Upriver Transport, Part Three

     The riverbank disappeared from view. Day turned to night as quickly as though some celestial entity flipped a switch. The water whipped up tumbling the boat to and fro. An announcement over the loudspeaker ordered everyone inside. Instead, my hand over hand grip on the railing led me to the bow for a better view of what lay ahead. 

     We were sailing toward a giant waterspout. The engines cut off and  the boat drifted nearer, the spout split and took on the appearance of a water cave. The engines restarted in reverse, but it was too little too late. The water cave created a vacuum, drawing the boat forward and into itself. Impossible as it sounds, we were all going into some kind of a black hole. Not me. 

     Not me. I wasn't going to just float into somewhere unknown. I thought about going below to warn the others, but I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it back out and time was running out. I strained to see the riverbank. A beam. Might have been a flashlight. The light flicked on and then off and then on again. It was enough to make me brave. I jumped over the rail into the raging river and swam in the direction of the flickering light.

     The current was stronger than any riptide I escaped on a summer day at the beach. My arms strained to keep me on course, while my lungs struggled to keep me afloat. At some point I passed out, and when I woke I hugged the riverbank while my body from the waist down remained in the water. Someone, two someones- sunlight returned so I saw their shadows on the ground- grabbed my arms and pulled me the rest of the way out of the water. They turned me over. The bright sun made me shield my eyes with my forearms. After my eyes adjusted to the light, I looked up into the faces of my rescuers. I didn't know if I should be grateful or afraid. I never before saw faces such as these. I hope I never do again.

Upriver Transport, Part Two

     'Look, Daddy, we're sailing into the sky!' the boy cheered as he pointed to the reflection of the scattered white fluffy clouds on the river.
     'Right, son. Did we board a spaceship by mistake?'
     'Maybe,' the boy replied and then added, 'Nah. We're still on a boat.'
     'I dunno, son. Look over on the riverbank. Are those people or space aliens, do you think?'
     I couldn't help but overhear the father-son exchange, or to follow that man's gaze to a gathering of--. I couldn't be sure, but I noticed the boy maneuvered himself between his dad and the rail so that he now stood between the man's arms.
     'Want to go below and get something to drink, buddy?'
     'Sure, Dad.'
     I watched them walk away with a longing to go with them. I don't know why people always act like what you can't see can't see you. Some kind of caveman carry-over, I suppose. I maintained my position at the rail and turned my attention back to the crowd on land. But wait- what the hell!
   

Upriver Transport, Part One

     It was a dark and stormy afternoon. Not the usual way a story begins. Not the usual story. Not a usual day, that late October day before the holiday. Holy day when spirits rise from graves to be remembered, to be honored with the remembrances of the living.
     The trees on the surrounding hills down to the banks of the Hudson shown like a rich-colored royal tapestry in the clear morning light. Blue skies and a moderate temperature inspired people to take to their boats and glide upriver to hike, to picnic, to relax in the fresh air of the Hudson Valley. This was the perfect start to a perfect late October day, the day before All Hallows Eve. Until, that is, everything changed.
     No one can say if something like what happened had ever happened before. No one survived to to tell. Well, no one but myself. Somehow I am able to testify to what happened, though to say I survived depends on how survived is defined.

BAPTISM BY FIRE

Preface

'I baptise you in water for repentance,

 But the one who comes after me

 is more powerful than I,

 And I am not fit to carry his sandals,

He will baptise you with the Holy Spirt

And fire.

His winnowing-fan is in his hand;

He will clear the threshing-floor

And gather his wheat into his barn,

But the chaff he will burn

In a fire that will never go out.'

Matthew 3:11-12

Chapter One

      The sound of a wooden match being struck drew his attention even before the flame. In the total darkness the flame burned with an orange and yellow appetite for more than the splinter of wood which birthed and fueled it. By the aurora Sebastian strained to recognize the faint facial features of the person holding the flame.

     The flame grew larger, more brilliant and hotter forcing Sebastian to squint and try to shield his face with his raised forearm. He twisted his torso to the cooler darkness behind him. The person holding the match laughed at Sebastian's meager efforts to protect himself and threw the match at him. The flame landed at Sebastian's feet and  encircled him in a ring of fire. The man laughed.

     'You're not afraid of a little fire, Sebastian? After everything you went through and with your aggravating faith. Come to me, my love, and be sanctified. By the fire we are born again and given another chance to be happy. Come and see for yourself.'

      'Sean? Are you there?'

      'Yes, Sebastian. I am on the other side of the flames. My love for you is a fire which will never go out. We are forged together by a bond so strong Death cannot break the weld.'

      'No, Sean. You're dead. I witnessed your death.'

      'You of all people understand Death is not final, but a mere transition. Come, my love, and let us start over.'

      A sudden alarm sounded. Not because of the fire, but something Sebastian couldn't quite recall. A coin hit the floor and rolled, stopping at Sebastian's feet. He picked  up the coin and recognized a two-headed Kennedy  half dollar. Sebastian kept such a coin on his nightstand as signal  he is dreaming. As he raised the coin in front of his face like a priest holding the host, Sean screamed.

      'No! Sebastian, what are you doing? Stop. You'll wake up and we'll be apart again. Stop! I might not be able to visit you again.'

     'Sean, I don't belong in your world and you left mine. Under the circumstances death served as your best option.'

      The flames encircling Sebastian roared as though someone opened a gas valve further.

      'I won't let you go, Sebastian.'

      Sebastian raised his coin with both hands over his head and woke.

   CHAPTER TWO

  

     Sunlight beaming through the bedroom window delivered Sebastian into wakefulness.  He threw back the covers to get out of bed causing his two-headed fifty-cent piece to fail to the floor. He returned the coin to its usual place in the same smooth motion with which he turned off the alarm clock.

    Sebastian stood, stretched and, as he scratched various parts of his naked body, paying unconscious special attention to what remained of his abs at thirty-something, stood in front of  the window  overlooking the rear garden. The trees filtered sunlight not yet sufficient to warm things up.  This is New Orleans, however, so the atmosphere would soon be warm enough and humid enough to satisfy all those tourists who hoped to escape the winter for which they fled their homes.

     Following his morning routine, Sebastian sat back down on the bed and pulled his journal and pen out of the nightstand drawer to write the details of his dream before the image faded with the morning dew.

    He finished writing down everything he remembered, then wrote in big block letters THIS IS THE DAY and underlined the phrase. He meant this would be the day he purged every artifact and memory of his former lover Sean from his house, his mind, and his heart. He wanted no more dreams like the one he recorded now, or like any of the others he journaled in the weeks since his return from New York after Sean's death.

     No point to postpone the inevitable any longer. After showering and getting dressed, he would go someplace to buy some cartons and pack up his lover's  things, their things together, things doomed to be constant reminders of the man Sebastian  loved, and -as he learned while assisting his friend Detective Cliff Nolte in the investigation of a pedophile ring of priests and teachers in Brooklyn -he never knew. The discovery of Sean's sexual abuse as a child and teenager by Father Finn broke Sebastian's heart. Finding out Sean later acted as a pimp for the priest, bringing in fresh recruits he helped groom went beyond devastating and to Sebastian's mind unforgivable.

Groundless, Part Six

      

     'How's the patient today, Doctor? Any change at all?' 

     'I'm afraid not, Bjorn. Lars suffered a psychotic break which will take a lot of time to repair, if at all. He seems content in his world, but he doesn't allow me of anyone else to enter.' 

     'Maybe seeing me would help? Six months is a long time without any positive signs.' 

     'The shock of seeing you might plunge him deeper into himself. Remember, he thinks he killed you.' 

     'I was still in our apartment in the city. I planned to drive up to the house the next day. I told him when we spoke earlier in the evening.' 

     'Did the police ever determine if a break- in indeed happened?' 

     'No signs of a break-in. Lars was alone in the house. He imagined the entire incident.' 

     'May I at least see him, Doctor? Even if he can't see me, I want to see for myself how he's doing.' 

     'I understand. He's in one of our observation rooms this morning. Follow me.' 

     Doctor Samuelson led Bjorn through a series of hallways to the room. Lars sat at a table where he seemed to play some sort of card game.' 

     'What's he doing with the cards, Doctor?' 

     'He wrote a prayer on each of them, eighty-one in all. He numbered the cards so he can keep track of them. Every day he shuffles the cards and tosses them like confetti. He gathers them up and counts them. 

     'Is this some kind of occupational therapy?' 

     'His own device. He tossed the prayers into the air with the hope God will keep one of them and grant his wish. He counts the cards to check if one is missing.' 

     'None of the cards ever disappeared, though, did they?' 

     'I'm afraid not.' 

     'Do you know what he wrote on them?' 

     'He allowed one of the attendants to take a look at them once. Some of them say forgive me. Others say give Bjorn back.' 

     'There's the answer, Doctor. Make one of the cards go a miss and I'll walk into the room. Lars will think God answered his prayer.' 

     'I appreciate your logic, Bjorn, but like I said --' 

     'Nothing else is working. I think this is worth a shot.' 

     'They way Lars handles the cards, we can't control how they land. Everything will be random.' 

     'Have faith, Doctor. Maybe today is the day we witness the miracle of God answering prayer.' 

     'All right. Once he tosses the cards, you walk in.' 

     Lars read each card and focused on piling them in numerical order. He shuffled them once and flung them high overhead. Cards floated and landed all around him. On cue, Bjorn entered the room. 

     'Hello, Lars.' 

     Lars glanced at his lover, but said nothing focusing instead on gathering and once again ordering the cards. 'A card is missing. A card is missing.' 

     The doctor entered the room but remained at the door. Bjorn moved closer to the table. 'Which one?' 

     'Number nine. The ninth card is missing. God kept the ninth card.' 

     'What is significant about the ninth card, Lars?' 

     Lars stood, threw his arms around Bjorn's neck and pulled him close. 'Nine is the card which asked God to give you back, Bjorn. I asked God to give you back and you're here. I love you, Bjorn.' 

     Lars held Bjorn like a life preserver. Tears rolled down Bjorn's cheeks. 'I love you, too, Lars. I love you more than you can imagine.' 

 

Groundless, Part Five

     Lars startled himself awake. Still dressed, he fell asleep in his club chair in front of the television which was still on. The cablebox reported the time to be only 11:04 PM. Lars stood and stretched, reached for the remote and switched off the television, and then stretched again. He inspected the windows to make certain they were looked. He turned off the light as he exited the room to make his usual rounds to check the locks on doors and windows before continuing upstairs to bed.
     He happened to look out to the front yard as he striped off his clothes. He threw open the windows for the night air. Quiet night. He was about to turn away when a glint of something shiny and silver winked from the shadows. Lars turned off his bedroom light and continued to scan the yard. Someone stood among the birch trees lining the south side of the property. No, make that two people. He stepped away from the window and pressed a button adjacent to his bed.
     'Home security. What is your emergency?'
     'Two people, two men are watching my house. One of them is holding something silver. I think he has a gun. Please send someone right away.'
     'Are you secure in the house?'
     'Yes. All the windows and doors are locked. I am in my bedroom upstairs.'
     'Do you have a safe room?'
     'Yes, I'm going in now.'
     'The police are on the way. Stay in the safe room until we tell you to come out.'
     'Okay.'
     The call disconnected. Lars entered the safe room and activated the locks. Nothing to do now but sit and wait. 'I can do something else,' he told himself. He ventured out of the safe room to retrieve the revolver Bjorn stored in the nightstand on his side of the bed. Lars never liked having a gun in the house, but now the gun seemed like a good idea. He carefully checked to make sure the gun was loaded and took the safety off. The doorknob on the door opening to the hallway slowly turned. Lars froze. The police always announced themselves, but whoever this was said nothing. Lars panicked and fired the gun through the door with a mind of its own until the trigger clicked without any more bullets. Lars still sat frozen the the bed holding the gun at this side when the police opened the bedroom door.
     One of them turned on the light. A second officer approached Lars, He kept asking Lars, 'Are you all right?' while he took the gun. Lars didn't answer. He sat on the bed staring into space. Someone spoke through the police radio to announce the arrival of the ambulance.
     'Come with us, sir. The ambulance is here to take you to the hospital. Sir?' Lars didn't respond. 'Sir? Can you hear me?'
     Lars turned his head and looked at the officer, but didn't speak.
     'Sir, you're in shock. We're taking you to the hospital. An ambulance is waiting for you downstairs. Do you understand?'
     Lars nodded and stood. With an officer on each side of him for guidance, Lars ambled into the hallway where two bloody corpses lay akimbo on the floor.
     'No! Oh God, no!' Lars screamed while his legs surrendered to grief.

Groundless, Part Four

     Four hours on the train for what? Humiliation? Suspicions can be swept aside until they become facts. Lars believed Bjorn's friendship with Mateo to be something more from the time he met Mateo. Even so, he never expected to encounter their lovemaking in his apartment and not in the bed he shared with Bjorn. Lars vowed he would never enter those premises again. Lars planned to sell the apartment complete with all the contents and remain in the country house. He didn't need the stress of city life anyway. He also didn't need any reminders of Bjorn and his betrayal.
     The ringing phone brought Lars out of his reverie. The caller ID announced Bjorn calling again.
     'Hello?'
     'Honey, I called several times on your cellphone only to go into voicemail. Are you all right? I expected you back hours ago.'
     'I'm fine, I guess.'
     'You guess? What's wrong?'
     'Nothing. Only a little blue is all. I'm busy up here with a project. I called.'
     'Yes. I saw a missed call from you, but you didn't leave a message. I assumed you called from the train.'
     'That's right, but I decided to come back.'
     'You went back? Why? Don't you miss me?'
     'More than you can imagine. I'm better off here for a while longer.'
     'Okay. I'll come there. I miss you, Lars. I prepared a surprise for you here, but it can wait. I'll catch the next train and take you out for a ce meal. Okay?'
     'Bjorn, do you not realize the time? You'll get here too late to eat. No, I'm better off alone tonight.'
     'Lars, did I do or say something to upset you?'
     'You tell me. Did you?'
     'Okay. I agree. In this mood we are both happier to be apart. I'll wait and come up tomorrow.'
     'Fine. There are some things we need to discuss, Private matters, so I trust you'll come alone.'
     'Honey, I want you all to myself. If you feel like, well, if you want me to invite Mateo--'
     'No. No need to drag him wherever you go. Call me from the train. I'll send a taxi to pick you up.'
     'I can get a taxi. Won't you tell me why you're being strange?'
     'Goodnight, Bjorn.'
     'Good--' but before Bjorn finished speaking, Lars ended the call.
     'Is Lars all right?'
     'He says he's fine, Mateo, but he sounded like he is angry with me.'
     'Angry? Did he give a reason?'
     'No. He wouldn't admit he is angry. He's learned your technique.'
     'My technique?'
     'When I asked him if I did something or said something to upset him he replied I don't know. Did you?
     'Anything else?'
     'When I told him I'll catch the next train he told me he prefers to be alone tonight. I could come tomorrow as long as I come alone.'
     'Bjorn, at the risk of being an alarmist, I don't think you should wait. Let me drive you up there. I don't think Lars should be on his own tonight. We can be there by dark.'
     'Thanks, Mateo, Let's go.

   

   
         

Groundless, Part Three

'Mateo. God. What did you eat for lunch?
'Herring, some cabbage salad, a few pickles. Why?
'Your guts are rotten. Dammit, Mateo. Give a guy a warning before you fart or step away. Jeez.'
'Sorry, but I'm sure you fart once in a while, too.'
'Not in front of anybody and not in a small space like a shower. Forget it. Hand me the screwdriver. I want these shower doors installed before Lars gets back. Did you hear something?'
Mateo listens and shakes his head. 'Not a thing.'
'I thought the front door opened. I'm going to take a look. I might be Lars. I'll be right back.'
Bjorn walks out of the bathroom and down the hall into the living room. 'Lars? Are you home, Sweetheart? Lars?'
The door is closed. Bjorn turns the knob. The door is locked. He opens the door and steps out to check the corridor. The lighted sign over the elevator doors indicates someone going down to the lobby, but otherwise no sign of anyone. Bjorn returns to the apartment, closes and locks the door before rejoining Mateo. '
Lars?'
'No. No one.'
'When do you expect Lars?'
'Any time now, so we must get moving.'
'Your phone rang while you were gone.'
'Thanks, I'll check my voicemail.' Bjorn picks up his phone. 'I have a missed call from Lars, but he didn't leave a voicemail. He probably called to tell me he's on his way. We need to finish.'
'Think he'll like your home improvement project?'
'I hope so. I want him to continue seeing you, but at least he can come into the bathroom without being upset over the shower curtain.'
'He means a lot to you, doesn't he?'
'Yeah, he does.'
     

Groundless, Part Two

     Lars approached therapy with the single-minded passion he gave to everything important to him. He reached a plateau in his progress and a limit to his willingness to continue. He needed a break and wanted to visit his country house. Mateo agreed the change of routine would be good for him. Lars made all the preparations for he and Bjorn. At the last minute Bjorn backed out. 

     'I'm sorry, sweetheart, but this isn't a good time for me to be away from the office. Besides, I think you might do better without me tagging along.' 

     'Bjorn, we haven't been to the house in ages. The country will do us both a world of good, only the two of us.' 

     'You go on and if I can, I'll join you at the end of the week.' 

     'Promise?' 

     'I promise to try if everything goes well at the office.' 

     The week ended without Bjorn coming to the country. Now Lars was returning to the apartment in the city and practising his game face. Long hours at the office left Bjorn without time or energy for a good-night phone call. Lars didn't want to add his disappointment on Bjorn's burdens. Besides, he discovered a way around his phobia at the local home improvement store. Glass shower doors. The remedy to his fear seemed too simple to miss. He installed in the country house and planned to install them in the apartment as soon as possible. Lars realized the glass doors were only a bandaid. At least working through his other problems without fighting with Bjorn over a stupid shower curtain. 

     Unexpected voices greeted Lars when he entered the apartment. At four o'clock in the afternoon Bjorn should still be at work, so Lars stopped and strained to try to identify them.The closed bedroom door only muffled the sound of people having sex. As he walked closer, Bjorn cried out Mateo's name. 

     Lars left the apartment without a sound. Once outside, he flagged a taxi to take him to Central Station and the train back to the country. On the way, he phoned Bjorn and left a voicemail message he decided to stay in the country another night.

     

Groundless, Part One

     Phobia of one description or an other plagued Lars all is life. So many things to remember to be leary of, to circumvent, or to avoid all together at all costs. He counted as a blessing he never feared leaving his house. Agoraphobia meant missing out on meeting the love of his life. Bjorn made Lars confident. Bjorn made the world a friendlier place. Fear of losing Bjorn because of his foolishness itself became a phobia. He succeeded in keeping this unnamed fear to himself.
     As the two men grew closer, Bjorn sensed the psychological luggage his partner carried. In time keeping track of all the demons became tiresome. Bjorn suggested Lars get some counselling. A psychologist friend of Bjorn's agreed to meet Lars. Tomas exuded a warmth which put Lars at ease at once. Lars expressed his enthusiasm to meet with Tomas twice a week. He wanted to move past his fears, of course, but his desire to remove any reason Bjorn may cite to want to leave him superseded all else.
     Weeks and months passed. Lars indeed improved. However, he couldn't shake lose his fear of shower curtains. To be more specific, Lars didn't like closed shower curtains without the shower being used. He feared someone waiting in the shower to do him harm, even in his own home. The sight of the curtain concealing the shower caused dry mouth, shortness of breath, rapid heart rate, and light-headedness causing Lars to collapse on the floor. As a result, Lars demanded the curtain be left open. Bjorn drew the curtain closed out of habit to prevent mildew. Whenever Bjorn stayed over and forgot, Lars became unhinged, causing a huge arguement filled with angry and hateful words. The men didn't stay angry for long. The make-up sex came at a price Bjorn tired of paying. Hence, Bjorn called Tomas.
     Lars learned the name of his fear: Scelerophobia. Knowing a demon's name made him vulnerable to exorcism. Lars began to relax into Tomas' care.

Shades In A Silver Bowl, Part 2

     Curiosity overcame fear by the time the moon rose full again. Robban once again filled the silver bowl with fresh spring water which he placed in the center of a circle of candles on the floor. He asked the goddess Hecate to bless him with another vision.
     He sat cross-legged as he stared into the water. Within minutes the water stirred. The milky swirl formed a vortex which expanded from the bowl's center to the side before the water turned clear again. Only the old woman from the the previous vision appeared this time.
     'Robban. Your body grows weaker each day you are gone.'
     'What do you mean? Look at me. I am healthy. You are familiar to me and yet a stranger. I don't recall giving you my name.'
     'Your transition into your other world erased your memory. I am called Brigitta. I helped your mother several times. You spied on me from behind the draperies once. You asked me to teach you the ways of the cunning folk. Your mother did not disapprove, but we kept your lessons secret from your father.'
     'But I don't leave in your world. I live here.'
     'I think you used magick. Two months ago you went to sleep without waking again. People are worried you are dying.'
     'Like I said, I am in perfect healthy where I am.'
     'If you body here dies, your life where you are will most likely end also. You must come back. At least for a while.'
     'I belong here. I live here. Your world is foreign to me. So are you truth be told.'
     'The transition made you forget, but you didn't forget everything. You still scry. I taught you.'
     'You're wrong, Brigitta.'
     'If what you say is true, tell me how you learned how to scry.'
     Robban paused to try to think of an answer. In truth he couldn't explain. 'Scry? I'm unfamiliar with your word. I'm looking, nothing more.'
     'Why would you want to scry if not to keep in touch with your real life?'
     'I'm curious about the old ways. Like I told you before, I don't understand any of this.' Robban stood, but this time he made sure he didn't disturb the bowl. 'I must go.'
     'No, Robban. You must come. You must find your way back here. Return to the body you left here. Save yourself. You crossed once. Come back and later you can cross again if you must.'
     'You're not real. You are a fantasy. This ends now.'
     Robban stooped to pick up the candles. In rapid succession he hurled them into the water. Smoke rose from the bowl.
     A woman's chilling scream buckled his knees.

Shades In A Silver Bowl

     Full Moon. Again, some strange power compelled to do something he didn't understand. Robban didn't know much about scrying. His compulsion to do this served as additional evidence he may be losing his mind. 

     The genesis took the form of a melody playing in his mind, over and over. One of those sticking, unidentifiable refrains which demands a name. Soon words followed the notes so the refrain became a chant. Anytime Robban sat alone the chant comprised of unfamiliar and meaningless words soon took over his thoughts. After a couple weeks Robban's life began to change. His boss gave him a promotion. A new friend entered his life who soon grew into a significant other. The couple moved together into a new, larger home. As Robban's connections grew, he became more content with his life. 

     Now he planned to look into silver bowl filled with fresh water by the light of the Full Moon and a single candle. His lover went out of town on business, so Robban wouldn't be interrupted. He sighed with the hope the activity would be self explanatory. 

When the Moon rose high in the sky, Robban lit the candle and placed it on a table behind where he would sit. The silver bowl filled with spring water rested on the floor in front of him. He sat cross-legged on a cushion and rested his wrists palms up on his thighs. Eyes closed, his breathing began to slow. After a few minutes his body relaxed. He opened his eyes and looked into the silver bowl. 

     'A silver bowl with some water. Now what?' 

   There was movement in the water. He glanced around the room, but nothing outside the bowl moved. He returned his attention to the bowl. A white cloud formed in the water like milk spilling in. In an instant, the cloud dissipated. 

     A curtain drew back and Robban looked into a room. A chamber with stone walls. Someone laid on a bed and people stood at the foot and on both sides. The man on the bed appeared to be asleep. The people lining the bed held candles. Robban inhaled the aroma of herbs burning, a blend of sage and cedar. Something else, too, Robban couldn't name. The identity of the person on the bed mattered to him more than the fragrance of some burning herb. 

     'Come back to us, Majesty.Your people need you. I need you.' The young man standing next to the bed who spoke looked crestfallen and tired. The same moment in which the man held the hand of the unconscious man on the bed, Robban sensed pressure of a grip on his own hand. The startling realization caused him to almost kick over the silver bowl. An old woman standing behind the others came to Robban's attention now. She said nothing, but seemed to smile at him in recognition. The corners of her mouth turned up with such subtlety he didn't trust his eyes. She turned her attention to the young man in the bed and back at Robban. He understood. 

     Numbness traveled up Robban's legs. The body on the bed stirred. Robban leapt up to stomp his feet to prevent leg cramp. As he did, the bowl overturned and the candle flame guttered. 

     

     

Nothing Under The Bed

     The bib necklace sparkled in the midmorning light. 'Oh, yes, indeed. I like this one.' She spoke only to her reflection in the dressing mirror as she held the platinum and mine-cut diamond creation over her dress. She considered the fish scale design lent a certain femininity to both the stones and the wearer. 'I deserve this.'
     The unexpected turn of the the doorknob caused her to drop the necklace. The master's presence in the doorway prevented its retrieval.
     'Where is my wife?'
     'Luncheon with Mrs. Talbot.'
     'Why are you in my wife's room?'
     'Doing a little straightening up, sir. Making sure everything is in place as the Missus likes.'
     'Very well. Would you be so kind as to tell cook I'll take my meal in the garden. I assume you are finished in here?'
     'Yes, sir.'
     As she turned to leave she gave the necklace as swift kick under the bed. The Master waited for her to leave, glanced around the room, and closed the door as he left.
     Later on when her mistress' car came up the drive and rushed to the bedroom to put the necklace back in the jewelcase. However, the necklace vanished. The maid recalled the precise spot where the necklace landed on the rug and panicked at finding nothing. She looked in the jewelcase hoping the master spotted and returned the stray piece to the case. No luck.
     The butler greet the mistress at the front door as the maid dropped to her knees and with nervous fingers searched the carpet at the edge of the bed. A hand grabbed her wrist and pulled under the bed. The maid tried to scream, but all efforts to resist failed.
     'Celia? Celia?'
     'Madam?'
     'Jonathan, have you seen Celia this afternoon?'
     'Yes, madam. She came in here as your car approached the house. I assumed to prepare for your afternoon rest.'
     'Well, she isn't here. She didn't do anything in here during my absence. Find her for me, will you?'
     'Of course, madam.' The butler left closing the door behind him.
     The mistress sat at her vanity and took off the earrings she wore to lunch. She opened her jewelcase to put them away. Next she removed her shoes and slipped out of her dress to lie down. As she did so, she stubbed a toe on the solid mahogany bed frame.
     'Yeow, Sweet Mother of God!'
     A knock on the door preceded Jonathan's voice. 'Madam, are you all right?'
     'Come in, Jonathan. I may be maimed for life, but I'm fine. I stubbed a toe on the bed again. Do you think you can get someone to switch this one with the bed in the green room?'
     'Of course, madam. After your rest or before?'
     'Come back in an hour. I need to get off my feet for a while and let the swelling in this tow go down. Did you find Celia?'
     'No, madam, but staff is still looking for her. She can't be far.'
     'Send her to me when she is found. You may go now.'

     Celia was never seen again. Staff swore to hearing her weep at night, but they never brought this to their employers' attention. After a while, the weeping became one of many night sounds of a quiet house. No one mentioned her name.

Friends Without End

     The locks on the front door activated without a human hand. No amount of effort deactivated them. No amount of pulling on the knob forced the door to open.
     'Damnit. Open.'
     'Sorry. I can't let you leave.' The familiar voice did nothing to calm Damian's nerves.
     'This apartment isn't mine anymore. I have to finish moving into my new apartment.'
     'I want you to stay with me here.'
     'There is no here here. The owners are making extreme renovations. I must leave, so open this door. Now.
     'I can't let you go. You are the only person in decades to acknowledge me. You talk with me.'
     'Come with me if you want. I invite you to haunt my new place. We can still talk. I can't stay here. Please, unlock this door.'
     'I can't leave with you. I can, however, make it possible for you to remain here with me.'
   
     Days later several of the other tenants of the building complained about a terrible odor coming from the apartment. When the super entered the apartment, Damian's body lay on the floor.
     'See, Damian. I told you everything turn out for the best.'
     'So what shall we discuss?'
     The super cocked his head as though he heard something, shook his head and called 9-1-1 from his cellphone. 

String Dream

     Such a bizarre dream I woke from. Without a moment's hesitation, I phoned my friend Laurie to describe the events while fresh in my memory to get her interpretation.
     'Laurie, I dreamt I worked as a switchboard operator in a clothing store.'
     'Switchboard? You mean one of those old-timey things with multiple lines like in old movies?'
     'Something similar, I guess.'
     'In your dream did you enjoy doing this?'
     'Not at all. The stupid thing kept ringing and I couldn't escape it.'
     'Well, darling, my first thought is you having to work for someone else is no dream. This is a nightmare best forgotten. Tell Cook you don't want her to make whatever you ate for dinner last night ever again.'
     'That's all? No other insight you can offer?'
     'Get out of bed. Get dressed and take your dogs for a walk around your estate. Appreciation for what you possess should set your mind straight again. Come to mine for luncheon when you're finished. I'll tell Marie make one of your favorites.'
     'Fine, Thank you, Laurie. I'll see you later then.'
     'The very idea of you with a job? And in a shop no less is too ridiculous. Push those thoughts right out of your mind.'

* * * *

     I woke from this dream, made coffee, and prepared to go to my job as a switchboard operator in a clothing store.

Riparian Meditation

    Blustering chill winds imprisoning most people in their homes howled one man's name urging him to the river. Aron put his daily chores on hold . Pulling two pairs of jeans over his longjohns, a flannel shirt and thermal vest layered under his coat, he left his cottage for the river.
     'This weather isn't so bad,' he told himself as he sat on his favorite bench. An icebreaker plowed a path through the ice for other boats making their usual upriver journey. Huge chunks of ice left floating, bobbed in the wake. Fog lifted from the surface of the water presenting an odd scene. Aron marvelled at the three forms of water on display. 'Does the river, ice, and fog recognize themselves as dimensions of their being?'
     Aron never experienced the like in his eighty-some years of life near the water. He thanked the winds for bringing him to the show.
     As he continued to contemplate the scene, a kind of steam or fog rose from the top of Aron's head like a genie escaping he bottle. Aron somehow witnessed this also and smiled. He understood while the river, its ice, and fog are comprised of the same hydrogen and oxygen atoms they did not interact with each other. They couldn't if they wanted to because not one of them possessed the power to cross over from one dimension to be with another. Fog would condensate and ice would melt, rejoining them to their source. The fog rising from Aron grew and grew until it dissipated.
     Soon a young man walking his dog approached Aron's bench. The dog sauntered over to be petted by Aron say hello, but Aron, still smiling, reunited with his source.

Mirror, Mirror (Finale)

     Mateus Dyrbar made daily deliveries of newspapers to Heidi's front porch. Sometimes the door stood ajar with an invitation to enter attached. The visits didn't last long, but Mateus became more comfortable with the woman perched in a wheelchair in the shadows each time. The young man even began to image her face. He didn't find her ugly, at least not as he thought she appeared.
     He purchased a hand mirror  to bring Heidi as a surprise present. He thought showing her how she appeared to him would help her to like herself more. He intended to make her happy, but that is not what transpired.
     He opened the daily newspaper to conceal his surprise gift. He went inside, careful to close the door behind him as usual. He sat in the same chair he always sat in with the newspaper and mirror on his lap.
     'You opened my paper.'
     'I brought you something.'
     'Yes, you opened my paper. Why?
     'I brought you this.' With a flourish he produced the hand mirror.
     'You idiot. Why do you insult me with such a thing when the mirror over the mantle is blind? After I told you I don't care to face my ugliness? How dare you!'
     'I want you to show you the woman I visit every day; a woman who is not ugly at all.'
     'Give me that and get out.'
     Heidi lunged forward out of her chair. Mateus, caught off-guard, dropped the mirror. The glass missed the carpet and shattered on the aged mahogany floor. Shards of broken glass exploded into the air. One of the larger pieces rocketed its way to Mateus and stabbed him in the neck. The severed carotid artery became a geyser of blood. Some splashed on Heidi's face as Mateus fell dead to the floor.
     Heidi stood in apparent shock at the scene playing out in front of her. She bent down to pick up one of the larger pieces of mirror and gazed at her reflection.
     'Mateus, you were right. I am quite beautiful. Thanks to your blood I should remain beautiful for a year or two. Oh, my precious friend, you certainly took your time bringing this mirror. My other young gentlemen callers were much faster in presenting their gifts.

Mirror, Mirror (Part Three)

     'All I can see of you are your lapis eyes.'

     'Are you uncomfortable?'

     'Not at all. Your eyes are beautiful, rather like the Cheshire Cat.'

     'The Cheshire Cat's were green as I recall. Would you like me to smile so you can check my teeth?'

     'Do you make a habit of turning the slightest compliment into something rude?'

     'I don't get many visitors.'

     'I can understand that. I'm sure not many people are willing to sit with you in the shadows without being able to look at you.'

     'But you are? Willing to sit in the shadows with an old lady?

     'You voice doesn't sound old. Something metallic glints on either side of you. Are you in a wheelchair?'

     'I am. You detect more than you thought possible.'

     'The result of an accident?'

     'An accident of birth. You see, someone raped my mother.'

     'I'm sorry for your mother, but something good came as a result.'

     'Something good?'

     'Well, yes. You.'

     'My mother never missed a day to remind me I am the hideous result of a hideous crime committed by a hideous man. She delighted in using the word for me. She named me Heidi as some sort of sick joke.'

     'What a cruel way to treat an innocent child. Did she care for you otherwise?'

     'By way of a nanny, a governess followed by a ladies' maid. My mother's money allowed her to keep her distance.'

     'How do you keep yourself now? Do your friends visit and bring you groceries?

     'Friends? What sort of friends visit and allow newspapers to gather in the front yard? As for groceries, what little I need comes to me, as you did with my papers.'

     Heidi's implication she expected his service to continue caused the young man momentary discomfort. Unsure of what to sat next, he blurted out, 'Mateus.'

     'I beg your pardon?'

     'My name is Mateus Dyrbar.' 

     'Precious. Odd surname for a Swede.'

     'I suppose.' Mateus glanced around the room in an effort to discover some object to change the direction of the conversation. 'Your room is filled with a lot of things I wish I were able to view better. Why is the mirror over the fireplace mantle blacked out?'

     'Why gaze upon Hideous Heidi. Would you want to face your ugliness every day?'

     'I think I so.'

     Heidi laughed. 'You think so. You're handsome is why. I bet you stop by shop windows to check yourself out. You can't begin to comprehend the impact of deformity.'

     'Humans have feelings regardless of their appearance. I think I should leave. I've taken enough of your time.'

     'Will you come again tomorrow?'

     'You should call whoever throws your paper to ask him to make sure the paper hits the porch. He'll do that, you know.'

     'I see. Another life lesson taught me. Yes, I think you should go.'

     Mateus started to approach Heidi to take her hand, but she spun her wheelchair to face the wall, leaving him with nothing else but to let himself out. 

     He determined to take a different route to work in the future. Still, he was sad for Heidi and the life she lived. He sensed her watching him walk to the street, but he never looked back.

     Two weeks later, he walked his former route to his office without thinking and happened to pass Heidi's house. As expected the newspaper rolls tracked the days of his absence. He stopped to pick them up and chucked them like pebbles against the front door. 

     The door opened wide enough for the familiar hand to appear. This time, however, the hand wore no glove. The gnarled and twisted fingers grasped each roll like a talon with a twig and drew them inside one after the other. He shamed himself for his impatience. Perhaps tomorrow, he would deliver the paper to the door and ring the bell. The hand did not acknowledge him as usual before the door closed. 

     'Then again, the best thing may be to leave things alone.' 

     He would think about it some more.

     

     

     

     

Mirror, Mirror (Continues)

     Several days later, the young man found himself on the same street. More rolled-up newspapers littered the front yard. He gathered these as before and walked up to the porch to ring the bell. Again, no answer came so he left them piled near the door and left.
     He watched from the sidewalk for anyone would bring the papers indoors. After a while, the door did open. A small, delicate gloved hand reached out for the papers, drawing them inside one by one like a mechanical clockwork. 'So it is a lady who lives there.' The young man further assumed she must live alone since there was no one other than himself fetched the papers from the yard.
     The next day, he brought the daily edition to the front door and rang the bell. Again, no one responded until he returned to the street. The door opened as he observed before and the same gloved hand reached out for the paper.
     Intrigued, he made delivery of the paper to the house part of his daily routine. After a few weeks, he brought a single pink, almost white long-stemmed rose which he stuck into the center of the rolled paper. The gloved hand paused midway of the usual reach. The man imagined a friendly wave before rose and paper disappeared into the house.
     When he return the following day, the door stood ajar. A note card written in a delicate feminine hand said, 'You may come inside, if you like.' The young man smiled and entered the house. He stood statue still as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. His hostess sat in the shadows of the far corner of the room.
     'I am very happy you accepted my invitation. I wanted to meet you and say thank you for your courtesy.'
     'May I turn on a light? All I distinguish your silhouette. I think people ought to converse face-to-face, don't you?'
     'No. No light. I see you quite well.'
     "But, I --'
     'Perhaps I made a mistake inviting you inside.'
     No one ever put the young man into an awkward situation before. He understood he should do as the lady asked, but he wanted to share a conversation with her. 'I'm sorry. We didn't exchange names yet. Besides, you only said you wanted to say thank you, but you didn't.' He smiled the smile that always won him his way.
     'If you insist on staying you may. Thank you, young man for bringing my newspapers within my reach.' The front door slammed shut startling the man. 'Please make yourself comfortable since you won't be leaving right away.'
     His winning smile faded into apprehension.
   

Mirror, Mirror

     Their relationship began with a simple act of kindness the previous winter. Movement of a curtain caught a young man's eye as he passed the old Victorian house. Several rolled up newspapers gathered at the curb on the sidewalk leading up to the house. The young man delivered them to the front door and rang the bell. Another quick movement in the curtains signaled the presence of someone inside, but no one answered the door. He left the papers and went on his way.
     The woman stood at an angle so she could observe the young man leave without being seen. When he didn't turn back after a few minutes she decided it was safe to retrieve the newspapers. This she did so quickly any observer wasn't sure the door had even been ajar.