one is but I picture you all the same.

                I have to, or go mad in accepting I can’t bring you back.

 I lift my scarf up to cover my face; the faint tenuous fragrance still in the fibres lifts my spirit and closing my eyes I fold into the din and disappear.

                 I have to accept the madness of knowing you have disappeared too. 

They say time heals all wounds but I think it only outruns them.  Time encapsulates the memory so you can only see it as if behind a glass, preserved but no way to get through it.

                I hold my breath and picture you, I have to or it will be like you never existed.

But I see your smile, your soft amber lips and emerald eyes and I so dearly wish I could understand the wordless stories they used to tell me.  I reach out to touch you but I stop myself for if I don’t then it will only remind me you are gone.

I stand looking at the small window at the back of the house and I breathe in the freezing air letting it burn my lungs so I cannot speak.

                I have to or I will go mad with the knowledge I can never say I love you again.

RB).

To Move

To Move

Go forth and bellow for the art of moving men is a simple recipe of blood, fire, metal and stone.  Given no reason at all his seductive mind conjures all the ingredients to produce spontaneous and combustive prejudice against everything in spite of himself.

Whisper into empty shells and let the echo reverberate, sail on the breeze and to the ears of those that have nothing to lose but their passion and so the seed of influence sprouts and feeds their minds and soul for power.

Sit alone with split fingers, molding together reflection and perception into art that transcends time and space to alter tradition and faith with the subtlety of ocean tides.  Cast the net and capture the essence of man’s soul and let eternity either chide the maker or praise his end.

Compassion and hope to heal the dispirited minds and fractured bodies in simple gesture and reassuring tones that teach and multiply efforts ten thousand fold to bleed away sheer existence.

Love yourself unconditionally and in that truth, share it in order that others can understand it and erase barriers hidden by all other senses.  

A kind of Homecoming - Chapter 4

4

                As the music faded, the voice of the radio announcer came on and started with the top news story.  Abbey reached over and pressed down on the snooze button.  “A little disaster here, a murder there topped off with a feel good story to help you forget how shitty things are, or should I say fucked up?”  Sunlight was pouring into the room over the bed, the warmth of it felt nice against her bare skin; she threw the covers off to the side and just relaxed. The events of the evening put down to a horrible nightmare, “too much work Abbey, that’s all.” She turned her head to the side and spoke to the empty room, “not enough love either,” she said.

 Her cell phone began vibrating on the side table making her jump out of bed.  Standing there, she could only stare at it, as if it was something new, something to fear.   “That’s ridiculous! Glass and plastic that’s all it is she muttered before leaning over to pick it up, “Hello?”

“Abbey my love, how are you I’m so sorry to hear about you and Francis, but things will get better, you’ll see - just look behind you and you’ll see.”

“Yeah, I mean no, no everything is fine, just a little weird.  Wait, what?  Look behind me, but that’s what the voice said in my dream.”

Abbey felt like she’d stepped into a tunnel and let the phone drop away as she began to fall.  She reached out but found only air and came down hard hitting her head on the edge of the footboard and ended up face down on the floor. 

It could have been seconds, minutes or hours but the room was black when she opened her eyes and uncomfortably hot.  Her body was glistening in sweat and rivulets of water trickled down from the curve of her back as she tried to sit up. The sensation of pins and needles tickled her left arm suggesting at least that it had been more than just a few minutes.  She began to rub her fingers to relieve the sensation looking around as she did.  The question of the oppressive darkness was easily answered by the long heavy drapes that were drawn tight and that the door to the ensuite bath and hall were closed.  The air was dense and humid, triggering a coughing fit that at least kept away a case of claustrophobia. 

Abbey reminded herself that she’d been in the catacombs of Paris and through the Carlsbad caverns in New Mexico.  The memories of that time made her smile and she started feeling a little foolish.  “Francis must have come back and… and what, left me here naked on the floor and closed the drapes?  What the hell is going on?”

The phone started vibrating on the floor and she was back in the tunnel; her mind swirling as all the memories from the night before came crashing in on her like waves.  She tried fighting it off, tried to rationalize it away, “Please, please, please, no!”  Then the buzzing stopped. 

Tears began welling up and there was an overwhelming urge to scream when the phone began buzzing again, the backlight casting an indigo blue light across the floor.  It had fallen beneath the bed, just out of reach from where Abbey sat cross legged on the floor.  She felt around for something to put on in spite of the sauna-esk temperature when she remembered that she had thrown a pile of Francis’ clothes on the floor.  Her hands were shaking as she pulled a shirt on and started fastening the buttons.  The phone clicked on again only this time it began to ring. It was a special ring tone that Abbey had set up for when Francis’ called, a Cold Play song.  The indigo blue light was like a beacon sending a message of hope.  She dropped to her knees and crawled around to the side of the bed, “Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry You don't know how lovely you are-“

As the music played Abbey tried to reach under the bed frame but the phone was farther up than she thought.  “-I had to find you, tell you I need you, “time was running out and she began to feel panicked.  She dropped to her stomach and reached in hitting her hand against a storage box. “Fuck!” the phone was on the other side of one of those long flat rubber maid containers for storing extra clothes or bedding.  She grabbed a corner and pushed it to the side, watching it slide down the length of the bed as the music continued to play. As she turned back to the phone she could see something on the other side of the indigo blue light. It was on the opposite side of the bed but she couldn’t quite make out what it was. “-Tell you I set you apart -“Abbey grabbed the phone and lifted it up on an angle using it like a flashlight.  The soft blue light illuminated the far side of the bed and along the base of the wall. Abbey’s breathing quickened as her heart raced and she fought the feeling of fainting as she lay still, staring at a pair of bare feet, then the call stopped and the song ended and the room was dark once again.

Abbey was almost hyperventilating; her scream came out with each word like its own sentence “What-do- you- want?”

The reply came in the form of another phone call, the same ring tone as before, as the song played Abbey lifted the phone up in front of her but kept facing the floor. The blue light cutting into the darkness and with it the very thing she was too afraid to look for.  Her head felt like it had a weight attached to it and it took all her strength to tilt it backwards.  The bed frame first, then a corner of the down comforter that draped over the mattress came into view; finally there was nothing left between them.  Her eyes saw all the familiar- safe things but in her mind she also saw the feet on the other side of the bed, those horrible ghostly feet.  Her nose was dripping and tears were streaming over her cheeks, she didn’t want to look, the third line was playing now, only one more before the phone would shut off Abbey thought to herself.  She wasn’t prepared for what happened next, what she saw, it couldn’t be.  Abbey was looking at herself standing across the bed dressed in a 19^th century bed robe, torn and dirty, her hair was shorn to bearded stubble.  Shaking she dropped the phone as she rose to standing preparing to run. 

“LOOK BEHIND YOU!”

It felt like someone was shouting right next to her, Abbey cupped her hands over her ears and pulled back tripping on the rug coming down hard on her left elbow.  A loud crack told Abbey that it was broken long before the pain coursed through her body.  The snapping sound was different.  It was more like tearing sound.  Not that Abbey was a Doctor, or had first-hand experience with a lot of trauma but it was no sound she had ever experienced.  There was too much happening, the pain blinding and pushing away everything else.  Just before she blacked out Abbey saw the hole in the floor.  She had stumbled on the rug and somehow uncovered a secret compartment in the floor exposing a stack of letters and pictures.  The drapes burst open and the room was suddenly filled with the brightness of mid day making her squint, the last thing she saw before she passed out was of the apparition disappearing through the window. 

A Kind of Homecoming - Chapter 3

3

                Behind closed eyes Abbey could sense a flickering light and a quick procession of thoughts cascaded over her.  “I should get to bed, geeze I didn’t realize I fell asleep with the TV still on, I wonder what time it is?”  The drug of sleep was set deep and the act of doing anything was a struggle, especially considering the late hour and the fact the sofa provided a cocoon like nest that was both comfortable and comforting.  If only the TV was off she thought, there would be no reason to push out of the blissful slumber.  But the flickering light was nagging and relentless and soon it was an overpowering and a controlling thought that had to be dealt with.  The muscles in her face reacted and a slit of light came into view.  As gradual as warming water the slit increased letting in more light, and the haze of her surroundings expanded and came into focus.  Something was different, something about the quality of the light didn’t feel right, and the usual brightness from the static after the final hour of the broadcast day was usually softer.  It was also inconsistent with the video tape of the fire log playing in its eternal loop, and yet the artificial fire that had soothed her into slumber only hours ago still danced and cascaded light over the floor and walls of the room.  FIRE! The suddenness of the recognition bolted Abbey upright and out of the passive comfort of restfulness that she so desired and needed.  That recognition evaporated like summer heat off a stretch of highway, replaced by wonder and fear. 

The large 52” display that Francis had purchased was gone, along with the entertainment center that stood sentinel on either side.  Her eyes widened unnaturally to the scene that lay before her.  In place of the flat utilitarian shelves that were lined with DVD’s and CD’s was an ornately carved Oak bookcase.  It ran the length of the wall, from floor to ceiling filled with hundreds of books, ledgers and pencil sketches in small wooden frames.  In the center was a massive brick and stone fireplace with a timber mantle and a hearth that extended 2 feet into the room with a fire burning softly within.  Abbey stood with mouth ajar, staring into the fire letting her eyes retrace the unnatural wall and its holdings.  She forced herself to look around the living room and beyond, catching all the changes, some subtle, some not.  Hardwood floors beneath her feet, plaster walls with smaller hand tempered glass windows, no lights in the ceiling, no switches, no thermostat, no microwave, or appliances, gone, it was all gone.  Outside the night seemed to have swallowed all light including the street lamp that had stood as a beacon and usually filled the room as a constant reminder of its presence.  A loud clang and a spray of water shot across the floor making the fire spit as drops from the fallen vase hit the flames.  A small round table lay on its side at Abbey’s feet.   “What the hell - where did that come from?”  Abbey turned and found that the sofa she had been asleep on moments ago was now gone, replaced with a hard looking wingback chair.  Things began to change faster but always away from sight, to the left, right and behind her.  Abbey began spinning in circles trying to keep up; feeling dizzy she stretched out her hand to hold herself upright. 

A loud bang and a rumble carried a vibration along the floor to her from somewhere down the bedroom hall.  From deep in the shadow a pair of red eyes was staring back at her.  Abbey could hear herself screaming but it sounded far away, like it was coming from down the hall with the thing. 

She lifted a candle from the mantle and held it with an outstretched arm, willing the light to go farther into the black.  A shuffling sound started and they eyes moved, whatever it was, was coming to her.  Abbey could feel her pulse quicken and her breathing became shallow but couldn’t move, fear had gripped her as solid as stone where she stood.  As it moved closer, faint images began to take shape as it touched the light from the candle.  Abbeys arm began to shake, the light bouncing across the wall, trying to pull back.

“Who’s there? What do you want, why is this happening?”  Abbey began to cry and had to reach out with her other hand to keep the candle steady.  The shuffling stopped, the shape of the person, thing, was just outside of sight.  “Please, please, don’t hurt me, I don’t want to die!”  Nothing happened for what seemed like an eternity, her tears splash

ed on the floor.

A thick watery voice called out, “Aaaabbeeeey!”

Abbey shrieked and dropped the candle.

“Aaabbeey, look behind you!

Shaking her head, her eyes cast down to the floor, paralyzed with fear, tears were now streaming down her cheeks, and she could feel a hot breath on the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and could only wait for something to happen.  The breath grew in strength becoming a constant breeze, then a strong wind buffeting and pushing into Abbey making her feel like she would fall over any second then nothing.

She stood in darkness, afraid to look, until a light music could be heard.  The music slowly got louder and louder.  Abbey opened her eyes and found herself looking up at the familiar ceiling of her bedroom.  The clock radio playing was on and playing a piece by Chopin.

What’s Andrew Eating? Volume 1 Episode 2

          

Summer Love

       The summer that Malcolm took a job gardening was the summer that love came. Briefly but it was there and unmistakable.  Bev lived west at the farthest side of the city and it was a challenge for them to see each other as Malcolm had just earned his licence. Bev had yet to take her test and although his father was a great romantic himself he was only able to help bi-weekly in the area of the vehicle lending department. This meant that Malcolm had to be creative and let sleep remain an elusive ghost of his past. But he was in captivated and so no obstacle was too great.  

Eating also became something more of a hobby than an essential. After a particularly hard week of long hours and plus 30° temperatures even Malcolm was left wanting. He hadn’t seen Bev all week and was looking forward to the weekend so they could be together.

Friday afternoon cooled down slightly and was perfect for a bike ride down the lakeshore. Malcolm took his time and let the cool air wash over him and just soak in the summer smells. One smell in particular caught his attention as he rode past Andrew’s house. His stomach rumbled protesting the absence of a full lunch time meal thanks to the Nolan’s dog.  Malcolm had an epiphany and made a wide rolling turn back up the driveway to Andrew’s  house hoping that he would be willing to show him how to cook a romantic dinner for two.  

Andrew was just finishing off an Ahi pepper rubbed butterflied prawns on top of tagliatelle in a lemon mushroom cream sauce and spinach that he was more than happy to share..

         Malcolm woke up early Saturday morning and bought all the ingredients and even talked his parents into going out for the night. The evening was fantastic, and he made the promise that he would do this for her every weekend and he stared into her eyes and as he kissed her he secretly hoped that his new friend Andrew didn’t move away.

Love, life and wine

     Admittedly I’m a little drunk so that could explain the nostalgic repose that I am feeling but I have to say that I’m also inspired.

     To think, to imagine, to dream of oneself within oneself out of time and space, are we created just too merely follow or is there more? An age old question –yes? Is there a higher purpose or are we just waiting for the end of our time. What a tragedy!

     If we are here to love, and I’m speaking more than in the simple architecture of civilization but to truly love, passion beyond understanding. Love in the beauty of all things is not in our nature but depending on whether you look at things from a selfish perspective or through the eyes of wonder then even death can be/is beautiful.

The sun in itself is a destructive force, even by its own nature it is destroying itself just to be. Can that not be said of us? We move forward and grow, but we are also move slowly to death. So therefore to be afraid of death is also to be afraid of life.

     What would you do if I said I love you? Wrapped my arms around you from behind and whispered shadows of a love fulfilled that only your ears could understand? Would all time and material things melt away into a mere backdrop and only then, only that moment mattered? Would you say you love me too? Out of nothing my heart exists only for you. If the ocean washes away an imprint left in the sand does that mean it never existed? In that time, the image lasts an eternity, as the image of you does for me.

If you never heard the words spoken softly from behind is it the same thing as the imprint in the sand? To me it is a sad thing that the ocean knows not of the image it captured the same as if love is never truly understood.

     A story then, something out of time and yet eternal like the words of love, just for you. 

Nothing good can come of this. (Chapter 1)

1

Kate was looking for something in the bedroom. Sam could hear the occasional grunt and soft curse, “I’ll be there in just a minute”, she shouted from down the hall towards the living room.

“No Hurry” said Sam trying to sound casual but he was pulling out his cell phone as he said it and began to text, gonna B L8 he typed in and hit send and pocketed it again.

“Actually, I needed to talk to you before we went out” said Sam.

Kate was hopping down the hall trying to pull on a sandal on her other foot extended out behind here.  She had to reach out for the corner of the wall on the last step to steady herself. The look on Sam’s face wasn’t what she was expecting. Instant dread washed over her and she knew immediately what he was going to say.  She stopped moving, and looked up to the corner of the room. “Already” she thought to herself, but I thought it was good” The last 3 words moved from thought to speech.

All Sam heard was “it was good”  

Sam, who was actually busy pulling a ticket stub out of his pocket didn’t see any of the body language coming from a girl in love. A girl believing she was about to be rejected. When he did look up Kate had turned away and was wiping a tear out of the corner of her eye. “What?” he asked absently.

“I thought it was all good!” whispered Kate.

“Oh, ah yeah, yes it is” said Sam quietly, not really sure what he was agreeing to starting to feel uneasy.

“Is something the matter,” Sam asked?

“You tell me!” snapped Kate.

“Huh, what? Wait.” I’m confused said Sam. “I wanted to show you something,” he said as he held out the piece of paper.

Kate had no interest at what Sam was holding, all Kate wanted to do was grab her coat and leave, saving at least some dignity, but it was draped over the couch which was exactly where Sam was standing. She had to walk toward him. As she got closer she looked at the upturned hand and could see the ticket that lay across it.

“What’s that she asked? Reaching for her coat.

“This is what I wanted to talk to you about” said Sam.

Kate had her coat in hand, and was heading for the door, “come on, we’re going to be late!”

Sam made a weak protest but could see he was in no position to argue and as he hesitated he the automatic door closing mechanism was already following the footsteps Kate made as she rushed down the hallway.

Sam stuffed the ticket into his pocket and picked up his coat. He looked around the room. The floor to ceiling glass panels along the south western side of their condo reminded Sam of a suite in the Delta hotel in downtown Vancouver. Probably why he liked it, it always had the illusion of being on holiday to some degree. This let the golden warm light of early evening sunlight wash its way up the north wall which was the dining area that was defined by a simple tan corduroy couch at the edge of the living room. Last night’s dishes sat in the sink of the kitchen, although he couldn’t actually see them he thought about it. The case that held the guitar lay across the ottoman, open with the guitar resting peacefully inside once again. Turning on his heel, the rest of the room had a shower door haze quality and it wouldn’t be until he bent down to grab his coat that he would looked down and realize his eyes had filled with tears. 

He wouldn’t be back here again. He had no idea how he knew it but it was as real as anything he had ever felt. He pulled out ticket once more and read the numbers out load to himself.  Five, four, zero, one, four, he thought that hearing them would somehow make them magically give them meaning. No such luck. He grabbed his keys accidentally clipping he edge of the copper bowl. A soft metallic ringing filled the empty space and held on long after Sam had locked the door and met Kate at the elevator.