The chew witch lived up in the hills, on one of them dirt roads that never had any gravel on it in the first place, because nobody had the money to spread it or care enough to. Her real name was Clara Lou or Lou Claire or something like that but everybody called her the chew witch because my cousin Kathy Jo once called her that when she was five and didn’t know better, and it stuck better than gum up under the railing at the grocery. Our grocery, that is, where I spent many a summer afternoon bored to near death, picking paint and gum off the railing outside. Or trying to anyway. Some of that stuff was stuck tighter than the nickname that Kathy Jo gave poor old Lou Claire….or you know, maybe it actually was Clara Lou. It was definitely a double first name just like almost everybody I knew who comes from the holler. In my family there was Mary Sue and Jenny Kate and me, Peggy June. Our Momma and Daddy ran the only grocery for about 15 miles round, at the base of one of them smaller hills that’s not quite one of the mountains of Appalachia, but pretty darn close. We sat outside that grocery store at the railing for half our lives it seemed like, waiting for anything exciting to happen. Nothing ever did.
Unless the chew witch came in. That’s the only place I ever saw her. She never came to church or went to get an ice cream cone or a soda across the street at Pete’s, and who knows how she put gas in the rickety old black pick up. I never saw her at the gas station up by the state highway. That truck was missing a bumper and three hubcaps, and looked like it might just shake all to pieces, it’s pistons and hoses flying out from underneath it all over the road if she hit a bump too hard. It was mighty sight to see, the old chew witch working that clutch as she came down the hill in to the grocery store parking lot, truck belching more than my uncle Alvey, who was always sneaking away when Momma wasn’t looking to have another beer in the cooler. She’d slide that big old pick up-and when I say, old, I mean that truck was probably older than my daddy-nearly right up to where our toes were hanging over the railing, and she would climb down and just give us the dirtiest look, like we were in her way. Kathy Jo called her the chew witch because she was always chewing when she came in, and she looked mean as a snake. Kathy Jo was old enough to run the register when me and my sisters were still too young to do anything but sweep up and stay out of Momma’s hair, which is why we spent so much time outside at the railing, just watching for something to happen. If the chew witch showed up though, we would quickly find something very interesting inside, so we could watch her as she shopped.
She never bought anything that looked like she could make a meal from- just odd ends and bits and part that maybe sorta might go together if she was hungry. Looked like she was hungry all the time, honestly; she was such as skinny old crone. Mommas said it’s because she chewed too much tobacco and didn’t eat enough food and I believed her. She always left a big steamy pile of nasty tobacco spit in her parking space before she climbed back into her truck. I didn’t know hardly any ladies that chewed tobacco, so it made send to me that Kathy Jo would have noticed that at age five, and fixated enough on it to make it part of her no so pleasant nickname. And as for the witch part- well, let’s just say nobody ever liked a weird old lady who lived alone.
I was maybe 12 or 13 years old when she came in the store on blazing hot day in July. She bought two cans of beans and a bag of flour. It was one of the small bags too, not the big five pound one like most people bought. I had been watching her from behind the rack of potato chips when Momma spooked me by whispering in my ear to mind my own business. I knocked the rack over when I jumped, and then I had to clean up that mess, Momma fussing that I might have crunched up all the chips. Jenny Kate and Mary Sue laughed, but Kathy Jo just gave me a mean look, like I was doing something wrong. When the chew witch left the store, I went up the register to fuss at Kathy Jo to mind her own business, but before I could say anything about it, Kathy Jo began lecturing me, like she was in charge or something!
“There’s nothing special about her, Peggy June. She’s just an old lady who lives up the holler. Why do you spy on her?”
“‘Cause she’s a weird old lady that live up the holler!” I said, feeling my face flush. I didn’t like to be corrected or embarrassed and I’d been both in the last five minutes.
“Well, maybe you ought to get to know her then, and she’ be less weird,” Kathy Jo grumped at me.
“Maybe you should get to know her,” I said, crossed my arms as I pouted. I didn’t have a better come back than that. Kathy Jo was a bit smarter than me, so even if I did, she’d have been clever enough to turn it back around on me in some way that would make me look worse than I already felt.
“Well, maybe I will! Besides, she told me just now to tell you and the girls to knock it off.” Kathy Jo always called the three of us sisters that girls, like she was an adult or something. She wasn’t. She was only 3 years older than me.
“Oh?” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “What’d she say?”
Kathy Jo leaned over the belt and looked at me pointedly. “She said, ‘tell your cousin that she can follow me around all she wants, but she won’t see anything really exciting unless she follows me home.’”
I didn’t know if it was a threat or an invitation or something else. But it did put an idea in my head.
The next time Eden and Annie saw Meg, she was with Park, and there was no trace of the crying, nearly cowering, shrinking woman that had accompanied the other man to the coffee shop on Meg’s previous visit. The coffee house employees watched the couple as they always did, and Meg and Park did what they always did. Leaned in. Made eyes at one another. Smiled constantly. Left with longing painfully painted into their expressions.
“How long would you give it?” Annie asked one day after Meg and Park had finally left after a lingering goodbye by the door that lasted a full ten minutes.
“Hard to say,” Eden said. “I mean, clearly, she was over that other man a long time ago. How, long has she been coming in here to see Park?”
“A year?” Annie said, her tone raised in a question.
Eden considered that. “So if a year ago, she as already thinking about an out, it might not be very long until they actually do get together.”
“If they aren’t together already,” Annie said.
The next week when Park came in, he came to the counter immediately, instead of waiting for Meg like he normally did. He was smiling, but he was also shaking. Eden was briefly concerned until Park pulled a small black box from his pocket and popped it open for her to see. Without preamble, he asked, “Do you think she’ll like it?”
Annie was peering over Eden’s shoulder to see. The ring was an emerald cut diamond. Eden guessed it was a half carot. A simple solitaire in a white gold band. She imagined it sliding down Meg’s finger, and the shining smile she would have to match its sparkle.
“Yes, Park. I think she will like it.”
As soon as the words left her, Meg came through the door. Today she was looking as sharp as always, her slim fit blazer dressing up the blue jeans she wore. Her nubuck heels clicked against the tile floor, a crisp sound filling the stillness of the shop. Park was frozen in place as she approached him, and he didn’t hide the ring box. Eden was as stiff as stone, and Annie didn’t move as inch, both transfixed on the couple standing before them.
Meg noticed that everyone was staring at her. She slowed, and then noticed what Park was holding out for Eden and Annie to see. “Park, is that…?”
He didn’t wait for her to finish. He dropped to one knee in front of her, nervously holding up the ring box and sputtering, “I know, we’re not even really together, Meg, but I love you so much and I just thought that maybe we could skip right to the end.”
The coffee house went silent. Meg’s face betrayed no expression for an uncomfortable eternity. Then she began to cry. It was an ugly cry, but one that Eden could tell was born of relief and joy. Not at all the like crying she had seen from her when she and her ex-husband had been in together, arguing and signing papers. She didn’t wipe her face. She didn’t say anything. She just wept in front of God and everyone, until Park couldn’t take it, and rose to wrap her in his arms.
Eden stole a quick glance to Annie, who was also transfixed on the strange proposal and Meg’s response. He proposed to her, but they weren’t even dating? Eden wasn’t sure what to think, but she could hear Meg and Park whispering to one another as they embraced, and it didn’t sound like her answer was no. When they pulled apart, they were both smiling. There three other patrons in the coffee house were all watching too, as Park took the ring from the box and slipped it on Meg’s finger. Somebody whistled, and then there was clapping. Meg was still crying, but now she was also beaming. Park was also crying, and smiling, and Eden also felt like her eyes were too wet.
Park and Meg turned to face her, and before they could say anything, she blurted, “Whatever you want is on me today.”
Park tried to protest, but she insisted. She rang in their drinks and watched the couple as Annie started to make them. The rest of their time together was the same as it always was, although Eden was sure there was a glow coming off them.
When they left, Annie bumped her with an elbow. “Told ya,” she said.
“You didn’t tell me anything! I told you!” Eden said, laughing.
Annie sighed. “Who are we going to gossip about now?”
Eden wondered at that too. She felt like she was a part of Meg and Park’s story now. No longer an outsider. It wasn’t quite as fun to imagine what was happening, because now she didn’t need to imagine.
“There’s always people to watch,” she said, just as a patron she had never seen before came in the door.
“Hey Park,” Eden said as he slowly approached the counter. “Cappuccino today? Or you wanna do the flat white again?” She began to take a fresh cup off the stack next to the register, her pen ready to scribble down his order.
“Oh, cappuccino is fine,” he said. He always seemed timid when they spoke, not at all the same demeanor he had with Meg. He looked over his shoulder, watching the door.
“Looking for your wife?” Eden asked, as she rung in his order to the computer.
“My wife?” he asked, his cheeks coloring. “No, Meg’s not my wife.”
“Oh!” Eden said, acting surprised. She had never really thought the two of them were married. “I’m sorry, I just assumed…”
“It’s okay,” he said. “We are just…close. You know?” He smiled, but he looked so uncomfortable that Eden almost felt bad about her plan to pry information out of him.
“I have friends like that too,” she said, an attempt to ease his nerves. The man was practically bouncing on his toes from anxiety. “How long have you known each other?” she asked.
“We worked together some years ago,” he said. “And, we recently just…ran into each other in the grocery store.” He laughed. A nervous laugh. The kind of laugh you do when you’re hiding something that you’d rather not say.
Eden didn’t press anymore. She handed the cup off to Annie as she took Park’s payment. “That was fortuitous!” she said. “It’s like a movie.”
Park just smiled, but he also bit his bottom lip. He glanced away from her, towards the door, just as Meg walked in. She was wearing the black heels today, black blazer with bright pink pants. Her hair was styled into soft curls around her face. She took off her sunglasses as she came towards the counter, reaching for him with one arm. They hugged, greeting one another as if they hadn’t seen each other in years, completely ignoring the fact that Eden was standing not two feet from them.
When Park pulled away from her, he said, “Eden thought we were married.” Then he and Meg both laughed as if it was the funniest thing they had ever heard.
Eden waiting politely and patiently at the counter, knowing what Meg was going to order, but not ringing it in until she was ready.
When Meg finally stopped laughing, she took a long step to the register and said under her breath to Eden, “I mean, if he’d have asked me ten years ago, we would be married.” She laughed at herself some more, and that’s when Eden saw that she was wearing a wedding ring. She tried not to smile too broadly at this bit of information. She couldn’t wait to pick this apart with Annie.
“Iced coffee, room for cream?” Eden asked, not commenting on the information or the scandal that she was imagining.
“You know… today, let me get whatever he got,” Meg said.
Eden froze. This had never happened before. “Sure,” she said, ringing in a second cappuccino and handing the cup off to Annie before she began pushing buttons on the monitor in front of her.
Park and Meg quickly ignored everyone and everything that wasn’t each other. Just like always. Eden watched them from behind the counter intermittently, between serving other customers and keeping the counter tidy. When Annie strolled in, she nearly ran to the backroom to intercept her.
“Meg is married, but Park isn’t. They used to work together but lost touch for a long time, and then ran into each other at the grocery store.”
Annie was tying her around her waist. She didn’t say anything as she retied her ponytail and put on her visor. Eden watched her slow movements, tapping a finger against her arm as she waited. Finally, Annie took a long drink out of her water bottle, screwing the cap back on, and then placing it in the cubby next to her bag and her keys. “So,” Annie began, “it’s not a possibility, but he still wants her.”
Eden grasped onto those words with glee, the secret burning her lips even as she spoke it. “But that’s the thing! I think she wants him too!”
“Did she say something to make you think that?” Annie asked. They both began moving back towards the counter, the door to the back room continuing to swing as they exited the store room.
Eden dropped her voice. “She said, kinda under her breath, that if he’d asked ten years ago, they would be married.”
Annie’s eyes widened for just a moment before a slow smile crept across her face. “Oh, I see,” she said. “So there’s trouble in paradise.”
“She didn’t say anything about her husband to me,” Eden said. Her eyes trailed across the coffee house, resting on the friends as they talked, leaning forward into each other, all smiles. Meg’s face was particularly glorious today, and her black curls were shining just like her expression. She was wearing golden earrings that flashed in the light every time she laughed. She was beautiful.
There was a customer at the counter. Annie moved around her to greet the man and take the order. Eden moved towards the espresso machine to get started making his drink. A line formed behind him, and Eden and Annie didn’t get a chance to talk any more about Meg and Park for a long stretch.
But Eden watched them as they left, hugging one another for a long time (although this time there was no peck on the cheek). They split from one another in the parking lot, each going their own way. Eden wondered if Meg’s husband knew about these meetings with Park. She wondered if Meg was as happy with him as she was when she was here in the coffee house. It didn’t seem like she could look at anyone else with the same intensity as she looked at Park.
“Maybe she’s that way with everyone,” Annie said later, when there was a lull, and they stood behind the counter with their arms crossed, feeling tired and ready for shift end.
Eden looked at her watch. They only had twenty minutes left. “She’s never that way with me,” Eden said. She picked as a thread coming loose on her apron, wondering what the end goal was for either of them. Why would a married woman meet up with a man, especially if she felt such joy like that around him, if she was already happy with another man? Why would a man continually meet a married woman—and kiss her!—if he wasn’t trying to start a relationship with her? It was clear now that the two were not simply friends. But they weren’t quite at the beginning of a romance either. Or were they?
“You know, we don’t know if these are their only meet ups,” Eden offered.
Annie nodded. “So you think they are having affair?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Eden said.
Annie grimaced as if she didn’t agree. “I don’t know. They see too nervous around each other for that.”
Maybe that was true. Eden didn’t know. And really, it wasn’t her business anyway. But they were right there in front of her face at least once a week, and she just wanted to know what was going on.
They started coming into the coffeehouse about 8 months ago. The woman was perhaps in her mid-forties. She colored her hair. Sometimes the roots grew out to where Eden could see them, streaks of gray among the black. She was about Eden’s height, a little over 5 foot 3, unless she was wearing heels. And she liked to wear heels. She wore them with jeans even. She always had a blazer on. Her name was Meg and she drank iced coffee with no flavoring. She always asked for Eden to leave room for cream. She carried a bag that was big enough for a laptop, though Eden never saw her use while she was there.
The man’s name was Park. He was older than Meg Well, maybe. Not by much. His beard was graying, but it was hard to see because it wasn’t thick. He still had a full head of hair though, no balding even though his temples were silver. He wasn’t tall for a man, but he was taller than Meg. Unless she was wearing heels. Then they were the same height. He wore everything from jeans, to suits, to sweats when they came in. Sometimes he had a backpack. Sometimes he brought nothing. He would usually arrive first, and he would wait near the counter for her before he ordered. He drank everything on the menu, but he had his favorites—the cappuccino with a swirl of vanilla syrup, or the americano. Lots of days he just ordered black.
“Do you think they’re dating?” Eden asked her coworker, Annie. Meg and Park came into the coffeehouse in the middle of the day, at least once a week. It was usually slow at that time of day and she liked to gossip about the customers to anyone else who was with her.
“Beats me,” Annie said, smacking her gum, though she too was looking at the table were the pair were talking with their heads close together.
They never touched, but they always smiled. Sometimes they would hug, but not all the time. Mostly they would just sit, leaning into each other, just like they were doing now. It always made Eden think of the scene from Lady and the Tramp when the dogs were eating spaghetti. All those two needed was an excuse to kiss and Eden was sure they would do it. Whatever was in their bags from day to day went untouched.
They didn’t do any work together. The laptops, if they had them in their bags, never emerged. They didn’t check their phones. They didn’t ever write anything down on a notepad produced from Park’s backpack or Meg’s purse. These were not meet ups for anything other than drinking coffee and staring into each other’s eyes.
“Maybe they’re having an affair,” Eden said. The shop was slower than usual today.
“He doesn’t wear a wedding ring,” Annie countered as she swept the floor.
Eden stuck her hands into her apron pocket, studying that hands of her patrons. She could clear see that Park did not wear a wedding ring, but she couldn’t see Meg’s left had at all. It was clutched around her coffee cup. Meg’s hair was tied up in a ponytail today. She was wearing a black turtle neck under her blazer, and her jeans were a dark wash. She had a patent leather black pumps. She had crossed her legs and was sitting back in her chair as Park told her a story. He was in jeans and tennis shoes, and his zip up was dark gray. He had been wearing a green plaid scarf but he’d taken it off his neck about ten minutes ago, and it was slung over the back of her chair across the peacoat he wore. Meg laughed at something he said and then leaned forward, nearly whispering to him in response. It was so annoying that Eden could never hear what they were saying.
“Maybe he’s her brother,” Annie said, coming behind her to whisper the words into her ear.
A customer approached the counter and she was momentarily distracted from her spying. She took the man’s order and as she stepped the espresso machine, she saw that Meg was standing up. Park stood too. Today they hugged. It was a short hug today—not a lover’s hug, not a long, lingering “I’ll miss you”, not a hug for someone who is having a rough day. Just a quick one armed hug. They were both still holding their coffee cups as they moved to the door. Park took Meg’s cup so she could button her jacket, and then she returned the favor. The two of them stared at each other, smiling awkwardly, like they didn’t want to say goodbye. Then Park leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. She laughed and it looked like he apologized, though Meg didn’t look upset at all. Her face was rosy, glowing even. They left the coffee house.
Eden handed the drink to the waiting customer at the counter, then went to find Annie. She was putting the broom away in the back. “He’s not her brother,” she said. “He kissed her!” she said.
Annie didn’t seem nearly as scandalized as Eden felt. “What kind of kiss?”
“Just a quick peck on the cheek,” Eden said.
Annie frowned, and blew a bubble with her gum. “Eh…could still be her brother I guess.”
“My brother never kisses me. And he doesn’t look at me like that.”
“Yeah, that’s fair,” Annie said. “Next time they come in, you should ask how they know each other.”
“What…just…ask?” Eden gasped.
“Why not? They come in here all the time. You know their names. You now exactly what Meg is going to order, and you can form a good guess for what Park is going to order based on what he’s wearing. They make chitchat with you sometimes. Why not ask them?”
I started writing a prequel story to my first novel, The World Between, near the end of 2021. I have not worked on it much in the last two years, but I have a few ideas on paper at this point, including a complete prologue. I shared the first section of the prologue last year (read it here). The following excerpt is from the second section. This work is tentatively titled The Land of Stars and Bones, though, as it takes shape, that title might change.
Etheldra gazed upward into the night. Here at the edge of the woods, on the shore, the sky was wide and open. She marveled at its beauty. The waves crashed against the rocks to the north, the steady drumming of the water against the land an unending song. She lowered her gaze, squinting in the dark to the find the horizon. The stars sparkled on the surface of the ocean. It looked like one huge mass of endless depth and rebirth.
Someone approached behind her. The soft scuff of their boots against the gravel where she sat drew her gaze over her shoulder. It was her brother, Arathel. “Were you following me?” she asked tenderly.
“No,” he answered, coming to stand beside her. “I don’t have to follow you anymore. I know this is where you disappear to.”
She smirked wryly at him, hiding it by ducking her chin. She could feel his pale eyes on her. She turned back to meet his gaze. He was worried. His brow was creased.
“What troubles you?” she asked.
“I came to ask you the same,” Arathel answered.
She shook away what she had seen in the grove and what she knew it would mean for her future. “You saw him, didn’t you?”
Arathel hummed, a note of understanding. “Is that the only thing that worries you?” he asked.
Etheldra almost smiled, though she didn’t feel any mirth. “You know me too well, Arathel,” she said, looking up at him.
“There is a new darkness spreading,” he replied quietly. His voice was like stone.
She closed her eyes, blocking out the sight of her brother’s worried face. The wind tossed her hair over her shoulder. She fell deep within herself, listening for the sound of The Great Maker’s voice. The god’s slow whispers drifted through her soul. There was warning there.
She opened her eyes. “It is no different than before,” she stated, though she felt more urgency from the god than she previously had. She turned to regard her brother, but Arathel had also fallen deep within. She reached for his hand and fell away again. The whispering moved through her. She let The Great Maker fill her with his desires and emotions.
Run. Run!
She crashed to the surface, breaking off her connection.
“He’s afraid,” Arathel said definitively.
The words crawled through her. “He’s a god. Why should he be afraid?”
Arathel squeezed her hand, clutching it against him, as if it steadied him. “He made this world, Etheldra. But there is one who can unmake it.”
She swallowed her fears noisily. “He is a lesser god,” she replied, not feeling the conviction that once armored her.
Arathel released her hand gently, then lowered his eyes and kicked a stone at his feet. Etheldra watched it roll towards the water. It came to rest against a larger rock with a clink. “Sometimes,” he began slowly, “I wonder if there were other worlds that were swallowed by his darkness.”
Etheldra drew a ragged breath, not wanting to hear his theories of previous lives, previous worlds, previous darkness. “There is only this world, Arathel.”
“The Great Maker revealed to you that there were no other worlds?” Arathel asked pointedly. His eyes, so pale even in the darkness, seemed to implant doubt into her.
“No,” she replied quietly. “Has he revealed to you that there were?”
For a moment, she believed Arathel was going to tell her he’d had a revelation. She even opened her mouth expectantly, ready to exclaim. But her brother only shook his head at her. “No,” he answered. His whisper was nearly lost in the sound of the waves. “No, he hasn’t revealed that to me.”
Etheldra nodded, relieved. She turned back to the stars, twinkling above and below the waters. “Sometimes,” she said softly, with a conspiratorial tone, “I think the stars are souls.” She waited for a reply, but Arathel did not offer one. Having confessed that much, she continued, “That’s why I come here. To try to touch them.”
Her brother made a low noise in his throat. “They aren’t souls Etheldra. That’s just where the souls live.”
She smiled to herself. “Has that been revealed to you?” she asked playfully.
A short laugh escaped him. “This is why I think there must be other worlds. Why would The Great Maker keep so many souls among the stars?” he asked.
She wondered about the question, and the answer, before replying. “You said it yourself. It’s where the souls live.”
“Then why are we here?” her brother wondered aloud. He crossed his arms, and stroked his thumb and forefinger over his chin.
Etheldra often wondered this too. “The Great Maker made us,” she answered weakly. “Pulled us from the stars.”
“Is that why the darkness is chasing us?” Arathel pressed.
Her stomach lurched at his question. His intense, piercing stare unnerved her. “We can put the darkness back where it came from,” she argued.
“Every time?” Arathel asked.
Etheldra looked away from him, trying not to remember The Great Maker’s frantic words. “We’ve always been able to,” she countered.
Arathel kicked another rock in response. This one went further than the last and was swallowed up by the waves. “The darkness is trying to put us back where we belong.”
Etheldra turned her eyes back to the shimmering expanse. “Don’t we belong here now?”
“But you feel that longing to return. Don’t you?” Arathel asked.
She closed her eyes, listening deep. The whispers of The Great Maker soothed her. “I don’t even remember it,” she said smoothly, a whisper as soft as the breeze. “I don’t remember being anywhere but here.” Sometimes she thought she could remember sailing among the stars, but it was more like a half-remembered dream than anything. She knew memory was not solid. It changed just as her desires did, and her imagination filled in the gaps.
When she opened her eyes, Arathel was deep within himself. She tried to hear the voice of The Great Maker moving through him, but it was too faint. She waited, content to listen instead to the voices on the wind. It carried a song to her, the music of a flute underneath a female voice. The celebrations would last long into the night, as they always did. She wondered if Harendil, her husband, was still among the revelers. She tried not to think of him dancing. Her hands went to her stomach for just a moment and she pressed against her flesh, feeling for the hard knot within. Was the soul of the child inside her already there, or was it still above her in the sea of stars?
Arathel cleared his throat. “Are you ill?” he asked.
She dropped her hands. “I am pregnant,” she said, not looking at him.
“Ah,” he answered. She turned her head towards him, brows furrowed in confusion at his knowing sigh. “It makes sense now. Why you have been coming here more often lately.”
She nodded. “I’ve always liked the shore,” she began, “but the last few moons have had me wondering. And this is a good place to wonder.”
“What are you wondering?” Arathel asked.
She looked back to the sky. She could almost imagine that she could see the stars swirling. “How any of us came to be,” she replied.
“You mean, how your child came to be,” Arathel replied, his voice exuding confidence that his thinking was correct.
She smiled at him, then turned her eyes out to the ocean, listening past the waves to the music of the flute ululating from the woods. She looked again for the horizon, but could only see one great expanse of darkness, dotted with light. “Yes,” she admitted. “This child is what has me wondering about these things.”
Arathel, sensing perhaps that she was not moving from the beach any time soon, slowly lowered himself to the stones next to her. He stretched out his legs in front of him, and leaned back on his elbows, staring up into the stars. They were both quiet for a time, listening to the sound of the water. “Last time the darkness came, I didn’t think we could beat it back,” Arathel confessed.
The wind gusted, blowing her loose hair away from her face. Etheldra felt the agreement bubbling up within her, but she did not want to release it into the world. “He was strong. He gets stronger the longer he waits to try again.”
Arathel hummed in thought. She could feel his vibrating anxiety at her words. She shivered, her skin prickling with fear. “How long has it been, do you think?”
Etheldra’s people did not count time. They kept track of seasons and celestial bodies, but did not keep records. She thought about how many children had been born to her family since the last time the darkness came. “Amdril has had five generations of children born from her line,” she said, referring to their cousin, who had been carrying a babe the last time the darkness came.
“That’s…twice as long as it was before,” Arathel said, thinking aloud. He shifted, and the pebbles crunched. “Is that right?”
Etheldra closed her eyes, thinking of their family tree. “Before that, the darkness came after I had bound myself to Harendil, but we had not married yet.”
“That was before Mother Fianel gave birth to Elundiel,” Arathel added.
The confusion of how to count generations was why no one bothered to keep records. Etheldra and Arathel were older than Elundiel, their father’s youngest sister. Mother Fianel, their grandmother, had gone on to have two more children, both boys. Amdril’s oldest children were older than either of these uncles. Why bother keeping records of it? It was too confusing.
Etheldra nodded. “And the time before that?” she asked. “Was it shorter?”
Arathel shook his head. “I was a child,” he answered. “Almost too young to remember.”
She had been young too, but she remembered vividly. The sky had caught fire one night, raining down flames of chaos into the deep ocean. The steam had threatened to choke the life from her. She recalled how raw her mother’s face had seemed, when she opened the door of the cottage, to find Etheldra and Arathel hiding under the bed where she had left them. Arathel had been very young, not quite old enough to have his own bow, though their father had given him one anyway. He clutched the weapon tightly, determined to defend her should he need to. But he was a child, and he had cried as the darkness covered the world.
Etheldra pushed aside the memories wearily. “When he comes again, he will be much stronger.” She fell into the slow murmuring of the god who dwelled within her. Run. Run. Run.
Arathel laid his hand on her shoulder, linking into her communion. His hand fell away a moment later. “I don’t understand. Where is there to run?”
Etheldra shook her head, an admission that she had no answer for him. Her eyes went back to the stars, to the souls swirling above her in the sky. In the distance, drums began to beat. Etheldra smiled to herself. The celebrations would not be winding down any time soon. She turned to her brother. “You can go back to the glade if you wish,” she said.
Arathel rose from his recline on the beach, hunching forward instead. “And leave you here?”
She rose to her feet, brushing the back of her skirts free of debris. “I’ve done enough contemplation here tonight.”
She followed her brother, a half step behind, back home to the safety of the woods.
When the text came to her phone, pinging like a clear bell in the finally silent house, she almost didn’t look at it. Whoever it was could wait until morning. These night time hours were precious—when she could draw, or paint, ink, stamp, glue, print, tape in peace. Amy finished the last stroke, letting the pen tip end in a flourish atop the stalk of golden grain on her page. She held up the drawing to the light, taking a moment to examine it, and feel her own pride swelling, before she carefully laid it down on the desk. She reached for her phone—she had left it on the bookshelf behind her—and saw that it was from Gabby.
The good mood that she had carefully cultivated over the last hour in her studio melted when she saw the name on the screen. She opened her iMessages and read through what she knew would either be a request for help, or some kind of emotional breakdown that she did not have the energy nor patience to engage with.
Hey! How are you? Do you have a screwdriver I can borrow? I need it to fix the handle on these cabinets that we hung in the garage. Aaron took his whole tool bag home so I don’t have anything to tighten up these screws.
Go buy one, Amy thought to herself. She put her phone back on her shelf. She closed her eyes and tried to remember that moment of pride she had just a minute before. Before Gabby’s neediness and insecurity and incompetence and ineptness intruded into her perfect evening. The anger inside her would not settle. She picked up her phone and pulled up her messages with Andrew.
How do you break up with a friend? She typed it out fast, her fingers fueled by a searing rage that was months in the making.
I don’t think you do. I think you just ghost them. She could hear the flatness of his tone in the words on the screen. He would have raised one eyebrow if she had been there, an unspoken question lurking inside the expression. They had talked about Gabby before. How terrible she was for Amy’s mental health, because she was so oblivious to anyone else’s needs, desires, interests or insecurities. How Amy had to do so much hand holding to be her friend. How Amy had to take a backseat to what Gabby wanted when they were together. And how Gabby always needed something from her, but never gave her anything in return. She didn’t return favors. She didn’t want to. All she did was take. The entire relationship was for her benefit.
That’s not working. She keeps texting me. Amy sighed, then got up from the desk. She pressed her forehead against the window of her in-home studio, looking at nothing in the darkness behind her house. None of her neighbors had exterior lights on at this time of night. There was a new moon, and the stars were hidden by patchy clouds and light pollution. It looked like the end of the world at her doorstep. The ping of another text drew her attention.
Well, you keep answering her messages, even if it does take you a few days. Andrew was typing something else. The three blinking dots were like lasers into her eyes. She stared without blinking until the next message came through. Just ignore her.
Just ignore her. How could she ignore someone who had taken up so much space inside her head?
Amy returned to the desk, where she pushed aside the drawing that she had just completed, and turned to a new page in her sketchbook. She adjusted the neck of the desk lamp. She leaned back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other before placing the heavy sketchpad on her lap. She let her hand move freely, not thinking. The whirlwind of annoyance calmed as she drew—each line like a cresting wave, or blooming flower, a sparkling star. She laid the pencil down on the desk and examined what she had drawn.
A mess of blots and screws dotted the page, and in the middle, a simple line drawing of a woman with a short bob and big glasses yelling “how am I supposed to fix this?” At her feet lay a shattered vase and in her hand, she clutched a hammer. Amy smiled at the picture, a commentary on the tempestuous Gabby. Something was always wrong in her life, and usually, it was her own fault. But the smile did not last long. She was ready to be done with this relationship for good.
She texted Andrew first. I think I just need to tell her. You know. Like I would if she were a guy.
His reply came almost instantly. You mean, you actually are gonna break up with her?
She hovered over the screen. There was a sea of concerns she could not name. She second guessed herself. She flipped over to Gabby’s message, and re-reading it. She almost typed out a reply, something benign like I’d have to find mine, or Just ask Aaron to bring his back, or I can’t get it to you this week. Then she thought of typing something she actually wanted to say. Screwdrivers are really cheap, so you could buy your own. Stop asking me for things. Don’t text me anymore.
She didn’t text Gabby any of these things. She went back to her chat with Andrew. Yeah, I think I am gonna break up with her. She is an emotional vampire. She put her phone down on the desk, and her eyes fell to the drawing of the woman with the shattered vase. In the past, Amy would have helped Gabby pick up that vase, and glue it back together. But she could never take the hammer out of Gabby’s hand, and that was the real problem. Until Gabby decided to stop sabotaging her friendships with her inability to be self-aware, that vase would keep getting broken. Amy didn’t want to clean up the pieces of it anymore.
Her phone pinged. She read Andrew’s response without picking up her phone, her face hovering over the screen so the camera would recognize her. I really wish I could just break up with Jeff. But I’ve invested too much in the friendship at this point I think.
The posture she had taken on made her feel like a crone. She sat up straight in the chair, and picked up the phone to reply. She typed out the message with one finger. He’s not the best friend imo but you have been friends a long time. Maybe it’s different. Now Amy was getting tired. Gabby didn’t even have to be in the room with her in order to suck all the life from her. Just the thought of having to interact with her was enough to make Amy feel like it was time to go to bed. She rubbed a hand over her face, wishing there was an easier way. She pulled up the chat with Gabby and stared at the blinking cursor in the new message. Hey she wrote, before she erased it.
She tidied up the studio—restacking papers on the shelves, putting away paint tubes, pouring out old coffee—before she turned off the light. She thought about Gabby, and how she used to feel like a kindred spirit. How had it gotten so bad? Had she just not seen the signs of narcissism and immaturity before? Or had something in herself changed. Was she the one who was in the wrong here? It didn’t feel like she was. Then why do I feel so bad about this?
It was now 11 pm. She’d left all the lights on in the house when she went into the studio. She went through the house turning them off one by one, then pattered to the bedroom where she found the cat curled up on top of her pajamas. The whole bed to lay on, and the cat decided to lay on the one tiny section where she’d left her shirt. Amy shooed her away, then stripped down. Before she could redress she heard the ping of another text coming through. She picked up the phone from where she had tossed it on the bed.
Did you do it? She imagined Andrew chewing his nails for an hour waiting for a word from her. Her brother always wanted all her gossip.
No not yet. She pulled on the nightshirt and tossed her dirty clothes into the hamper. She was halfway through brushing her teeth, wondering what Gabby was doing, when she got the second text from her that she knew was coming. There was always a second text that made it seem like Gabby didn’t want to be an inconvenience, but it was always a disguise for her not wanting to do any work for herself. Gabby wanted a hand out, and she’d take it from anyone who was willing to give it to her.
If it’s easier, I can come get it from you tomorrow. That way you won’t have to drive out to my place.
Amy wanted to scream. What would be easiest was if Gabby bought herself a screwdriver and left her alone forever. This was how it had been since they first met. Can I borrow that book? Do you have an extra sweatshirt I can wear? Can you swing by the store on your way over? Can you give me a ride? Can you recommend a house sitter? A dog sitter? A vet? A plumber? Can you tell me which plants I should get? Can I come over? Can you bring me a few of those candies you like when I see you tonight? Can I come to your next book club? Can you bake me a loaf of bread? My friend needs a cake; can you make one? Take, take, take, take, take.
And yet, whenever Amy needed something, Gabby was never there. Oh sorry, I was on the phone. I was asleep. I have ADD. I was having a panic attack. I didn’t see your message. I was at work. I had a client. I was in a meeting. I was out with a friend. She never gave anything back.
As she furiously scrubbed her teeth clean, she knew it would never get better. She looked at herself in the mirror, how her face was a mask of anger—and hurt—over how this woman, who was supposed to be her friend had put an enormous strain on her by taking advantage of how compassionate and helpful she was. This was the problem with loving to help other people. Sometimes, you ended up in a toxic friendship that sucked away all your desire to help anyone. Amy finished brushing and slowly wiped her mouth. She continued to look at her reflection, relaxing her face until she could see herself and not her anger. She turned off the bathroom light, and then sat down on the edge of her bed.
Hey, actually, I have been meaning to talk to you about something. I don’t think this friendship is good for me. We can talk about this if you’d like. When she hit send her heart was beating like she had just run 12 miles.
Gabby’s response was instantaneous. Oh, that’s fine. No need to explain yourself. Sorry if I made your life hard.
Amy stared at the screen, wrestling with that part of herself that liked to keep everything smooth and comfortable for other people. Was it really that simple? Did Gabby really not need any explanation from her? Did she not care at all, or was this sarcasm? She laid her phone down, feeling relieved, and confused by that relief. But the confusion was short lived.
She lifted her phone again and texted her brother. I did it.
His reply too was instantaneous. Good. I’m proud of you.
She smiled to herself, reading over his words again. Why hadn’t she told the truth to Gabby months ago? It had been so easy, because a friend like Gabby never really cared what she thought anyway. Amy had a crawling feeling that she would just move onto the next person who liked to please other people, but she also recognized that was not her problem. She had cut Gabby loose, and now, she would never have to let her borrow things she didn’t intend to return, or listen to problems she had no intention of fixing, or complain about difficulties that were caused by her aggressively selfish behavior. She was free.
Yeah, I’m proud of me too. She ended the message with a smiley face.
Nigel sat alone in a room small room with a bunk, a bucket, a small window near the ceiling, and a metal door which had been locked from the outside. The single light bulb overhead was flickering. It was twilight, and he could hear the noises of night creatures beginning to stir. He leaned back against the wall, fidgeting with the dice they had given him.
“To occupy you,” they had said, as they shut him inside.
He looked at the dice in his hand. Two six-sided dice. He rolled them onto his lap, counted the pips. Four on one. Four on the other. He rolled again. It was the same.
Why was it always the same?
He tucked the dice into the pocket of his pants. He’d been given this set of fatigues by the men who had found him in the trenches outside of Armentiéres. He still did not know how he had managed to travel the 20 kilometers from Ypres to Armentiéres without knowing. He wasn’t sure what had happened to him either. He looked at the backs of his hands again, but there was no sign of the fur that had sprouted there earlier. He rubbed a hand over his face and his neck, feeling the familiar coarseness of his beard.
He couldn’t have imagined it. He was haunted by Cobb’s terror and the taste of his blood.
A knock at the door, followed by the sound of the lock clicking open drew his eyes upwards. Two men, prominently displaying arms filled the doorway. Nigel scrambled to his feet in anticipation.
“Anders will see you now,” one of the men said.
Nigel took the shirt he had laid across the foot of the bed, donning and buttoning it quickly as the two men led him from the small room—the cell—where they had placed him. They went past a row of similar rooms as they moved down the hallway. At the end of the corridor, they took a left, then a right, and then they were standing in what looked like a surgery room. There was a metal table in the middle of the room, another one against the wall, with trays of instruments. There were gloves on the table as well, and smocks hanging on hooks on the wall. There was a bright light staring down at the table in the center of the room. A row of windows let Nigel glimpse the courtyard between this building, a barracks, an office and a mess hall. Nigel swallowed the bile climbing his throat as he looked around. He clenched and unclenched his fists slowly, giving his nerves something to do.
“You’ll wait here for Anders,” the first man said. He exited the surgery. The second man did not. He did not speak either. He held his gun where Nigel could see it.
A few tense minutes ticked by, as Nigel watched the clock’s second hand move in its circular path. The door of the surgery opened, and he slowly turned to meet who he assumed was Anders.
He was a slim man, mid-forties, white just beginning to creep into his otherwise blonde beard. He wore small rimmed glasses, and his uniform was neat as a pin. He was shorter than Nigel. He held his hands behind his back as he took stock of him.
“You saw a light in the trench?” Anders asked. His voice was rustic.
“More like a sparkle,” Nigel said.
Anders nodded. “You touched it?” he asked.
Nigel nodded.
“Get up on the table,” he instructed. As soon as he said it, three other men came into the surgery, one wearing doctor’s scrubs, the other two dressed as if to assist. The man with the gun took a step towards him and that was all the encouragement that Nigel needed to comply. He moved towards the table, hopped onto the cool metal top, and waited for further instructions.
“I’m Dr. Greenberg,” the doctor said. Nigel almost said, “pleased to meet you,” but the doctor continued swiftly, leaving no time for pleasantries. “How many times have you transformed?”
“Eh…one?” Nigel said.
“Take off that shirt, if you please,” Dr. Greenberg said. Nigel did as asked, and one of the assistants whisked it away from him. Anders was watching from his place near the door, arms crossed.
Nigel hesitated, but the sudden sternness of the doctor’s expression made him reconsider. Nigel tried not to sigh. He removed his shirt, and it was immediately whisked away from him by one of the assistants. He laid back, the cool metal sending shivers through his limbs, closing his eyes against the glaring light overhead.
“You can sit,” Dr Greenberg said after an awkward moment of waiting.
He sat up gladly, swung his feet down, letting them dangle like a child in a too tall chair. The doctor and his assistant walked around behind him.
“Ah, yes,” Dr. Greenberg said. The assistant muttered a few words. Nigel looked across the room at Anders. His hand was over his mouth now and his eyes had grown wide. “We’ve seen this before,” the doctor said.
“Like patient 12,” the assistant said.
“Indeed.” The doctor—he assumed it was the doctor—was feeling along his spine. “He has a malformation right here,” he said, his fingers pausing near the base of Nigel’s neck. “Here, have a feel. Right there.” A second hand poked him now. Nigel stiffened, feeling like a specimen. He tried to shrug them away, but that only made the fingers press harder against him.
“Dr. Greenberg,” the assistant said, “He’s got an extra one.”
“An extra what?” Nigel asked. They ignored him.
“Let’s see now,” Dr. Greenberg said. More fingers pressing on him now. “Oh, yes. Yes you’re right.”
Nigel tried to move away from them. “What are you feeling for?”
“Bones,” Dr. Greenberg said. “Bones that you shouldn’t have.”
“What do you mean? What’s happening to me? What is this place? Who is patient 12?” Nigel could feel himself growing. His face felt too long. He looked at his hands. The fur that had sprouted before was growing back. He hungered inhumanely.
“Oh, I’m afraid we’ve set him off,” Dr. Greenberg said.
Nigel watched the men shrink as they came forward with nets and guns to restrain him. Except for Anders. He watched from the door with a calculating frown.
“Nigel,” the voice called.
Nigel opened his eyes. He couldn’t move. His vision was blurred. He searched for the source of the voice, and found someone standing to his right. He blinked. No, three people. Anders, and two soldiers. He blinked again, then looked down at himself. He was wearing only his shorts and undershirt. He’d been put into a straight jacket, and tied to the wall. Looked up again, as Anders came forward. He was holding a glass of water, offering it with a strange tenderness.
“Here, have some of this,” Anders said. He helped Nigel drink, and the cool water was a balm. Nigel let it run down his chin. He was hot. His forehead was dripping with sweat.
“What happened?” he grunted.
Anders gave the glass to one of the soldiers who passed it to a man just outside the room, who in turn whisked it away. Nigel was in the same room he’d been in before the exam. His room. He snorted at the thought.
“Oh, it’s not funny, Nigel. It’s not funny at all,” Anders said. Nigel could smell him, a mixture of stale sweat and canned beans and the kind of fatigue that comes when you know you’re losing a war.
“Well, I wasn’t laughing at…” he tried to gesture at himself, then remembered he couldn’t. “What am I?”
“You’ve been touched by something from another world, Nigel,” Anders said. “And we could use it, if you would let us help you control it.”
“Control it?” Nigel asked, skeptical.
“We’ve trained several others,” Anders said.
“To do what? Hunt down Germans?”
Anders nodded. “In part,” he said. “But mainly, to fight off the other things that come into the battle.”
“Other things?” Nigel asked. “What…tanks?” He’d heard of tanks, but he’d not yet seen one.
“No, Nigel,” Anders said quietly. “Things like…you.”
“You mean people who’ve transformed?” he asked.
“And the things that have transformed you.”
A stream of sweat ran down Nigel’s back. “You have any more water?”
The man outside the room was off, presumably to fulfill the request, as soon as Anders turned his head to look that direction.
“We are good at this,” Anders said. “And we will take good care of you, Nigel, while we train you.”
“To be your hound,” he said, his teeth grinding.
“To win the war,” Anders said. He smiled. “Can you think of something better than that?”
Nigel was a soldier. He knew that his desires barely mattered. “Is there another choice?”
“We could cure you of the ailment,” Anders said, and at the rising hopefulness that Nigel knew was spread across his face, Anders only frowned. “Through euthanasia,” he said.
Nigel wasn’t sure if he had heard correctly. But Anders’ hard stare eliminated his need to have the man repeat himself.
“So, I am a dog,” Nigel said.
“Afraid so,” Anders said.
The second glass of water was passed across the room, and Anders tipped it to his lips. Nigel swallowed all of it down. “Do you want to think it over?”
What was there to think about? Do as he wanted, or die. That wasn’t a real choice.
“I just have one question,” Nigel said. Anders nodded, an indication for him to continue. “Who is patient 12?”
“Oh! Patient 12 is one of our best…eh, dogs, as you say,” Anders said. His smile was saccharine. Nigel felt the water he swallowed coming back up. “We perfected the training program with him, I’m sure.”
“And what’s my number?” Nigel asked.
“You’re patient 13,” Anders said.
Nigel snickered. “That’s unlucky.”
Anders shrugged. “Well, the world has been upside down, hasn’t it? Who knows? Maybe you’re the luckiest.” He gave Nigel a wink, and then moved towards the door. “Untie him,” he said to the soldiers. He turned to look at Nigel, a softness in his eyes as he hovered at the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
They left the water. They brought a tray of food. He laid down and slept like a good dog.
This story will appear in the upcoming campaign books for the popular table top RPG Never Going Home, published by Wet Ink Games.
Nigel woke from a dead sleep. His ears were ringing, but not in the way that made him think something was wrong. He felt completely peaceful, like the ringing was his body’s way of soothing him. All else around him was quiet. No one was moving along the trench. No rats were scurrying and chattering. He didn’t even hear any snoring.
Sitting up, he let the coat which he’d been using as a blanket slip from his body to land in his lap. He stretched, rubbing his muscles of his jaw. They weren’t tight. That must not be the reason for the ear ringing. He looked up and down the trench. Where was everyone? He put his coat on properly and stood, the mud sucking at his boots.
He moved along in silence, the ringing in his ears growing louder as he moved walked. His unit was a in a reserve trench, not near the front. There was lesser risk of them being bombed here. They could even look out over the top without fear of machines guns. This should have given him comfort, but the longer he went without seeing anyone, the more uneasy he grew.
The ringing in his ears began to change into a haunted tune. He couldn’t tell if it was a voice or a flute he was hearing. He rounded a bend in the trench and there he saw…well, he wasn’t sure what he saw. It was sparkling, and drifting down like confetti, but it was infinite. It was dazzling, and he realized this was the origin of the song. This glittering entity was singing to him.
He reached out a hand, and watched in amazement as his fingers disappeared. He pressed his whole hand into the shining sparkling mass, dancing with energy. He smiled to himself, overcome with excitement. He stepped forward into the glittering light.
Nigel woke from a dead sleep. Someone was shaking him awake. “Get up, won’t ya?” It was Cobb. “Come on, Barrister. We gotta move on!”
Nigel rubbed his eyes as he stood up, his coat slipping from his form. He caught it with one hand, donning is hastily as Cobb shoved his pack at him. “What’s happening?”
“Reprieve’s over. Moving to the front,” Cobb answered, sloshing on down the trench. He called to the next sleeping man.
Nigel put his arm through the strap of his pack, and took a second look at his hand. It was covered in hair, almost like a dog. Or a wolf. His heart thumped harder as pulled up his sleeves. Thick arm, all the way up his forearm. He touched his face, wondering how much beard he’d grown since his last shave.
“Barrister!” Cobb called.
“Coming!” Nigel said, hastily falling in line with the other soldiers as they moved through the trench.
At the front, the rats were worse. He wondered how that could be. Maybe it was all the bodies. The mud was worse too. It covered everything. If the thin layer ever dried, it would provide another layer of protection from the cold. But the mud never dried. They had dug too far down, hit the water table. He’d known too many who were sent to convalesce from their trench foot. He wiggled his stiff, wet toes in his boots, keeping his circulation going. He wondered if those poor chaps with their feet rotting off thought they were getting the better end of the deal.
The air stunk with decay, with fear, with vermin and waste. It was too thick with the smells; it made him sick. It was worse than before, but no one else seemed to be complaining of it. He wiped his face, rubbing the weariness from his eyes. His beard was full again. He wouldn’t bother shaving it. It has snowed last night. The beard, though growing freakishly quickly, was a welcome cover from the cold.
“What’s that?” Nigel said, turning his attention to his fellow soldier.
“I asked if you’re gonna drink any coffee,” Cobb said. Nigel saw the kettle sitting atop a small fire at Cobb’s feet. Cobb frowned at him. “Did you have that beard yesterday?”
Nigel stroked the hair on his face, thinking it felt more like fur than whiskers. “Yeah, of course. Can’t grow a beard like this in a day.”
“Huh,” Cobb said, sounding unconvinced. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”
“Nothing,” Nigel said, though a tingling feeling was creeping along his spine the longer Cobb stared.
“No, there’s something…They’re all yellow.”
“Yellow?” Nigel gasped. “What do you mean they’re yellow?”
“Yellow, Barrister! Yellow! Like a wolf.” Cobb’s frown was slowing morphing into a look of terror.
Nigel dug in his pack, looking for his mug. “Don’t worry about it,” he muttered.
“Oh no, I think it’s something we all should be worried about,” Cobb said over his head.
Nigel looked up, and now the look Cobb wore was one of mistrust. “I’m fine,” he said.
“You’re…tainted,” Cobb hissed.
Nigel stood up, a rush of animalistic anger pumping through him. “I’m what?” he said. He felt like he was seven feet tall. Cobb seemed to shrunk before him. He watched in glee as Cobb screamed, cowered, covered his face with his hands. Nigel lunged down, barely conscious of his snapping teeth. Cobb’s blood had a metallic tang. Nigel ran.
Nigel woke from a dead sleep. Every part of him was cold. His ears were ringing. He opened his eyes, but couldn’t see anything. It was too bright. She squinched them closed. His head ached. He felt wet all over. He rolled onto his side, squelching into the mud. He realized her was naked. That’s why he was so cold.
“He’s awake,” someone said.
Nigel tried to open his eyes again, but his head hurt too much. “C..c…c…cold,” he choked.
“Nigel Barrister,” that same voice said. “Can you understand me?”
Why would they be asking him that? What had happened to him? “I can understand,” he said. His mouth tastes like dust. “Can I have some water?”
Someone was hoisting him from the mud, now placing a coat around his shoulders. He shivered as someone pressed a canteen into his hand. His head felt lighter. He chanced opening his eyes again.
He didn’t recognize any of the men surrounding him. They were all looking at him worriedly, as if he wasn’t real. As if he wasn’t human. He glanced down at his hands. There was no sign of the fur that had covered them before. He took another drink from the canteen, then pulled the coat tighter around him. “Where am I?” he asked.
The two men standing directly before him looked at one another for support, as if deciding which one of them should say something. “Where were you before?” one of them finally asked.
“At the front,” Nigel said. “We’d just been moved from reserve. Trying to put the enemy on the run at Ypres.”
There was a long silence, the two men standing above him looking at him pityingly, then at each other, almost as if they were communicating telepathically. The same one who spoke before finally broke the silence by turning over his shoulder and telling one of the men behind him, “Get him some clothes.” As that fellow moved off to follow the order, the man (who Nigel now recognized as Lieutenant) squatted low and looked him right in the eyes. “Well, Nigel Barrister, you’re a long way from Ypres now. Do you know what happened to you?”
Nigel wet his lip even though his mouth was still sticky. He struggled with the truth. He knew if would sound unbelievable, but wasn’t all of this unbelievable? What part of the last 3 years was believable? He decided not to hide anything. Perhaps they could help him discover what was happening to him.
“I had a dream about a glittering light, and when I woke, I was covered in fur. I lost my temper at a friend, and…” His eyes grew wide as he recalled the look on Cobb’s face. “Oh God… I think I killed him.” He swallowed noisily. “But after that, I don’t know,” he said. He looked up into the Lieutenant’s eyes, pleading, though for what he did not know. “I don’t know how I got here.”
The Lieutenant rose and looked to the other man he had previously regarded. “That’s what I was afraid of when we saw him,” he said. He fell silent.
The second man was nodding to himself. “I’ll let Anders know,” he said.
Together, the two men hoisted Nigel from the ground. “Do you know what’s happened then? Is there someone else like…like this?” he asked.
But they didn’t say anything as they ushered him along.
He didn’t quit, and we didn’t talk about that night in November again. We just lived in an uneasy tension for the next several weeks. On New Year’s Eve, the bar was filled with people, and we were too busy to be distant or angry with each other. By the time the ball dropped, we were laughing like nothing has ever happened, and as one year bled into another, he leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. I was surprised at the affection, but it felt like an apology, a eulogy of sorts for the things that had been said, and the feelings that had been stirred. After the patrons filed out and we were left alone to scrub down and lock up, he leaned over the bar with a serious look on his face.
“We’re splitting up,” he said quietly.
For a panicked moment, I thought he meant that he was leaving the business. “You and Ellie?” I asked.
He nodded. “She’s…it’s just not what I want,” he said.
I nodded, keeping my composure, and my cool, even as inside I was screaming I told you so! But I’d never told him so. I never had commented on her at all. Not to him.
“What do you want?” I asked, thinking of that forehead kiss.
But he just smiled at me, then began slowly mopping the floor.
And that was it. He never told me anything more about it. He returned to what I considered his normal behavior, and we fell into an easy rhythm, putting the baggage of that past year behind us. I still wondered, but I figured if Dickerson wanted to tell me, he would. It wasn’t my place to pry. I tried to put to my curiosity on the shelf, but it stuck with me. What had happened? Had he chosen me over her? Had the problem in the marriage really been about his friendship with me?
I was at the grocery store one Saturday morning in March when I ran into Ellie. She was sorting through apples, and I almost turned around to avoid her, but I decided instead to be brave. “Hey Ellie!” I said.
She ignored me. “Ellie?” I asked, now unsure if it was her. She looked different than I remembered. Her hair was different, and she seemed older in a way I couldn’t identify. “Ellie Dickerson?”
Then she looked up from the apples at me, glaring, eyes like fire. “It’s Elle,” she said.
“Oh!” I said. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were going by Elle now.”
“I’ve always gone by Elle,” she sneered. “Barrett was the only one who ever called me Ellie.”
It was weird hearing her use his given name. I laughed, trying to ease the tension I felt. “I know the feeling. No one calls me Nattie but him.”
Her face was solid rock. “I know,” she said.
Something clicked inside me, a key pushing all the lock pins into place at that same time. “You know, nothing ever happened between Dickerson and I.”
She did not believe me. It was written all over her face. “Well, he chose you anyway,” she said.
I had regrets about getting into the conversation with her. “Chose me?” I asked, wearing my confusion unabashedly.
“I was never his first choice. It was always you,” she sneered. She put the apples into her cart and began to walk away, but I stopped her.
“Wait!” I said. I had to know, and since Dickerson would never tell me, I had to ask her. “Do you think he’s in love with me?” I asked. It didn’t see it. I didn’t feel it. But that New Year’s Eve kiss was still surprising, unexplained, a possible invitation that I just hadn’t opened yet.
“I’m sure you can figure it out, Nattie,” she said. She almost huffed at me as she retreated, disappearing through the produce section while I stood alone, wondering how I could have missed all the signs.
That night at the bar, I was resolved to get to the bottom of it, even if it meant another uncomfortable conversation in the office. If we were going to be friends, I needed more from him than a tight lip about the important things in our lives. If he had feelings for me, I needed to know. It was Saturday, so I figured I wouldn’t get the chance to talk to him until after closing. All evening I had the things I wanted to ask and say ready to go, queued up in my brain and ready to be released.
Around 10:30, I was returning to the main room from running the dishwasher and I stopped dead in my tracks as I watched Dickerson leaning over the bar, flirting with another man. I blinked, mentally rubbing my eyes to make sure what I was seeing was actually happening. Yes, he was definitely flirting. The way the patron smiled at him, and Dickerson tried to hide his own smile. The way he raised his eyebrows at him, the way he lingered, even though Dickerson had already given him his drink. The slinking motion of his retreat to the table where his friends waited. Dickerson wiped a grin from his face and turned his attention to the next customer.
“I’ve got it, if you want,” I said, coming to his aid. He hated working the bar.
“Oh, I’m okay for now,” he said, his eyes sliding to where the man had gone.
Later, I watched him mopping the floor. The giddiness from earlier had faded but I still saw the afterglow. I wiped down the bar and waited for the right moment. As his cleaning brought him closer to me, I decided it was now or never.
“You’re gay,” I said, a question barely hiding in my intonation.
He swung his head round and stared at me for a moment, and I thought he was going to forgo answering, but then he smiled. “Maybe,” he said.
I smiled to myself. Vindication. “I ran into Ellie this morning,” I confessed. “She was not very nice to me.”
Dickerson grimaced. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”
“She thinks you’re in love with me,” I said.
“I know,” he said. “But it’s not like that. You know that…right?”
“Of course,” I said.
He deflated, the anxiety spilling out of him. “But it was never gonna work with her,” he said.
“Why were you with her?” I asked, tossing the towel from hand to hand.
He sighed. “Expectations, I guess.” He put the mop into the bucket and began wheeling it to the back. “Rich family, cute girl who looks like she belongs with me. She was crazy about me. It felt good.”
It was the most he had ever said about his relationship with her. “Until it didn’t,” I said.
He nodded. “Yeah. Until it didn’t.”
So Ellie was wrong, her jealousy completely misdirected, which felt good. But I was also wrong, which felt humbling. Dickerson had never made me into a problem for his wife, but he had allowed her think what she thought without correcting her. He was going through something that had nothing to do with either of us. I should have listened to that voice instead of the one that was telling me to take out my frustrations on him and Ellie. Looking back on everything, honesty from the beginning would have been better for all of us, but sometimes people can’t be fully honest, even with people they love, because they aren’t being honest with themselves.
So, for the next several months I spent a lot of time at the bar working while Dickerson spent a lot of time at home working. It didn’t bother me much—I actually found I got more work done without him there to distract me with jokes and gossip and recaps of televisions—but it did bother me on a subatomic level. An irksome wondering had entered my brain—what was he doing at home? If Ellie was still working nights, then what was the point of him being at home by himself? He would text me updates, or sometimes email them to me, or if it was something that needed my attention he’d call and say, “I’m coming by in a bit so we can talk about this.” It felt normal enough, but try as I might, it also felt off, and I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why.
“It’s not like he’s ignoring me or work,” I told Jay. We’d moved into a steady pace in our relationship, and I was pretty sure I was the only woman on his horizon, but we hadn’t had that conversation about labels yet. “So, I don’t get why I can’t shake this feeling like something is wrong.”
Jay gave me a knowing, sympathetic look over the top of his glass before he knocked back a swig of the beer. “Because you feel like you’re the problem,” he said.
The veil lifted. “Yes,” I said, wondering why I hadn’t been able to articulate it like that before. “Yes! I feel like I’m the problem here, but I didn’t do anything.”
“Except exist as a confident woman in the world,” Jay said, a smirk parting his lips for a moment. He reached across the bar and squeezed my hand. “But it’s not, true. You’re not the problem. Whatever is going on between them doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
Jay was right, but it was still impacting me, especially when Dickerson started ignoring my texts, ducking my calls and forgoing long in-person conversations. A few times here and there and I would have assumed he was having a bad day. But it continued for weeks until I just couldn’t take it anymore. The pot had boiled over.
Dickerson came by unannounced around 1:30 in the morning on a Thursday evening in November. He nodded at me as he came through the doors and went straight into the office in the back of the bar without a word. I gave him a few minutes to get settled into whatever he had come in to do—and to compose myself so I didn’t immediately explode—before I deliberately walked with light feet (to avoid marching) to the office myself.
I pushed open the door. He was sitting at his desk scrolling through a spreadsheet on his laptop. I came in without a greeting, and pulled up a chair next to him. Only then did he acknowledge me.
“Hey, Nattie,” he said, but it sounded forced, off, thick, wrong.
“What’s going on with you?” I asked tenderly.
“What do you mean?” Either his bluff was really good or he truly had no idea what I was talking about it.
“You’re ignoring me,” I said.
He glanced away, just for a second, but it was long enough for me to know that his impulse was to keep it repressed, to tuck away whatever he didn’t want to say to me and pretend it didn’t exist. “I’m…not doing it on purpose,” he said.
“How do you accidently ignore somebody?” I asked, feeling my ire rise. My face felt hot.
“Look, I’m…well, it’s complicated. I’m trying to figure some things out.”
“About me?” I asked.
He looked at me like I had five eyeballs in my head. “About you?” he asked, a frown of confusion crinkled his features.
“Because Ellie doesn’t like me,” I said. “And you’re choosing not to deal with that by choosing not to deal with me.”
“What?!” he said.
I should have taken note of how his body had stiffened, how his surprise has turned to anger and his eyes held a wounded look instead of a panicked one. But I didn’t do that. I plowed ahead of full speed, releasing years of confusion, hurt and anger over the poor treatment I’d received from Ellie, a woman whom I had wanted as a friend, but had rejected me because of her own insecurities. “I didn’t do anything to deserve this from either of you,” I said, even as he tried to interrupt me, tried to explain something that I didn’t want to listen to. “I have tried really hard to let the two of you figure it out on your own, and I feel like I’ve been more than gracious enough to both of you. But if you’re going to throw away a friendship because your wife doesn’t want you talking to other women, I guess we were never friends in the first place.” His frown deepened, and there was anger in his eyes, in his posture. I had hit a nerve that was unraveling him but I didn’t care. “I asked you to do this with me despite knowing that she would be a problem. People tried to warn me and I didn’t listen because I wanted you with me on this.”
He closed his eyes, his face flat, his breathing slow, like he was releasing the steam. “You don’t know everything, Nattie,” he said through his teeth.
“I don’t know anything!” I said. “Because you never tell me anything. You never talk about this one part of your life with me. What am I supposed to think?”
“I’m really trying to do the right thing here, Nattie,” he said, and he was about to say more, but I cut him off.
“The right thing would be to deal with whatever issue is between you and your wife without dragging me into it.”
“Dragging you into it?” he asked. “What the hell? I haven’t drug you into anything!”
“No, you just cut me off instead.”
And there it was, the seed that had grown the thorns of pain I felt over his behavior. He softened, and I did too. He looked away from me, closed his laptop, and tucked it back into his bag. Then he turned towards me and took me by the hands, leaned really close to my face and said, “It has nothing to do with you.”
I wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t if I had no other explanation. “Then, what is going on?” I asked. “Why are you ignoring me?”
He wet his lips, tucked his bottom one in for a minute, as if buttoning it up.
I dropped his hands. “I’m going home,” I said. “I’ll see you when I see you, I guess.”
That was it. He didn’t try to stop me, didn’t try to explain. He let me walk away from him without putting up a fight.
The Quick and the Dead 