+1+
Celtic Woman
Years of weather, war and mankind had diminished the grander of the edifice. The coloring on the stone was still pleasant and the view could only be described as breath taking. Stones chipped away at the belfry making it appear more or less menacing,
The main hall contained a enclosed staircase was lit by dimming lights the rest of the light was natural, carried in from the sun. Two large doors lead the way to the worship hall. Arches were at every door way, one bible scripture remained deeply engraved through the wall.
“There are a few modern touches here and there. Decorative crown molding, electric locks , oh! Did I show you the imported Moroccan cisterns ? The nuns used to enjoy. . . sir ? Are you listening?"
The relater's accent was charming to say the least, though her words held very little interest to me. They seemed to be just another formality. I had been sold . . . as they say, on the surroundings alone.
When Ms. McQuan finally stopped speaking I could finally hear it.
Silence.
“Yes, I think this will do”, I said, “Shall we finish the paperwork this afternoon?”
“Oh, well sure. Then what will the next step be?”, Ms. McQuan inquired
‘What do you mean?” I asked
“Should I get you in contact with a contractor, historical society maybe a curator I know these wonderful—“
“I’m not sure I follow, Ms. McQuan”
“Uh, well usually when we sell properties like this it’s to convert them into hotels or museum . . .” she sensed I honestly didn’t follow, “Why else would you buy an abandoned abbey ?
“To live in.”
+++
I climbed the stairs to one of the upper apartments in the abbey, watching from the dirt frosted window as Ms. McQuan stepped into her car and drove down the hill.
From every window in the abbey there was an undamaged view of the lush green Irish country side. Of all the things I forgot to ask Ms. McQuan about, the weather was the most important.
Downstairs by the entrance are all the possession I owned. They were stacked neatly in two suitcases trodden with wear. The abbey was currently without furnishings though I found a place on the floor to contemplate my predicament, quickly tiring of the respectable attire of a suit and tie.
The ground was hard beneath me, the ceiling is a mess of cob webs and wooden supports. A bit of fresh air blew through the open window.
Despite my best to avoid it, my mind on it own accord wandered back to the cold hard freezing ground, the dark and helplessness of the death I had wished for all those years ago
-2-
Coldwater
The snow was beautiful I remembered that I had for the most part lost all feeling in my body, It was almost a blessing I could not feel the pain of knife that was plunged through my chest or the blood running from it. Somehow though I felt the snow touch and melt along my face.
It should not be very long now, I had thought to myself.
I had only the images of her bleeding face and tears to keep me company, I vowed to one day find peace with the awful acts I had committed.
Before I closed my eyes all I remember is seeing the bright white of the overcast winter sky.
Once darkness prevailed I was being dragged down to death.
Literally dragged.
With my eyes still closed I felt the ground moving beneath me, the sudden movement made me aware of the knife still tearing at my flesh, I reached for it but it was gone my hands, I assumed, were coated in blood.
My head hit the back of something hard followed by a low hum and dry warmth. I was able to open my eyes long enough to realize I was in a running car. The warm air was welcoming and painful at the same time. For a while I did not feel alive or dead, warm or cold.
Within in seconds I lost to all consciousness.
When I opened my eyes for the second time there was a room, the walls were painted gray it was empty except for a dresser with a over-sized gold plated mirror propped against it. I sat up, a shock of pain tearing through me but I was distracted.
In the mirror I saw Lucie’s reflection hovering over me. Her eyes were dark and hollow she looked almost said. Now worse of then I was. I reached out to where she would be next to me and there was nothing. Her ghostly apparition appeared older than I remembered from hours or was it days earlier.
One thing was for certain, she looked dead.
And I didn’t.
A door opened behind me and I saw the familiar face of Emile. As I began to understand the circumstances I was filled with anger and rage because he had not let me die. I learned very early on that Emile often cared to much. He could never completely let anyone go.
I could not bring myself to speak to him even if I wanted, my entire body was still submerged in shock. Emile didn’t look hopeful, he expected me to die by the next morning and I believed the same.
The next morning came and went without my knowledge as I had slept for 48 hours. I recall thoughts of attempting suicide again, but something about Lucie’s constant reflection in the mirror stopped me. I was so haunted by her appearance one night that I threw something at the mirror it made contact but the mirror never cracked.
In those days I was consumed by my failure, by the rage and motions that lead to my undoing. When I had been foolish to think nothing mattered.
One night I awoke to the smooth baritone sounds of a piano. I believed the music to all be in my head but it became louder. There was a silent pause before the beautiful music picked up again. The sounds continued for nearly and hour ever so often stopping and starting.
There was a CD player next to me, I reached for the CD laying on top of it and lost my grasp, silently cursing to myself. I had yet to master navigating with 9 fingers.
“A bit of an obscure work”, Emile said turning down the music.
I had not even notice him walk in, his footsteps were soft or maybe my hearing had been a bit off.
He set the CD case upright and I could make out the words.
A Compilation Of Clara DeLune
I reached for the case again, this time in search of a photograph I knew to be on the back of the case but it just fell to the floor again.
“Not any easy work to find”, he said taking a seat, “ . . .May I ask you something ?”
“Of Course, Emile”, I said. The most words I’d been able to speak in a while. My voice sounded harsh and it was rather painful to speak.
“Why. . . do you suppose Lucie has not killed you yet.”, he whispered in case she may hear him.
I too had been somewhat pressed for an explanation and come a logical and devastating conclusion.
“I wanted Ms. DeLune to live happily and peacefully, in exchange I promised to spend forever with Lucie. I meant to do so in death. However, As long as I am alive it will be my choice to stay with Lucie.”
“I should have told her—“
“No”, I protested, not wanting to relive the terror of the past months. She was far more stubborn than I was and if she felt the slightest bit of longing I did, I doubted she would stay away.
I could not put her through that again. More importantly I could not bring myself to face her after what I had done. I refused to let Emile speak about her, knowing would never do me good. Or perhaps I was being selfish, that was far more likely in those days.
.
I stayed with Emile for sometime, the New Year had come and gone and I realized I had yet to see the outside of the bedroom. The apartment was situated in a close knit complex. The floor of every room was littered with boxes, furniture had been moved but there was something still lived in about it.
For some time I avoided the newspapers, believing the less I knew the better. The more I pretended I did not exist that I would.
However that did not last long.
+3+
One early morning towards the end of January for no particular reason that I could think of, I found myself standing d at the threshold of the Emile's home. Emile had gone to work, there was a quiet sound in the background but I was figuratively concerned about my next step.After deliberating for several minutes I left the familiarity of the apartment for the cold outside of New Haven.
Connecticut was a place I had never been before and as I walked in the chilly mid-morning I realized how unfamiliar it truly was. the sound of cars going by was the same, even the people looked familiar but nothing else.
As I continued walking the cold soon became unbearable, I was shivering involuntarily even though I had borrowed a coat from Emile's closet. My steps became slower and I felt as if I were to die all over again. I began to walk faster as the cold began bearing down on me. Just a few feet away I found a place to recollect myself in.
The New Haven Public Library
It was a rather sleepy place this time of day, I expected that it had just opened for the day. Once inside the panic from earlier subsided and I cursed myself for letting the weather of all things affect me so. Either way I decided to spend some time wandering the stacks.
I was without a watch and therefore felt as if I had all the time in the world and maybe I did. I turned a corner few corner till I came to a set of encyclopedias. I ran a finger across the spine's stopping at 'D". The book was heavy and a few seconds I spilled over the word "Death"
The entry was only a few pages long, it was very constructed and rather dull. The next encyclopedia prattled the same information and so did the next. The thing of it was, on the author's part anyway, it was all speculation and as far as I was concerned it was all wrong.
Death was second on the list of items that seemed to precede explanation.
Not that it stopped me from looking
---
I stayed at the library until rather late in the night.
I did not expect Emile to have any words for me once I made it back from the library, he didn't appear at all concerned and was at the sink washing his hands as if in a daze.
"The Eversons", he said still washing his hands, "live next door--nice people--. Dr. Everson and I carpool together. . he found his wife throwing herself against the door. It looked as if she had been doing it all morning."
I listened carefully, with some suspicion as to why he was telling me this
"She nearly gave herself a concussion, Dr. Everson runs over here and we both attempt to restrain her. A terrible gash has formed on the side of her head, then she suddenly stops. Looks confused and asks him what he wants for dinner. All with half her head smashed in "
"Is she alright ?"
"That's not all", Emile said catching the insincerity in my question, "She said something told her to do it."
" And what did you tell them ?"
"I suggested they take down their mirrors.. . It's just I thought Lucie would be happy now"
"I'm sure she is. . . happiness does not make one less evil. As a matter of fact I would say these little outburst make her extremely happy--"
"Well these people are my friends.", his words were stern and tinged with a bit of fear.
That was all we spoke to each other that night, for Emile it became a slight turning point for him.
Mrs. Everson returned from the hospital the next day seemingly in perfect health.
Only a few days later during an unusually warm afternoon from the corner of the apartment building, I watched from the street as Mrs. Everson went about covering all of the visible windows around her home with newspaper. She was working frantically but neatly. Her bandaged injury showed even from where I stood
I stood by the corner, maybe a few feet from the apartment complex watching her, she was beautiful clearly years younger than her husband. After a while she came bursting out of her house running barefoot in the melting snow towards me.
She turned on the corner and began pulling at the newspaper dispensers adjacent to an abandoned bus stop. She cursed loudly but continued to struggle with the machine. Without a word I walked up to her and placed in a few quarters. The door swung open and she quickly gathered all the papers. She was halfway back to her apartment before she turned back to me.
"Take this", she said handing me a paper, "Put it over the windows, mirrors anything reflective. . . it should protect you from. . . it."
"What do you mean", i asked her
"It", she whispered her dark eyes were glossed over with tears, "I don't know what it is but it's coming for me. . . for us."
"There is nothing after you--"
"3, 5,9", she said and repeated over and over again as she made her way back to her apartment.
I kept the news paper with me but out of habit I made an effort not to read it. Instead I found myself in the library and continued to read the same text over again about the science of death. What I wanted to know was the true philosophy of death. What purpose did it really serve ? To reign society in ? or to force us to look for meaning in everything. An absurd thing to ponder.
I turned the page of the Encyclopedia this time there was a illustration with the word "death" below it. Just above the word was a pile of skulls being trampled by a white horse on which a knight sat atop of while holding g a flag with a white flower on it..
Something about the image, the idea behind it made me realize had been looking for the wrong information. It wasn't death I needed to understand.
---
Emile was quiet during dinner that evening. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and I suppose other things neither of us dared speak of.
"Emile", I asked breaking the constant silence, “Do you believe in Nirvana ?”
“Hello, hello, hello, hello, how low?” he said with an air of his usual good nature, "Sorry it's a band. Anyway as I've told you I don't know what to believe anymore."
"Well, what if I told you death is like life a journey to--"
"Nirvana, you're talking religion"
"Philosphy, to be more exact, let's consider the idea of rebirth. Not entirely impossible, no ?"
"No", Emile agreed his eyes trained on his dinner.
"Maybe that's all Lucie needs. A second chance at life to be human again."
"Do you think she deserves it ?", he said begrudgingly
"Do you ? Did I ? You know Emile, there is only one constant in death and that is that it only happens once. Life however comes into existence every single day."
There was a moment of silence between us before a literal glass shattering scream broke through. Emile stared in disbelief at the broken wine glass in his had. He ran towards the door, the sound had without a doubt come from the Eversons apartment next door.
Against my better judgment I followed him to the Everson's door, as he attempted to open it I noticed the brass number hanging on the door.
"6"
The door stood unhinged and Emile carefully opened it to a rather distraught scene. In the farthest edge of the apartment Mrs. Everson was lying dead and bleeding on the floor. There was a stainless steel knife in her hand and her previous wound had reopened and bled out on the floor.
Dr. Everson, still alive, was just a few feet from her appearing completely defensive and curled up in the corner, as he noticed Emile he began to rock slowly back and forth.
"S-she attacked me", he screamed his voice was loud and manic., 'then I saw it, in the window it was a. . .a . .. . . is she okay ?", h e looked towards his wife.
Emile touched the bleeding woman's neck and closed his eyes. Becoming nauseous Emile walked outside, I joined him.
There was without a doubt something to be concerned about, Lucie wasn't just torching people she was killing them.
There was not a single word between us when we heard Dr. Everson scream and a heavy unnatural stream of blood flowed outside the door decorating the sidewalk.
Although it has only been seconds Inside was a different scene that we had previously left. Mrs. Everson now appeared next to her husband as if she had dragged herself over to where he had cowered in fear. It appeared as if she had had dug her nails into her frail husbands neck, till the last breath of life left him.
I stumbled out backwards from the apartment towards the end of the street. the numbers on apartments 3, 5, and 9 had all been turned upside down and each of the windows were covered with newspapers with the front doors swung open.
They had all been happy loving couples till they had the misfortune of a certain presence, her presence. I remember the night feeling unnaturally cold and as I ventured into the darkness I realized there was no escape and I had no one to blame but myself.
+4+
I had to get away, as far away from the stench and hostility of death. How many of those people were (had been) Emile's friends, his real friends.
I suppose I must have been running the ground was cold and frozen still I endured the weather and continued towards wherever my legs were carrying me. It was foolish things to do and I stopped and took refuge underneath a street light watching as the last flurry of winter fell.
"what are you doing ?", a voice said to me
I saw a figure over my shoulder sitting on a bench, a bench I didn't recall seeing earlier. The petite dark haired figure turned towards me.
"Lucie, why".
"It's a part of me", she explained, "I live on their disparity their tragedy. . . it's what I am now. it's what you made me."
"I did not make you anything."
"Yes you did, you lied you promised that you would never lover her . Now I will always be apart of you even when I'm not there. Those people their pain will also be apart of you."
"No, it won't"
"Yes it will", she whispered, "remember you chose me this time"
I couldn't even see her face but her words conveyed so much emotion.
"besides", she said, "you don't belong here, not really. That is what you and I will always have in common"
By the time I reached her she was gone. I wandered in the freezing cold for an hour, picturing the Eversons and the couple of apartment 3.5. and 9. They would never know who I was or my name but Emile did he would always know, Their death was as much my doing as hers
I don't belong here
After a while I began to hear the sirens in the distance and they too even sounded different.
A pair of headlights cut through the cold night and came to a slow stop. The windows rolled down revealing Emile's sullen expression
Emile kept the car running as I stepped in.
"You want me to leave ?", I asked
"It's not like me to abandon a frie---"
"Take me to New York". I said looking away from him
"She's gone you know", he said, "she won't tell me where she is--"
"I don't care Emile.", I had lied
"Where are you going then ?"
"I don't know."
"People aren't meant to be alone", he said
"I'm never alone, not really. I'll find a way to make this all right for everyone", I said stoically.
'This feels selfish", he said, ". . . it is unlike me to my back on a friend."
"You've done more than enough. I consider it an honor to still be considered a friend. I just ask this one last favor. please don't concern yourself with me."
He didn't protest but continued to drive
It was the start of dawn when we drove over the bridge, Emile began to grow tired but he never stopped driving. Our parting had been short and sentimental. I kept his address near me and write him often. Still as he drove off there was the eerie feeling that I would never see him again.
I can recall with certainty that It was February 6th.
My birthday.
---
Author’s Note
There is a lot going on with time here, but the main thing is that the first section of this chapter takes place at the same 'time' as chapter 1 and the rest of the chapter takes place 3 1/2 years earlier.
Sure, technically it's only been three years since House of Fierro but the characters would have all aged four years
Also I don't think I ever mentioned the finger Mr. Fierro is missing in his little finger on his right hand.
P.S
I guess you know why I've been avoiding some comments.