The Voice of Reason, Part of the Paranormal Shorts

by Gil VanWagner

down below, “You love the sea, don’t you?” he sounded a little kindly now.

  “Yes, pretty much live close by and the sea is the first love of both my father and I, oh correction, Mom always gets first place with him and poetry second making the sea his third love perhaps,” she said, chuckling a little now.

  He smiled.

  “Well, what were you trying to do sitting by danger lane?” he asked pointing to the cliff.

  Mary blushed. It was indeed getting embarrassing and he was right. It was a stupid thing to do.

  “Well, I was trying to pen poetry.”

  “My Dad wrote poetry too. He wrote the voice of reason, the many reasons why man lives the way he does and why he dies the way he does,” he said proudly.

  Mary lifted her eyebrows. She was quite sure her Dad’s pieces were more creative but she wouldn’t say.

  “Do you come here often?” she sounded politely.

  “Used to and many times when I’d catch my father at work,” he said as he gazed at the sea. It was just a miracle knowing that the sea bore testament to history, having borne witness to the emergence and death of civilizations as it shaped the world to what it is today.

  “You love the sea,” she asked noting his boyish appeal.

  He was a rather tall lanky boy but it was his green eyes that spoke. It sparked really green, almost like Daddy’s. There was something strange about him too that made her hair tingle but when she looked at his green eyes, she felt comforted almost like she was getting the same feeling when she looked at Daddy.

  “I’m Mary Percy,” she said stretching out her hand as a polite salute.

  “Brad Percy,” he said his eyes leveling almost at her.

  “That’s strange. That’s my father’s name too,” she admitted, “How coincidental that you have the same surname too!” she remarked, laughing gleefully now.

  “Yes, indeed,” he said his voice almost impish now.

  He looked at her and then pointed to the sea, his eyes growing with interest as he looked at the coastal birds and the sight of the two lone yachts making their way across the waves.

  “How can we meet again? You must come and visit us sometime soon, maybe for dinner. I owe you quite a bit now that you saved my life. If you had not come in the nick of time, I would have died down there,” she said feeling thankful for the help he rendered her. “That would have been just terrible.”

  “Well, a thank you should be in order then,” he said smiling at her now. She could see he had the same big hands too like Daddy.

  “How did you get here?” she asked curious now.

  “I used to cycle up here all alone sometimes. It is amazing to stand above the cliff and view the whole stretch of the ancient sea just from here, don’t you think?” he sounded, “Well I have to go. Time seeks me out now in strange ways,” he said finally, heaving a sigh that spoke of a little sadness that had come to bear.

  “Will you come visit us Brad Percy?” she asked.

  He looked at her and laughed.

  “For a nice dinner perhaps?”

  It was Mary’s turn to laugh.

  “Yes, a nice wholesome dinner. You must call me,” she said then quickly tore out a top page segment of the local newspaper that she had brought along with her for a quiet read. “Here’s our phone number Brad. Call me,” she said handing him the scribbled edges of the local newspaper.

  “Mary, I will do that,” he said taking the note and shoving it into his pocket, “If you could only tell the words that I speak, you will see my soul for all that it keeps,” he trailed off his eyes focused on her fervently now.

  “My Daddy said the same words too. Who are you?” she sounded off and then the chill struck her, causing her to sneeze so hard that it almost jolted her body.

  She looked up.

  “Brad?” she sounded. There wasn’t anyone standing before her anymore. She looked all around, the sun almost ready to make its descent now she could see, but there was no Brad Percy.

  “Brad, c’mon. Stop joking with me. Where are you?” she sounded concerned now.

  She was quite sure he was just a foot from where she stood. He couldn’t have taken off so fast. She looked all around casting her eyes in every nook and corner she could but apart from the sky, the wide open grassland and the rough, earthy terrain of the cliff, there wasn’t anywhere else he could hide. Then she saw the book on the boulder, the same black book he was holding.

  She walked to the boulder and gently lifted the book, looking up to see if he was watching her from afar. He was nowhere to be seen.

  She opened the book. The familiar cover struck her immensely and her eyes drew tears at the sight of the words that had almost faded off its pages. It was the very book she had been searching for all these months. The poetry book that belonged to Daddy but it was all tattered and torn, most of the pages torn at the edges but other than a missing page, the book was still intact with the long forgotten pieces of her father’s discourse with nature and life. Mary gently paged through the book, proudly settling her eyes on the words that spoke plenty to her and then mulling over the lost page.

  “Oh dear Lord, how did it get into his hands?” she muttered.

  She remembered his face, his eyes and his hands. Almost like her father. It was almost as if Brad Percy was a miniature copy of Daddy but how could that happen?

  Slowly, she paged through the book again, tears wetting the precious pages that bore the faded handwritten poetry of her dearly departed father.

  Then the page emerged that dedicated the whole book to her only, Mary Percy.

  It read:

  “To my little pumpkin, Mary Percy,

  to the one who inspires and leads, to the very heart of my soul, I seek;

  to you I celebrate my life and to you my darling,

  I give my hope.

  Daddy.”

  “Brad!” she shouted feverishly now, “I need to talk to you! Damn you! Come out now!”

  But no one returned her desperate calls and she heard the wind howl gently, the waves rippling with anticipation but there was no answer to her calls, only nature sounding its curious responses. She looked up and saw the sun set its descent quite complete now with the vibrant colors it promised for a new day ahead tomorrow. It was time to go home.

  She sat on her bicycle and gently placed the tattered book on the basket, making her way back home, her mind thinking and conjuring but not quite understanding the strange events that had unfolded in the last one hour. She planned to stop by the white cottage and seek her answers the next day. Who was Brad Percy? Who was he?

  She found Gillian already home. She had taken more time than she needed and her mother looked at her, the eyes somewhat sober and fearful.

  “Where have you been Mary Percy?” she sounded sternly reaching for her daughter. “We have been so worried. We were about to call the cops thinking you were in trouble,” she explained, the tremor in her voice apparent now.

  “I’m sorry Mama. I have just taken more time than needed.”

  “I lost him in a terrible way Mary. I cannot lose both of you girls,” she said, her voice firm this time. "I was so afraid something happened."

  Mary smiled. It had been a long time since she last heard Mama speaking with so much conviction. A glimmer of hope flickered.

  That night, the three of them had a wonderful time, the first ever since the funeral of her father. It was almost like old times when Daddy would be away, and they would just find the time to wile their time away playing cards, watching movies or listening to the soft gentle music that Daddy always said straightened the soul.

  The very next day, Mary made her way to the white cottage through the seaside town, driving cautiously and eager to seek out Brad Percy. She was grateful to him for saving her but she needed the answers. She couldn’t understand how the precious book had come to be in his hands and maybe, he knew something about Daddy she did not.

  Mary almost thought she would get los
t in the maze of little shops that sprung in the marketplace but when her small car got off the lane into a residential street, she found herself face to face with the white cottage. She quickly parked her car and rang the door bell.

  It was an old man who greeted her, his eyes drawn in surprise at the sight of her.

  “Yes?” he sounded almost questioningly. It almost looked as if he knew her.

  “I am looking for Brad Percy,” she heard herself say.

  She could feel the old eyes boring down on her, the look of shock clearly etched on his pudgy face now.

  “How rude,” she thought.

  “You a friend from some place?”

  Then more footsteps were heard, heavy footsteps marked by the presence of light ones.

  “Who’s there Peter?” sounded the voice of a woman and before long, Mary found herself looking into the most kindly eyes of an old woman and her little granddaughter.

  “What brings you here now?” she asked gently looking at her husband in a manner as if she had been expecting Mary all this while.

  “I have come to see Brad to thank him so much for saving me from a bad fall,” she said. It was a half truth of course but she explained what had happened.

  The old woman looked confused, tears welling in her eyes.

  “That cannot be young lady. You couldn’t have seen Brad. He never came home the day he walked out of here August 11 last year. Said he was going to the cliff to read but we thought he ran away. We tried looking for him, even called the police but it turned up nothing,” said the old woman, her face turning into a red pulp.

  The old man sighed hard then settled himself on the