Castle's Keep

by Linda Mooney

  The weather.

  But he didn't control her. No, if the man remained obstinate and determined that she leave this idyllic place, she would have to find some way to convince him that that option would never be viable.

  "Are you hungry?"

  The question threw her totally off-guard.

  "Uhh, yeah."

  "What do you like? Or what would you prefer? Never mind. Let me surprise you. Can I surprise you?” He turned a boyish smile at her, waiting for her answer.

  "Sure.” She threw the smile back at him as they continued on their way. The air was beginning to take on the scent of perfume from the abundance of flowers opening up.

  The trail turned and dipped. Suddenly, it opened up to reveal a small clearing. Johana nearly fell backwards as she lifted her face to gaze at the towering structure on the other side of the moat.

  In her fantasy the castle was always white. Gold and white. She had never gotten around to creating any particular details about it, but she could see that Warren had. He would have had to, considering how meticulous he was with every inch of his masterpiece.

  The castle was white. Every stone fitted perfectly like a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle. It made for a smooth, nearly seamless exterior. It rose from behind a rock wall made of similar white stones. In the distance Johana thought she could see figures moving to and fro past multi-paned windows that glittered in the sun.

  Before she could comment, Warren bellowed, “What ho, the guard! Lower the drawbridge!"

  "There's other people here?"

  "You mean real people?” he countered and gave a slight shrug. “We're the only real people here, Johana. But I have servants and guards, just like any other ruler in his kingdom."

  A rattling of chains and the squeal of the weighty drawbridge beginning to lower across the moat drowned out his next comment. But Johana was too engrossed in watching the enormous wooden object coming down toward them to ask him to repeat. She felt him give her hand another squeeze, sending more warmth spreading through her bloodstream. Her heart had to be going a mile a minute.

  The bridge landed with a heavy-sounding thump. Warren gave her a smile and her arm a tug, and they walked across wooden structure, over the wide moat. Johana peered down at the water, wondering if there might be fish in its depths. Suddenly a little splash on the surface startled her. She jumped, eliciting a chuckle from Castle.

  "What were you thinking?” he asked, pausing for the moment.

  "I, uhh, I think I was thinking about there being fish in the moat.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “What kind of fish are they?"

  "Whatever you wish, Johana. Personally, I have thought about having koi down there. But you're quickly going to learn that in this world what you wish for, or desire, is going to happen. So be careful, Johana."

  They entered the small, empty courtyard, and through an open archway. As they finally entered the castle proper, the grand beauty of the inner structure took Johana's breath away.

  Warren stayed to the side as she slowly turned around and absorbed the sight of the intricate tapestries on the walls, the ornately carved furniture filling the room, and the weaponry posted on the overhead beams. Another stained glass window cast its rainbow across the stone floor, catching the toes of her shoes with its jewel-tone light.

  "You created all of this?"

  "All of it."

  "Just now?"

  He shrugged slightly. “Whatever I wish comes to pass instantly. I guess it remains unless I wish differently. Like the furnishings and interior. At least, it's still here when I come back. I'm assuming it sort of freezes in its present existence."

  "Is that why there are no housekeepers or guards about?"

  He gave her a puzzled look. “What's the matter, Johana? Feeling lost inside this place without another human being around?"

  The question struck her oddly. A fleeting thought came to her, but she kept it to herself. Besides, her stomach was reminding her again that she was hungry.

  "How does the kitchen work if there are no cooks?"

  "Ah! That's the fun part! Come.” He took off in a new direction. Johana hurried to keep up. They went down several narrow hallways, each one bearing at least one large needlepoint or tapestry along the hewn rock walls.

  Soon they emerged into the dining room. As Johana expected, it was also a large area with a high-beamed ceiling. Except this time there was a long table in the center of the room with a multitude of covered platters and place settings for two. Tall, lit tapers stood in the center of the table, surrounded by what looked like bowls of fruit. It was tempting and lovely to look at, just like everything else about this place, but something was missing. Something was ... wrong. Not frightening wrong. Not-right wrong.

  Johana gave Warren a small smile. “Do you plan on yelling at me during the meal?"

  "What do you mean?"

  From the confused look on his face, she could tell he honestly didn't understand what she was talking about. “Our plates are at opposite ends of the table. And that's at least a thirty foot long table."

  He smiled, throwing her off once again as he moved closer to her. “Who said we would have to yell at each other?"

  Motioning with her healed arm, Johana glanced back at the table to elaborate when she noticed the place settings had been moved. At least one of them had. Now the plates were side-by-side, near where they stood.

  Silently, Warren ushered her to her chair, holding it for her as she sat. He remained standing. “What are you hungry for?"

  And that's when it hit her. The not-right wrong. She couldn't smell any food or other odors. His artificial world lacked the fine details most people took for granted. Like smells. Like walking into a room and being accosted by the smell of the food before seeing it. Yes, he had brought out some scents. There had been the flowers in the fields, but now that she thought back on it, their perfume had come about almost like an afterthought. He was still working out the little details. Yet, for a world still under development, it was an incredible accomplishment to see all he had conjured out of thin air.

  "Johana?” His hand rested on the lid of the nearest covered platter.

  "Umm, how much can I splurge?"

  "Anything, Johana. Go for broke."

  "Okay,” she laughed. “How about a fat, baked turkey?"

  "Sounds delicious. Okay! One fat, baked turkey!” Warren announced and lifted the lid.

  Now the smells struck her as the golden bird was revealed. Mounds of dressing surrounded the perfectly cooked meal, as well as radishes carved into rosettes. She gestured toward the next platter. “What's in there?"

  "What do you want?"

  "Anything?” she grinned.

  "Anything,” he grinned back.

  "Hamburgers. No! Mushroom burgers. With melted Swiss cheese and grilled onions."

  This time, however, when he lifted the lid to show her a pile of hamburgers, the platter was empty. Warren frowned and glanced at her. “Did you envision them like I told you to?"

  "I did exactly what I did for the turkey,” she told him.

  "You couldn't have, or else the platter would have hamburgers on it."

  "But I did,” Johana insisted, “unless you helped me that other time."

  Mulling over her statement, Warren placed the lid back on the platter. “Let's try this again. Hamburgers, right?"

  "Right. With mushrooms, Swiss cheese, and grilled onions."

  She watched as he stared at the covering for several long moments before lifting it again. The trick worked, and Johana stared in awe at the pyramid of steaming hamburgers. “Damn! I see it, but I still have trouble believing it!"

  "Well, obviously you haven't gotten the knack of calling things into existence,” he commented.

  Johana gave a half-hearted shrug. “Either that, or this place doesn't answer to me. What's to drink?"

  There were already two goblets on the table. Warren picked up the nearest to him. “If I want a beer, it'll be beer. If I wa
nt water or tea, that's what I'll taste."

  "What if I want sugar with my tea?"

  "It will already be sweetened to suit you."

  "What if I have tea, then decide I want, umm, coffee?” She peered into her goblet to see it already filled. A sip confirmed it was hot tea.

  "Like I said,” Warren repeated as he took the lid off a platter of barbecued ribs, “my world, my rules. Let's eat."

  * * * *

  * * * *

  "Forgive me."

  After their meal they had retreated to some kind of secluded study for coffee. A small fireplace sent out a cheerful light and warmth. And the loveseat afforded them a cozy closeness in front of it.

  For a while neither of them spoke as they enjoyed their coffee and each other's companyuntil Warren broke the silence with his apology. He didn't have to explain.

  "No big deal. How were you to know this place only answers to you? After all, you did say it was your world and your rules.” She graced him with a tiny smile before taking a sip from her mug.

  "Nevertheless, I shouldn't have been so sharp with you."

  She nodded. “You have quite a nasty temper,” Johana replied. “Did you get that from your father or your mother?"

  "My mother. She was the perfectionist."

  "Mmm.” She took another sip of her coffee, noticing how the level of the brew never got less than halfway down the mug.

  "So much was going wrong. My life was going wrong. The business..."

  Sighing, Johana reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder. Beneath the light fabric she could feel the warmth and hard muscle. “Your anger was justified, although your temper wasn't. I ... I know some of what you were going through."

  He looked at her, and in the firelight his gaze almost burned into hers. “I never wanted to take over Dad's company. I wanted to be an artist like Mom, but they convinced me to get my business degree, as much as I detested doing it. Then, when they died, I had no choice in the matter. No ... choice."

  Warren dropped his gaze to stare unseeing at a spot beyond her. “If I was to have the chance at being an artist, I knew I had to make the business self-sufficient. So I buried myself in it, pushed myself to keep the company on its feet. Get it to the point where I could indulge in my painting if I wanted. Maybe take a year off."

  "You were driving yourself into an early grave,” Johana stated. It was more of a guess on her part, but his answering nod confirmed it.

  "Gracie convinced me to go ahead and paint anyway as a way of getting my anger and frustration out of my system.” He gave a light chuckle. “There were times I would be up at two, three o'clock in the morning, brushing thinner on a canvas because I couldn't sleep. Couldn't get any kind of decent rest."

  "What made you decide to paint the wall? And why the castle theme?"

  This time he actually blushed to the point where she could see it in the singular light coming off the fire.

  "The Once and Future King. Ever read it?"

  "King Arthur, right? I read The Sword in the Stone when I was in high school, but not the rest of the series.” She smiled and cocked her head at him. “Is this supposed to be Camelot?"

  "Well, let's just say it's my rendition of the way I envisioned it back then. The world I escaped to when I was growing up, and the world I could escape to as an adult."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Eight

  "When did you first discover you could walk into it?” Setting her mug on the floor, she turned to rest an arm on the back of the seat. Strangely, although her revitalized arm was only an hour old, she felt as though she had been born with it. “Tell me how your Camelot came into being."

  "There's not a lot to tell. It was an accident.” He gave another soft chuckle. “I remember I was pissed ... but that seems to be a pretty regular thing with me these days, doesn't it."

  "I refuse to comment on the grounds it may get me kicked out of Shangri-La,” she grinned.

  He chuckled lightly. “Anyway, I was pissed. I was tired. It was late. I took a deep drag on my wheelchair when I left my office, and I bumped into the wall head-on. The safety straps across my chest kept me from pitching forward when I collided with the painting, but I was able to press my forehead against it.” He paused as he traveled back in time in his mind. Back to that moment when reality and this alternate reality began to co-exist. Johana crossed both arms on the back of the loveseat, then rested her chin on her sleeve.

  "I was sick of living,” Warren remembered in a soft voice. “I didn't want to spend the rest of my life running the business. I didn't want to spent the next fifty or sixty years confined to that fucking wheelchair. I wanted to live!” His voice rose and his grip tightened on his mug to the point where Johana was afraid he would crack it. Before she could warn him, he suddenly backed off on his own.

  "I remember ... I remember wishing ... no, praying I could leave it all behind. I started crying, and that made me madder because I couldn't wipe my damn nose. I raised my head and stared at Castle's Keep, and I prayed I could disappear into it. And then..."

  Johana's eyes widened. “And then?"

  He glanced at her before continuing. “Then when I tried to press my forehead back against the wall...” His voice faded, but she already knew what he would say next.

  "But it went right through the wall, didn't it? Your face went into the painting, and that's when you knew!"

  "No! That's when I suspected!” he gently corrected her. “I summoned my nurse and ordered her to undo my straps. Then I backed as far away from my painting as I could, prayed again, and rolled as fast as I could, full-tilt into the painting. She screamed and tried to stop me, but I had taken her by surprise. She couldn't reach me in time. When the chair hit the wall, I pitched forward into that little meadow you found yourself in when you arrived."

  Johana jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “That meadow is the crossing over place?"

  "As far as I've discovered. If there's another exit out of this world, I haven't found it."

  "Wow. Okay, so you fell into your painting. What happened next?"

  Warren took a deep breath as he stretched his legs out in front of him. To Johana's relief, he placed his mug on the floor.

  "Considering I fell face-first into the grass, I instinctively tried to use my hands and arms to break my fall. I was numb with shock to discover my arms obeyed me. And so did my legs. I stood up, and it was as if the skiing accident had never happened. In fact, I was in prime physical shape. Not a thing was wrong with me. By the time I accepted that miracle, I discovered where I was. Things snowballed from there."

  There was a moment of silence between them while she grasped what he had told her. “Tell me about going back,” she finally murmured. “Why did you go back to that life you hate?"

  He slowly shook his head. “I don't know. Maybe it was because deep down I still felt a sense of duty. Like I needed to finish what my father had started."

  "Or maybe,” she ventured, “you felt you had to get your affairs settled on that plane before you permanently retired to this one."

  From the piercing look she received, Johana knew she had either struck a nerve or given voice to a secret fantasy. “Don't tell me the thought never crossed your mind."

  He shook his head. “I won't lie to you. That's exactly what I plan to do. What I want to do."

  "Live the rest of your life here?"

  "Why not?"

  Why not? Oh, God, if only it was possible.

  Lifting her chin from her arms, she tilted her face to lay her cheek down. “What about Gracie? What about the house, and the nurses, and housekeepers, and all? What about them?"

  "I've made provisions for them,” he told her. “Every detail has already been worked out."

  Every detail? At that moment Johana recalled something Gracie had told her earlier. Something about the painting...

  "You're having the painting sealed,” she said. “Gracie said you had made arrangements to have the pa
inting sealed. At first it didn't make sense to me because I was thinking the painting was on canvas. Then later, when I saw the size of it, I was thinking that sealing it was the only way the painting could be kept intact from time and the elements.” She smiled as she shook her head. “But I was wrong again, wasn't I? You're sealing the painting not just to preserve it, but as a way to protect yourself once you enter into it for the final time. I'm right, aren't I?"

  Warren reached over to tap her lightly on the temple. “You're intelligent as well as beautiful."

  Johana felt her mouth open in surprise. Warren snorted as his hand remained where it was, and his fingertips threaded through the fine hairs that had escaped the chignon behind her head.

  "I can almost read your mind, Johana. You want to ask me why I haven't already sought my final refuge in this world. Or if this time was my last venture inside, since I hadn't gone back as I'd promised my secretary."

  His fingers traced the soft skin around her eyes, running lightly over her cheekbones to the corner of her mouth. His face loomed closer until his features disappeared into the shadows made by her body blocking the light of the fire.

  "To be honest, I had planned this to be my final trip inside. Now I realize I was being too hasty. It was too soon, and that would have been a mistake. A very bad mistake."

  "A mistake? Why?"

  His fingers felt like tiny, lit candles burning bright red lines of heat down her neck. At some point he pulled out the bobby pins holding her hair together. It didn't take long for her hair to tumble across his wrist. She felt its weight shift and flow over her shoulder. The gentle tug of his hand as he combed through it was the most erotic sensation she had ever felt. Before she was aware of what she was doing, Johana closed her eyes and sighed.

  A little smile tugged the corners of her lips until his warm mouth pressed against hers. He hesitated, not pursuing any further until he was certain she would not object. His lips moved slowly, possessively. The hand at the back of her head held her firmly, until all she could do was sit there and let him kiss her until the end of time.

  No man had ever kissed her like this. It was as if his pent-up anger had gelled into fear, and he was trying to hold back that fear. There was an urgency and a sense of need in the way he tenderly moved over her lips. Spreading them, probing between her teeth, yet never crossing that line. Not unless she allowed him to.