Aeon of Wonder

by Carey Henderson

  Jen had a look of pity on her face. "Sure," she said.

  "One second," Keith said, holding up a finger. He walked away toward the kitchen and came back with a six pack of Budweiser. "Take this to him. You drive home. Tell him I just need a few minutes."

  Jen smiled and took the beer. "I think this is too much," she said, "but you're so damn rich now, I'm going to take it."

  Keith went back to the game room and poured himself a very tall glass of whiskey and waited on Jen to return. His mind was racing. With hope, he realized. Maybe he hadn't been dreaming. Or maybe his mind had known something that his brain hadn't, and the dream was the conversation, he wasn't certain. The front door opened and Jen walked inside, then she shut it. Keith went back to the other room where she was.

  "Ok," he said, "tell me."

  Jen walked over and sat down on the couch. He joined across from her on the loveseat. He noticed that whatever she needed to say, she didn't want to say it. Keith decided to try and help her.

  "How did you know that I didn't do it?"

  Jen sighed, then put her hands on her knees, then moved them and finally leaned forward. "Becca has been cheating on you. Ever since Karin. I'm so sorry, Keith."

  Keith found himself stunned. His stomach, then his world sank.

  "Then, when I saw her..."

  "She was talking to him."

  Anger crossed his face. "Did you know, Jen?"

  "No."

  Keith drained his whiskey before continuing. Then, he got up and went to refill it, leaving Jen to sit there. He came back with one for her. "One, I don't think, will get you a DUI."

  Jen smiled. Again it showed pity. "Yeah," she sighed out. "I caught her last night. It was late and she didn't know I was up. I hadda pee and that's when I heard her."

  "What was she saying?"

  "Look, let's just say that I thought that it was you two on the phone."

  "Oh." Keith looked at the floor. "What did you do?"

  "I chewed her ass out royally for it, that's what I did, Keith. And then I made her tell me how long it had been going on. The worst part is, and I hate this all, is that he's at least ten years younger than she is, Keith."

  He looked above her through the window, watching the wind bend the trees. An owl sat in the closest tree to the house. Keith felt himself wishing the damnable bird would screech, just to help him realize he wasn't still having a nightmare.

  "So how does this clear me?"

  Jen tilted back her drink and pulled deeply from it. She watched the glass as she lowered it. "It was his sister."

  "Are you shitting me, Jennifer?"

  "I wish I were. He wants her to break up with you."

  "We're married, Jen, not dating. This isn't a high school game."

  Jen held up her hands in surrender. "I know, Keith, believe me. I told her the same thing."

  "So he doesn't like me and tries to set me up with fake texts from his own sister, who didn't seem to mind in the slightest, I might add, getting naked, and she knew this?"

  "She didn't know he was going to do this."

  "Well, shit," Keith said, arms up in the air, "did she at least break up with him?" He didn't intend to laugh but he couldn't help laughing. It was the most absurd thing he could imagine. "So why are you here, then?"

  "To get her things."

  "She's leaving me now, to top all this off?"

  "Yeah," Jen said. She looked down at the floor. It made Keith angry that his wife had put her oldest friend into such an unnecessary and painful position.

  "Do you want my help," he asked.

  Jen sat there for a moment without answering.

  "You know," Jen said, "I know you cheated. I also know you cheated more than once. But it's going to take me a long time to forgive her, like it took me so long to forgive you. Because, since those days, you have actually worked on yourself, it's been obvious. And this," she gestured around her, "is a dream world come to life. I just can't figure out how I'm supposed to forgive her for this. It's so wrong, and I'm so sorry that I didn't catch it."

  "Clearly," Keith said, "Rebecca is a far better liar than either of us thought. Hell, Jen, I'm a world-class liar and I didn't catch on." He sat back and finished his whiskey. "And the way you forgive her, Jen, is to just do it."

  "Do you?"

  "Of course. But that doesn't mean there aren't consequences."

  "I can't believe you forgive her. You've spent a fortune trying to build you both a life out here."

  Keith smiled. "I have plenty of money," he said. "And I'm forgiving her because an old man once told me forgiveness is an act done explicitly for one's self. It releases the weight someone else tried to saddle you with." He looked at Jen and then stood.

  "Come on," he said. "Her things are in here. She never unpacked."

  After Jen and Keith had loaded the four suitcases into Jen's boyfriend's truck, he hugged her.

  "Thank you," he said. "I only wish she hadn't put you in this position."

  "I came all the way here for you, Keith," she said. "Here." She handed Keith an envelope. "She was going to mail this to you, but I insisted on either her or myself bringing it. No one should be told that way."

  She hugged Keith and got behind the wheel of the truck. Her boyfriend thanked Keith for the beer and the two drove away.

  Keith didn't ever remember crying so hard, not even as a child.

  As night rolled closer, he continued to sit at the same spot, on the couch, staring at the unopened letter on the coffee table. Keith just couldn't read it. Not yet. The whole thing had crushed him and that had confused him as much as finding out that Becca had been lying for so long. It was easy to put together now, especially the incident with the phone: she'd deleted the calls, and had been so surprised by the fact that the last call was still there, she'd used that and played it through. He had to admit, she was good. It took one, after all.

  Hatred wasn't what he felt for Becca at all, though. He understood. That didn't excuse her, any more than it excused him before he'd wised up. Still, he did understand. Half the time, no, probably most of the time, they just didn't have a clue how to really talk to one another. Always a wall there, a selfishness (that neither of them took upon themselves with their friends) would seem to possess them any time they talked. Keith didn't remember that before the marriage. All he could figure was they'd both been extremely ill-equipped to handle the truth of life, how it isn't a film by a beloved director who adapted it from a story by a lauded author that can be condensed into ninety-seven minutes of celluloid.

  In real life, days dragged into years and years into forevers and Keith nor Becca knew how to handle their own stresses and problems, let alone how to solve them as a couple. Did no one tells us, he wondered, or were we just too self-involved to hear a damn word?

  The sun began to fall behind the trees and a horrible feeling crept over Keith. He'd forgotten about that old hag. Then, he relaxed somewhat, remembering that she couldn't walk up the steps for some reason. There wasn't nearly as much comfort in that thought as was contained in single-malt, so he went to the game room and opened a cabinet and removed a bottle. He came back into the living room and sat back down on the couch and turned up the bottle, watching the bubble in the brownish liquid. When his whole body begged him to stop, Keith lowered the bottle.

  He stood up and walked, stumbling somewhat, to the south side of the cabin and opened the door. The sun wasn't quite down yet, and an orange light from the lake glowed. Steadying himself on the porch railing, he looked down. The bottom stone step was not visible, so he couldn't see if the old hag stood there. He somewhat doubted it given the light still hanging on, fighting with the stars.

  Keith went back inside and to the bathroom. When he saw himself in the mirror, he looked at the reflection and slurred, "S-s-so, what? It's... i's what men do." Then he relieved himself and went back outside. From the forest below, he heard a familiar howl.

  "Shut up!" he yelled. He tilted back the bottle agai
n and drank, willing himself to be stoned stupid. The wailing screech broke his stride and he sloshed the bottle away, soaking his shirt. "I said, SHUT UP!" His equilibrium was wonky and he felt himself falling. He reached out his hand and steadied himself with the railing. The sound blasted the night again and it made Keith angry.

  "Why don't you just come o..." Keith's common sense slapped his hand over his mouth before he could finish the words. He wasn't even certain the old woman existed, though he didn't think he'd hallucinated her, and certainly didn't know if the owl was her or vice versa. But he didn't think of himself as utterly stupid. No need to invite Evil right up the back steps.

  He decided it would likely be a lot safer for him if he went into the house and locked it tight, then proceed to drink. So he did just that.

  Wind and lightning woke Keith. He sat up on the couch and saw the storm outside his open back door. A white, twisted streak lit the sky through the opening, and then he saw it on the coffee table: the owl. In its mouth was Becca's letter.

  "Give me that, you little..." but the bird was already gone, out the window, back into the storm. The door slammed shut and Keith sat there, arm still outstretched, unable to believe it had just happened.

  He was simply too intoxicated to know how drunk he was, and so he said, "We'll just play it your way, then. Tag, I'm it." He reached out and picked up the bottle. "Just'll need some courage, first." He tilted the bottle upward, began to drink, then passed out cold. The bottle fell to the floor and spilled out the rest of the alcohol. The storm raged but Keith heard none of it, instead suffering the internal horrors the mind can summon.

  He woke the next morning and walked outside with a cup of coffee. It wasn't his normal style, but it did tend to sober a man up after a whiskey binge. He poured just enough of the hair of the dog into the coffee and sipped it slow.

  Several older evergreen trees had fallen to the storm. He turned and looked up and noticed that five of the wood shingles were missing from the roof. Keith thought that rather minor considering the obvious ferocity of the storm.

  There were leaves and pine needles scattered everywhere. Keith nearly slipped down as he walked toward the stone steps. He'd gone back inside and dressed a bit warmer, grabbed a flashlight just in case, and put on boots that would grip the stone better, since they were still damp. The trip below was long and tedious, and Keith heard not a single peep from the local wildlife. As he reached the bottom where the forest opened wide to the lake, he saw his hammock had been thrown several hundred feet from the gazebo. Waves lapped the side of someone's boat that had come unmoored. It sat dry-docked not far from his hammock.

  As soon as he saw the bird, it made him angry. He walked toward the white crane that was moving toward him fast, even taking short flights to cover more ground. He had in his mind to kill the stupid thing, and the steel toe boots would do it just fine. But just as he and the crane neared, it squawked and flew over him, circled and darted across the surface of the lake into the fog.

  Keith screamed out in pain. Something was hitting the vertebrae at the base of his neck with what felt like a ballpeen hammer, at the speed of a jackhammer. He swept his hand back there, heard wings beat the air, and then the hammering started again. The bird had so much power that the blows made him feel dizzy. This time, he whirled and slapped at the air, missing the woodpecker. But the swing had the intended effect, and the bird flew away, high and then dove into the forest above.

  Keith absolutely ran toward the gazebo and jumped onto the floor of it, clearing the short stairway. He looked all around, making sure there weren't more possessed birds looking to scare the bloody hell out of him. Not once in his life, except in that old movie, had he ever thought to be frightened of birds. "Think again," he said to the air.

  For a long while, nothing happened. Keith walked all the way back up to the house and brought down a folding chair made of thick PVC and covered with cloth that had cushions sewn in. He sat under the roof of the gazebo and watched the world, itself wholly ignorant of any of his troubles. The boats crisscrossing the lake made a wonderful sound to his ear. The old hag and his failed marriage left him for a time. As before, the longer he sat there, the more he began to hear, until the whole of it blended into an odd contentment in the midst of hell.

  As the day drew on, Becca crossed his mind often. He tried to push the thought out but sometimes the thought took no heed of his wishes. It wasn't so much that she'd cheated. That she'd lied to him bothered him, but he knew the kind of liar he could be when the need arose. Keith couldn't deny that a part of him that stung was his pride. She'd pulled one over on him; not just once, but for nearly a year.

  It was that she'd done it this way, making her friend and her boyfriend trek four hours to hand him a Dear John Letter.

  From the east, a line of dark thunderclouds shadowed the lake. For the first time since earlier in the day, he thought of the giant old hag. The very thought of her as the day was made to hide by the clouds nearly froze him in place. But she had the letter. He didn't know how and, for all he knew, he was drunk and dreaming every frightening minute of it but that didn't matter; what mattered was that the old hag likely as not had that letter. It made excellent bait and they both knew it.

  The next hours of daylight Keith spent attempting to build up the courage to stay until nightfall and get the letter from the old hag. But he failed. The stone stairway leading to his house seemed five times as tall.

  For two more nights, Keith sat in his cabin, alone. Between his marriage falling apart in the span of a few text messages and a lost letter, as well as the old hag that waited for him, he just couldn't muster any energy. He almost wondered if he were in some sort of nervous shock. Not physical, but a psychological condition. But he could do little more than sit there on the couch.

  He stood up on the third day, walked into the game room and then behind the bar and pulled out a stainless steel .357 Magnum that he'd loaded with hollow points. He put the barrel to his head. Eyes closed, he thought of Becca with another, younger, man. The hag invaded. Keith put a tiny bit of pressure on the trigger of the pistol and held his breath.

  His right arm holding the pistol began to shake. Keith realized he was crying. He tried to force himself to put more pressure on the trigger but howled, as loud as he could for as long as he could, and then threw the pistol down on the bed. For half an hour, he sat there, talking to himself, to the air, maybe to God, he wasn't certain, and cried. He merely repeated the process until whatever fever had gripped his mind began to relent.

  Keith got up, turned and picked up the pistol from the bed and took it back to the game room. He knew the truth was that using it on either himself nor the hag would do anything but just make a horrible mess.

  It would be dark in a few hours, and so he decided that he'd never be able to build courage. That sort of thing was wishful excuse thinking. He would either go down there or he would not. So, in the meantime, he decided to take himself a nap. The last three days had worn him thin inside, hollowed him out, it felt like to him. He didn't know how to really tell Becca that he did love her. He didn't have many opportunities anyway between arguments.

  Buying the cabin and moving them upstate to a quieter, slower life had been the only way he'd known to show her. But I didn't even know how to tell her that. I just did it. Sold the damn company and bought a house. Took her away. Does she even know why, Keith asked himself.

  He thought of Granpop, thought of his words. Keith realized that, just like his own father, he was doing it the only way he knew how. And he'd failed. At least he kept his family together, Keith thought. At least he did that.

  He crawled under the comforter and fell asleep in a few minutes.

  The screech owl woke him. Crickets and cicadas filled the night with their sounds. Keith got up and went to the south side of the house and slid open the door and walked onto the porch. The night was far too warm and humid for the season. He noticed that right away. In the distance, lightning flashed
across big storm clouds. Looking down at the stone steps, he wondered if she waited for him down there at the base of the steps or if she was somewhere in the lake.

  Keith went back inside the house and slid the door shut. Then, he walked to his front door and walked out and down toward the steep path toward a lake and an old, terrifying woman.

  As he reached the bottom step, there was a violent clap of thunder and a flash of light. Then the bottom fell out. Keith walked to the gazebo, already soaked and in no hurry. Rain was the very least of his concerns.

  It seemed to Keith that almost an hour passed before anything but rain and thunder happened. He never took his eyes off the lakeshore, because the rain was so heavy and loud that he couldn't hear anything else. He'd just about begun to question his resolve when he saw her. The sheets of rain blurred her shape until she got closer to him. No matter how he tried to fight it, the old hag scared the wits out of him. Yet he made himself stand there, inside the gazebo, as she drew closer. He was glad he'd made a trip to the bathroom before coming down.

  And then she stood before him, not more than five feet away. She'd stopped short at the opening. The old hag leaned down beneath the eve of the gazebo. Keith still couldn't see her eyes. He wondered if she had any. The thing turned its head at an angle at him, like an animal. Then her mouth opened, full of blackness and teeth, huge teeth and too many of them, and howled at him like a banshee.

  His right foot took a step back without his permission. She inched closer. Keith stopped and put his foot back in the same spot, and the old hag backed up. Terrified as he was, he kicked himself internally for not bringing the Magnum. The reality of the old hag was too much for his mind, he reckoned, because if he had figured on it, then that monster in front of him would have a hole between wherever the hell its eyes were.

  The old hag blasted the air again with her scream. Then he heard his name as she whispered it and Keith felt his mind caving in on him. Everything he'd just been through with Becca fell atop him like so many tons of rock and stone falling onto a house made of paper. The blows tore into his heart and soul, tearing his resolve down, seducing him to just simply walk toward his end, for it stood not five feet from him.