A Great Tribulation

by Marc Seraphs

  “Don't beat yourself up, we all lax sometimes. The way I see it, good luck shone on me that night,” he said widening his grin. “Now if you excuse me, I have some work to do.”

  “You might think you're sleek,” she said when he brushed past her. “But I'll sound enough bells and whistles to put a spotlight on you.”

  “Please do, and I'll let them know about our little episode behind the bar,” he said continuing on. “Not that I care. I have nothing to hide...unlike you.”

  She was stunned speechless.

  Her eyes were hawk-like on him all the while as he hedged the garden. From a sidelong glance, he caught sight of a window curtain opening on the top floor of the house.

  It was Addi.

  He kept on at his job as if unaware of her presence. As the day wounded on with his job winding down, Rafel took a break, when to his delight he saw Addi approaching, bearing a tray of lemonade and snacks. She was all smiles and flirty in her bodily fitted jeans shorts and a pink top that left her beautiful belly button exposed.

  Haram, he thought at the sinfully gorgeous sight of her. He felt his cheeks ignite with heat.

  “Thanks,” he said, accepting the glass of lemonade. Ever perceptive of his environment, he saw her guard step into view in the distance.

  And with one sweeping look at her freshly manicured garden, she commented: “looking good!”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you want to come in?”

  “I don't know...” he said, gesturing to how sweaty he was.

  “Common, that's for the housekeeper to worry about.”

  At her urging, Rafel followed after her. He didn't miss the cutting eyes of her hawking guard.

  Rafel was wowed when he entered the plush living space of the Heims. It was his first time stepping into luxury since the death of his father.

  They were inside the house when Addi turned on the television. The noon news was on.

  “What a shame,” she sighed concerning the news report about the mayhem in certain cities from religious extremism. The now reigning group was the Ehud Brotherhood—which was surprisingly a Christian group—in a field once dominated by the Islamist extremists. The search for the group had now expanded into the big sky country of Montana, where they'd left a trail of carnage.

  “I tell you, religion is bringing this world closer to hell on earth than salvation.”

  “Nice home,” Rafel said wanting to dismiss the touchy subject.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I had a great time the other night. You're a real gentleman.” And she knew that for a fact. Despite playing skunk drunk when she was only tipsy, he never acted inappropriately or tried taking advantage of her—which she would have appreciated more—than his protectiveness.

  “I try... thanks.”

  “Do you want something to eat?”

  “I—I—”

  “I insist. I'll get you something.”

  Addi went to the kitchen to get what would be her first home-cooked meal—prepared by herself.

  “Hope you like it,” she said once the meal was served.

  Rafel took a dive at the dish. His gaze turned empty as she waited for his critic. For whatever reason unknown to Addi, impressing him was paramount to her.

  Rafel's expression was flushed. He seemed to be having a difficult time keeping a civil countenance. When he could pretend no longer and felt like retching, he reached for a napkin.

  “That's how you feel?” Addi blurted rushing to his side with a paper bag for him to throw up into. During the process, her silverware unwittingly hit his head.

  “Ouch, my head!”

  Addi gasped. “I am sorry.”

  “It's all right, I asked for it,” he winced. “Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn, huh?”

  She stifled a laugh. He was disarmingly charming. “I'll go get some ice.”

  “I would like that...thanks.”

  “That bad, huh?” she asked of her cooking when she returned with a bag of frozen spinach. "I have never cooked for anyone before."

  “How about I cook you something? If I have something to work with.”

  He was irresistible. As if for the first time she noticed the slightly darker brown hue of his eyes—flecked with caramel—complementary to his olive skin tone that was Oriental and strangely reminiscent of something in her past. He even had a hint of middle eastern accent—with an Englishman undertone. “Where are you from again?”

  “I never told you where I was from.”

  “Right...where are you from?”

  “North African.”

  “Really, where in North Africa?”

  “Libya. Schooled in Manchester, England, though.”

  A feeling of melancholy welled her face. “It's being a mess since the Arab Spring...? Your family?”

  “Non-surviving. Wiped out by the war.”

  “By the—” she withheld her words when she saw him broodingly avert his gaze from hers. “Am sorry,” she continued wanting to console him. Hold him. Tell him everything would be all right. Even share her pains with him despite the fact that his anguish was worse than hers, Addi imagined.

  They were so close. He smelled woodsy from the freshly cut grass he'd been mowing. It was strangely intoxicating. For the first time in a long time, she was close to a man that piqued her interest...

  Intimately.

  Rafel had something he was capable of giving her unlike her husband, and she was going to have it. Addi made her move ever tentatively, crashing into him ineptly, but with intent. He was like a rock, as he held her still, and she held on to him like her life depended on it. She felt her heart heave as though there was a slamming of an unstoppable force against an unmovable force. As much as he longed and desired to remain in his arms, she had to sell her move by kvetching “how clumsy,” she was being. She steadied herself with the table.

  “Sorry—”

  She was still speaking when she caught the glimpse of a figure at the window—that had her panties in an uproar—they were not alone!

  CHAPTER VII

  Keira stepped out the cramped cabin that was meant for three, but currently held seven.

  She yawned taking in the awe of the unveiling winter in the Rockies as the mountain peaks, trees, and leaves showed light dusting of snow. Keira wasn't the only one up she realized when she saw a figure by the lake within view of the cabin. She made sure whoever it was one of theirs before stalking forward to inspect—from the gait and stance, she knew who it was.

  “Alfie?” she called when she got closer.

  Red eyes, marked with freshly wiped tears looked back at her. He was instantly in a hurry to leave, but Keira stopped him, hugging him dearly. She wanted to tell him that...

  She cared.

  She understood.

  However much she meant the words, they never came out, but somehow she felt he'd heard them when he latched onto her dearly. They stood there in each other's arms for a while. At the end of the little episode, Keira was teary as well—a wave of memories from the good-old-days coming over her.

  They sat in the brush, by the lake in silence, enjoying the soupy haze of dawn from a quickly dissipating mist.

  “Beautiful...” she said, breaking the icy silence. When he nodded, she pressed, “If you weren't here, what will you be doing?”

  “Acting maybe.”

  “Like an actor?”

  When he nodded, Keira let her head fall back in amusement. Not because the idea was ridiculous, but because he actually reminded her of James Dean: troubled teen, misfit, good looks, great hair, average body. Though James Dean was way before her generation, she'd caught the Dean fever from Lana Del Rey's Blue Jeans, and after she saw East of Eden she was forever ill for the actor. He was one of the few actors she liked posthumously.

  “I know...it's ridiculous.”

  “No, no, am not laughing at the idea.”

  “But you laughed.”

  “I think you will make a good actor. A great actor may
be.”

  There was a spark in his eyes. “You think?”

  When she shook her head, he revealed he “did Shakespeare in school.”

  “No!”

  Alfie went into a trance for dramatics, quoting: “'I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized. Henceforth I never will be Romeo.'”

  “'What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, so stumblest on my counsel?'” Keira blurted to his surprise.”

  Alfie was taken aback. “You know Shakespeare?”

  “Did Shakespeare in school too.”

  “Who did you play?”

  “Juliet. Duh!”

  She did share certain aesthetics with Juliet. Though a tad timid, Keira was sometimes tough, headstrong and intelligent.

  “I played, Romeo,” he told her.

  Their confession seemed to open an emotional dimension of connection between them, as they both peered—looking deeply into each other's eyes—as if to further explore what they'd found.

  It was so beguiling Keira looked for a distraction to diffuse the tension. She found one when she looked across the lake. “Does it look a little contrived over there.”

  “Where?”

  She pointed. “There.”

  Alfie followed the line of her finger. “I suppose...do you want to go see?”

  “Is it safe?”

  “Well, we'll never know if we keep standing here.”

  How daring, she thought, a smile curling her lips; her James Dean. “Sure.”

  She followed his lead across the fairly narrow and shallow lake.

  On the other side, they crossed the brushes to the thick woods and then the contrived area they'd spotted earlier. They examined it and to their surprise, it was a hedge that happened there unnaturally as it ran quite some stretch into the distance with intent. It was hard to see what the hedge confined as it was woods as far as they could see. Something hinted there was more.

  “Should we go in?” Keira said, unsure, but to her surprise Alfie was out with his knife, cutting himself a path through the hedge.

  “Come,” he said, going through the path he'd paved.

  She hesitated until he offered her a hand. She followed suit, and cautiously they carved into the territory, looking all directions for signs of something...

  Until the cornice of a building appeared behind the green in the distance.

  They rushed forward into what appeared to be a clearing around the building. The land showed signs that it had been once cultivated, although now overrun by tall, thick grass. When they looked up, what they saw was what appeared to be a gilded old mansion.

  They were both overwhelmed with joy and trepidation.

  “We have to tell the others!” they both said in unison. They shared a heartbeat of eye-to-eye contact and laughed at how in sync they were before starting back.

  They were gaining on the lake when Keira tripped on something.

  “Aw, gee!” she blurted, falling to the ground. She was in pain.

  Alfie came back for her. “Christ, Keira, are you all right?”

  She almost didn't recognize his voice—It was thick with concern. “I—l think so.”

  He sighed, expressing his relief. “What was it?”

  She sat up to take off her boot, so she could examine her foot. “I didn't see anything...I didn't mean for anything to happen.”

  “It's a bruise,” he diagnosed when he saw the skin of her toes. “Try standing up.”

  She did with his help. He couldn't seem to let her go. He kept his hands over her upper arms as she steadied herself. Arm-in-arm they walked to the lake where she sat on the edge. With her gown raised to her knees and her shoes off, she dipped her bruised toe in the cold water.

  She saw his eyes transfixed on her with concern. There was something else—a tension. If it was any consolation, she was feeling it too—for a while now actually. They were attracted to each other.

  “What are you two doing there?” a voice called from the other side of the lake.

  “Call Mr. Eustace and the others. You have to see something.”

  ***

  “999 10th Street...

  Meet me there at noon.”

  —Addison

  Those were the words of a curt text message from Addison that morning. It was the first time he'd heard from her since the awkward encounter at her home when they caught the tomboy guard from DDS interloping on them.

  Although apprehensive about meeting Addison at the specified address, he rode to the location that noon under the pouring rain. He found the address. It was a hotel. A five-star one at that: the Rosebush Suites. A smile creased his lips as ideas crossed his mind—sinful ideas—that didn't slight his cautiousness. He squinted studying his surroundings through the foggy veneer of his windshield to the downpour outside. Sensing nothing unusual, Rafel stepped out the car, huddling his coat as he braved the rain for the hotel lobby, before pulling out his cell phone to let Addison know he was here.

  Rafel's smile widened, even more, when the reply was “room 231”—which he relayed to the petite concierge at the desk. She grinned at him, requesting for his ID, which he gladly handed to her. And after confirming, she pointed him to the elevator, “fifth floor” with a complimentary “thank you.”

  Room 231 wasn't hard to find once he arrived on the fifth floor. He'd barely made a couple of raps on the door when it opened.

  “You made it,” Addi answered, welcoming him in. “You're wet...take your coat off, I'll go get a towel.”

  Rafel relieved himself of his coat, placing it on the coat hanger. The furniture in the room was so lush, he feared having a seat might somehow ruin the couch, especially with him being wet.

  Addi returned as he was taking in the room. She had a towel in hand, which she presented to him with a surprise behind.

  The surprise of her exquisite form unveiled. Au naturel.

  The towel dropped from her grasp. His jaw followed suit as she circled her arms around his neck. Her motives clear from her actions.

  CHAPTER VIII

  Rafel awoke after several rounds of lovemaking. He'd lost track of time somewhere between the post-coitus bliss and falling asleep. He tried lifting a sleeping Addi from him, but she remained stuck to him like glue. When he saw the honey kissed smile curling her lip, he knew she was feigning slumber.

  He looked up at the wall with a smile to his surprise; it was getting late. “It's six pm!”

  “So?”

  “I have to catch up with someone."

  “Are you cheating on me already?”

  “No," he laughed. "Work related.”

  “How about you come work for me as my personal guard?” she offered.

  “Hmm...tempting, but am only a gardener.”

  “You're a strong man,” she said planting gentle, little pecks on the lithely muscled frame of his chest.

  “I really have to go,” and he did. He had a meeting with Aziz. “If I say yes, will you let me go?”

  “Just one more thing...” she said poignantly, sitting astride him. Playfully she began to rock her hips against him. At that moment Rafel knew he'd lost his reason for leaving.

  ***

  “Holy moly!”

  Though he rarely frequented his cabin on this neck of the woods, Eustace was befuddled; how he'd missed this haven just on the other side of the lake from his cabin was beyond him.

  Thus the “hidden,” he figured.

  It was mind-blowing. An abandoned hand-crafted log home nestled in the middle of nowhere.

  The main building had standard shingles, but the other outbuildings had hand-split log shingles. The more Eustace surveyed the building, the more he discovered it was a self-sustaining fortress. One of the smaller buildings turned out to be a sawmill powered by hydroelectricity. The house was too, like his once home. Except this house was over the top: immense.

  “Mr. Eustace,” he heard Michael call. “Come check this out.” He took them to the far corner of the e
ntrance, where there was a great stone. Etched on the stone was: 'Turtle Island Preserve II.'

  “Turtle Island...” Eustace said.

  “What's that?”

  “This was the work of one of the greatest mountain man who ever lived,” Eustace remembered visiting the known Turtle Island Preserve in North Carolina as a boy with his father. His father was a mountain man at heart, but never in deeds. Eustace helped his father realize that dream when he moved to Montana.

  He remembered the clean environment, trickling streams, proud trees, pristine forests, ferns and heaps of logs—like leaping back in time—a period he preferred to live in and made it a lifelong goal to continue living in. He also remembered taking a ride on a horse-drawn carriage with the pioneer of Turtle Island Preserve himself. When the preserve in North Carolina was closed, there were rumors of another preserve built by the pioneer and his family farther north. Eustace figured this was it: Turtle Island Preserve II. It wasn't a rumor after all...

  “What happened here?” Caroline asked.

  “For us to find out I guess.”

  They walked back to the main building and then up the front steps. When they pushed the door, it creaked ajar to the living room—that was completely furnished with log tables, chairs, and shelves. Though dusty from being unkempt, it was impressive. On one end of the room was a fireplace. To their surprise, it was fired by electric rather than logs—which it appeared to give the facade of. He'd seen versions of it in the city, but this was unlike anything he'd ever seen. It was ingenious.

  The design and raw architecture of the home reflected the intellect of the builder.

  “Come see!” Keira said when she peered out a window. The others came and there—two horses grazing behind the house.

  “Are you sure there's no one here?”

  The following morning, after a full reconnaissance of the log home, tools, facilities—that included two livestock buildings, a mill, and a work shed at their disposal—they had their job cut out for them. They were going to rejuvenate the place!

  While Keira and Caroline were on an anti-dust and cobwebs campaign inside the house, Eustace took the boys and Hunter to the livestock buildings. The smell was fierce, even Hunter was standoffish, sitting back calmly with watchful eyes, while they continued on, but not without covering their noses from the odor. Not surprisingly, they found corpses: a horse, and several decapitated chickens. Thankfully none were human...