The Charm of Lost Chances

by Lucia N Davis

  She arrived a little early; Taylor was still chopping vegetables. Her apartment was new—very modern and uncluttered. It didn’t feel much like a home yet, especially since Taylor had added so few personal touches.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” Taylor said. “I’ve opened a bottle of red, if you like?”

  “I do, thanks. Can I help?”

  “No worries, it’s just pasta. I’m not much of a cook.”

  “I like your place,” Sara said while pouring the wine.

  “Oh, thanks, it came furnished. My stuff is elsewhere. I’m still in the process of moving.”

  The bell rang, and Taylor went to the door to let David in. Sara tapped her feet. She hoped this evening wouldn’t get awkward.

  David quickly proved she didn’t have anything to worry about. “Hey,” he said as he walked in. “How are you? Any more dreams?”

  “None…” Sara smiled. “Fortunately.”

  “How was Pops?”

  “Tired. I think I made him talk too much.”

  “Oh, he likes to talk. I am sure the visit did him good in the end. What did you guys talk about?”

  Taylor walked in with the salad. “About Charlene…” she said mysteriously.

  “Who’s Charlene?”

  “The belle of the ball.” Sara grinned.

  David raised his eyebrows. “Do I want to hear this story, or is it going to be hard for me to look Pops in the eye afterward?”

  “No, you want to hear it,” Taylor said. “Sit down. Let’s eat.”

  During dinner, Sara shared her first dream of the girls walking to the waterfall, then filled David in on what his grandfather had told them.

  “So that explains why you wanted to go to the waterfall,” David said.

  Sara nodded. “The description your grandfather gave of Charlene somehow fit. Her voice was petulant, like she had no desire to be there, at least at first. Later, she seemed to soften toward the little girl.”

  “Okay, so we have a Charlene Bonnet, Becket, Bucket, or Basset—or something like that. How are we going to find her?” Taylor asked, looking discouraged.

  “Have you tried Google?” David suggested.

  “No,” Sara answered, “but to be honest, I doubt we’ll find her that way. Not until we have her last name pinned down.”

  “True enough. Well, maybe Pops will remember.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “Anyway,” David said, changing the subject, “I talked to the owner of the house by the waterfall today. Or rather, the representative. If you’re interested.”

  “You did? What did he say?” Taylor asked, practically bouncing in her chair.

  “His name is Arthur. Arthur Monasset. He’s the son of the owner. Apparently his father, Richard Monasset, bought the property in the early nineties after your uncle died. Arthur now manages most of his father’s business and estate.”

  “Good for him. Was he interested in selling?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. Why not?”

  “He didn’t give me a reason. But he did ask for my information, in case he changes his mind.”

  “Great. That sounds hopeful.”

  “Not entirely hopeless, anyway.”

  Taylor sighed. “Where does he live? Just out of curiosity.”

  “Not sure, but he runs a shipping company that has headquarters in Seattle.”

  “Well, at least he’s local, sort of. In case we ever need to meet face-to-face.” She got up and poured more wine. “I wonder how we can find out more about the house.”

  “The best would be to talk to someone from the village,” Sara said. “Someone who’s old enough to remember.”

  “That would be Pops.” David swirled his wine. “I don’t think there’s anyone else left. You have to realize, this village took a bad turn in the late forties and early fifties. There was no work. The mines were shutting down. Young men left to fight in one war or another. Few of the original families stayed, and out of the handful that did, or the people who came back, only Pops is still alive. The village grew again in the sixties, when it became popular to have a cabin in the mountains to get away from city life. Without the resort side, this village would probably be a ghost town now. You’d think I’d know the history of the house, having lived here most of my life. But I don’t…”

  “Maybe we could find old newspapers?” Sara suggested.

  “I’m sure we could, but how many years of papers do you want to sift through? Besides, we don’t even know if something newsworthy happened.”

  “I think it did,” Sara said. “You’re right that looking through years of newspapers would be a long haul. But I think we can narrow it down. The Korean War started in 1950. That’s when your grandfather left the village and lost track of Charlene. We just need to know when he came back.”

  “If it’s really that important to you both…” David shrugged.

  Sara bit her lip. “Would you like to hear the dream I had up at the house?” she asked. “I think you should. Maybe then you’ll understand why I think something happened.”

  “I would,” Taylor said.

  Sara took a gulp of wine followed by a deep breath. “So, I was sleeping next to the pool at the falls, and then I almost got my head chopped off by a man with an axe. A terrifying giant man, missing his two front teeth.” She cocked her head, then shrugged. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the gist of it. I wonder if it was meant to scare me away. Or maybe I relived someone else’s experience, who knows? Usually in the dreams I’m a spectator, like I’m watching a movie. This was no movie. And if it was, I was in it.”

  David let out a long breath. “He almost chopped off your head?”

  “Yep. He placed a piece of wood right next to my head, smiled at me, and then took a swing.”

  “Seriously? That’s so creepy!” Taylor exclaimed, aghast. “But how do you know it wasn’t a nightmare? We all have those.”

  “It’s a different quality of dream,” Sara said. “I can’t explain it well. You just have to trust me. This was no ordinary nightmare.”

  “And another reason I think we should leave it alone,” David said. “I don’t like what’s happening to you, Sara. These dreams and experiences—I worry they could be harmful. I can’t believe I’m actually suggesting they could physically harm you, whatever these experiences are. I don’t understand them. But I am worried.”

  Sara didn’t want to leave it alone. There was a reason she was having these visions and dreams: The truth was looking for a way out. “I don’t think I’m in danger,” she said after a while. “Other than from a fear-induced heart attack.” She smiled. “I don’t think it’s going to harm me if it hasn’t before, though. I think I need to figure out why I’m seeing Charlene and the other girl… and that man with his axe.” She couldn’t simply walk away and leave those two girls behind. “Anyway, I’ll look into that newspaper angle.” She got up. “I have to go, sorry. I’m kind of tired.”

  “Would you like me to take you home?” David asked.

  With some regret, she declined the offer. She thanked Taylor for dinner, said her goodbyes, and drove back to the cabin.

  No need for extra complications. Right now, she had enough on her plate.

  A pile of freshly chopped wood is stacked up on the side of the village house. In the small yard, Sara hears the high voice of a little girl, laughing and chattering away. Sara turns toward the sound, and there she is: the little girl from her first dream, sitting on a log. Her pretty blond hair is held back with a bow, framing a sweet face with two big, expressive dark-grey eyes. Her cornflower-blue dress finishes the adorable ensemble. She is maybe four or five years old. Her face lights up with joy and admiration as her eyes follow the hands of the man sitting next to her.

  With a start, Sara recognizes him. He is the dark-haired man from the little house near the falls. The axe is resting against his legs. His large hands are surprisingly nimble as he works with a knife and a small piece of wood. He is shaping
the wood, making something—a bird, delicately carved. Every now and then, he reacts to the girl’s chatter, giving her a quick nod or a smile. Sara feels vaguely uncomfortable watching them—like she’s invading their privacy. She notices the man’s eyes. This time, they are friendly, even warm. Although poorly groomed, he is very handsome, and young—maybe in his early twenties.

  A mocking voice comes from behind Sara. “Is she bothering you? Keeping you from your work? She can be quite troublesome, you know.” The voice belongs to Charlene. Looking at her up close, Sara agrees with Henry: Charlene is stunningly beautiful. Like an older version of the little girl, around eighteen years old, and with plenty of curves in the right places.

  The man stares at Charlene a little longer than necessary—not leeringly, but with some irritation. He shakes his head, pointing to the stack of wood, indicating that his work is done.

  The little girl protests. “I’m not bo-the-ring him, Charlene.” Sara smiles as she divides the big word into careful syllables. “Benny is making me a bird. From wood.” The last part almost comes out triumphant.

  “Is that so?” Charlene raises an eyebrow. “It’s Benny, is it?” She looks at Benny. “I didn’t even know you had a name. You don’t talk much.”

  Sara is taken aback by Charlene’s dismissive tone.

  “He talks to me…” the little girl says, shrugging.

  “Oh, he does, does he?” Charlene steps closer to the little girl. “Well, maybe you should not be keeping the workers from their work.” Charlene glares at Benny, the sarcasm dripping from her words as she says, “I am sure Benny here has far better things to do than hang out with you. Trust me.” She turns back to the little girl. “Besides, Mother doesn’t want you out here with him,” she scolds.

  Tears well up in the little girl’s eyes. “You’re not being nice,” she whispers.

  Benny gets up, frowning, and wipes wood chips off his lap. He squats down and gives the little girl the finished carving. He smiles, showing the large gap where his two upper front teeth used to be.

  The little girl gives him a bright smile in return. “Thank you,” she says.

  Charlene lays her hand protectively on the girl’s shoulder and pulls her a little closer, away from Benny. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, girl.” Her voice is impatient now. “Just leave, will you? You’re not supposed to be out here by yourself anyway.”

  The little girl pouts ever so slightly before saying, “Bye, Benny.” Then she runs back to the house.

  Benny gets up. He is an imposing figure, very tall, at least six feet four, with broad, muscular shoulders. He starts collecting his things, not looking at Charlene.

  “You don’t like me much, do you?” Charlene asks.

  Benny shrugs.

  Charlene comes up to him, smiling seductively. “Wouldn’t you rather talk to someone closer to your own age?”

  Benny quickly glances down at her before looking away again, shrugging once more. His initial irritation with Charlene has combined with something else—uneasiness, maybe.

  Charlene giggles. “That’s right, you don’t talk much, I forgot. Very mysterious…” She softly puts her hand on his chest. “You know, we don’t have to talk, if you don’t want to.”

  Benny swallows. He is breathing heavily. For a few seconds, he seems frozen, as if struggling with what to do next. Then, not without effort, he abruptly takes her hand off his chest and lets it go. A glint of devious satisfaction flashes across Charlene’s face.

  “Charlene! Charlene!” An older woman’s voice echoes loudly through the yard. “What on earth... You! What are you doing with my daughter? Were you touching her? Was he touching you, Charlene?”

  A stout woman struts toward them. Her face is red with anger.

  “Oh mother, it was nothing,” Charlene says in a bored voice.

  “Nothing. Nothing, you say. Sweet Mother Mary.” The woman crosses herself. “You’ve spent way too much time staring at my daughters, young man. Having unsavory thoughts, no doubt. Not sure what else I’d expect from a vagrant like you. This will be the last time I use your services. Here.” She holds out some money.

  Benny stands there for a few seconds with clenched fists. Then he slowly releases his hands and takes the money.

  “Now off with you,” Charlene’s mother hisses. “I don’t want to see you skulking around my house ever again, understand?” There is nothing but contempt in her voice.

  Benny turns around and slowly walks away.

  “And you,” the mother says to Charlene, “get back inside. I swear you’ll be the death of me.” And with that, both women disappear back into the house.

  What an odd dream, Sara thought as she woke up. She didn’t know what to make of Charlene. The girl had been mean to Benny, yet she’d also teased him—provoked him. He hadn’t taken the bait, but she’d definitely gotten under his skin.

  And Benny… he had been so evil, up at the cabin by the falls. In the dream, he had seemed friendly with the little girl, but he’d been angry at the other women. And he never spoke. At least, not in Sara’s dreams.

  All of these people were getting extra layers, becoming more real, like actual human beings. Sara wondered if she really wanted to get to know them any better—not that she got any say in the matter.

  Quickly, she jumped out of bed, showered, and threw on some clothes. It was still early, but the coffee shop would be open. She packed up her laptop and headed out.

  With a steaming cup of coffee by her side, she went online to run some searches. She searched for Charlene Bennet, Bucket, Becket, and so on, in combination with Dunnhill and Benny. None of her queries resulted in anything noteworthy.

  Next she searched for the local Dunnhill newspaper archives to see if anything was available online or elsewhere. Again, she came up empty. The old newspaper in Dunnhill had closed sometime in the forties, as far as she could gather, probably because it wasn’t worth printing anymore with the village population dwindling so much. And the current newspaper saw its beginnings in the sixties.

  Frustrated, Sara closed her laptop with a loud snap. “Dead ends everywhere…” she grumbled.

  “Are you trying to punish your laptop?” an amused voice said, close to her ear.

  Sara leaped up in shock, almost knocking over her chair, and spilling her coffee.

  “Geez, David, can’t you give a warning when you sneak up on me? You scared the heck out of me!” Sara said.

  “Whoa, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were that jumpy. If I’d known, I would’ve announced myself a little better.”

  “Jumpy?” she huffed. “Jumpy? Of course I’m jumpy! Wouldn’t you be jumpy after all this—and then a creepy voice starts whispering in your ear?” She placed some napkins over the spilled coffee, which by some divine intervention had missed her laptop.

  “Creepy? Hey now, settle down. I’m sorry, really. No creepiness intended.” He sat across from her and helped to clean up the mess. “Can I make it up to you?”

  Sara sat back down. “Maybe,” she said. “I could use more coffee…”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  David left, then returned with another mug of coffee and a scone. He placed the mug in front of her. “Here you go. Have I been forgiven?”

  Sara grimaced. “Fine,” she said. “Yes.”

  “Oh, good! So what were you doing?”

  “Wasting my time, apparently.”

  “With what?”

  “Looking for Charlene. And Benny.”

  David raised his eyebrows. “Who’s Benny?”

  “The guy with no front teeth.”

  “The guy with the axe? He has a name now? Well, don’t leave me hanging here. Tell me what you’ve found out.” He leaned forward, looking intently into her eyes.

  Sara, feeling weak, was grateful to be sitting down. Why did David have this effect on her?

  “Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “If you insist. I had another dream. But don’t worry,” she added quickly, “it wasn�
�t scary at all.”

  After she told David about the dream, he was quiet for a while.

  “Interesting…” He said after a few minutes, drumming his fingers on the table.

  “What is?”

  “Your dream. It’s interesting. The interaction between all the people involved.”

  “Maybe. I think it made things more confusing. For instance, why was Charlene trying to seduce Benny? She wasn’t very friendly to him at first.”

  “Maybe she has a thing for big, strong men with axes who don’t talk much.”

  “Yes, very helpful input.” Sara rolled her eyes.

  David grinned and took a bite out of his scone.

  “Of course, I only see snapshots, moments in time. I don’t see what happened before the dream started. Or what happened way back when. Your grandfather said Charlene wasn’t happy here, that she wanted to get out. Maybe she was bored, looking for a diversion.”

  “Possibly. Not very mature behavior, if you ask me.” David shook his head with an expression of complete innocence. “Pretty sure that was frowned upon in the fifties.”

  Sara suppressed a smile. “True enough, but in the dream she’s, I don’t know, eighteen? Not exactly the pinnacle of adulthood—at least, it wasn’t for me.”

  “Speak for yourself. I was a model citizen at that age.” David chuckled.

  “Right.”

  “It’s true! You can ask my mother.” He winked. “Oh, I forgot. Speaking of my mother, she called me and told me Pops is doing much better. I don’t know what you girls did with him, but apparently he’s been eating and taking his medicine without complaining. She calls it a miracle. Personally, I think you’ve helped him engage his mind again. He is looking forward to seeing you and talking more.”

  “That’s good news! When can I go?”

  “Now, if you like. I’ll join you.”

  “Why? Did he want to see you too?” Sara gave him her most innocent smile.

  David looked slightly taken aback until he realized she was joking. He playfully threw a scrunched-up napkin at her face. “I’ll have you know I’m his favorite grandson.”