The Storyteller's Muse

by Traci Harding

  ‘Julian has split with Sofie and opted out of the warehouse,’ Monique explained.

  ‘Why?’ Nathaniel was clearly baffled.

  ‘Why did he split with Sofie?’ Monique assumed.

  ‘No, why did he opt out of the warehouse?’ he clarified. ‘Not that I mind, I’ll gladly pay his portion to live here full-time. I still have to work, so you’d have plenty of time without me here, too.’

  ‘But what about your marriage, Nat?’ Monique was concerned about his lack of concern in that department.

  Nat shrugged. ‘She threatened to go and find a partner who wants to live in the real world. I told her to go right ahead.’

  ‘What?’ Tyme was shocked, but Nathaniel held up a finger to indicate there was more.

  ‘Then she confessed she already had.’

  Both Monique and Tyme gasped at the news.

  ‘That’s always the way, I find. People accuse you of the very crime they are committing themselves. And what’s more, it has been going on since before Jenna got pregnant.’

  ‘The baby might be his?’ Tyme blurted out her observation, and then appeared sorry for it.

  ‘Maybe, who knows?’ Nathaniel was exhausted. ‘All I know is that I’m not giving up my passion for a bunch of lies.’

  ‘So Em could have done you a favour?’ Monique noted. ‘And if you consider what a money-sucking little bitch Sofie was —’ she looked to Tyme ‘— Em might have done Julian a service also?’

  Tyme nodded to confirm this.

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Nathaniel was perplexed again. ‘How could one of my characters have done Julian a favour?’

  ‘We have a house ghost.’ Tyme cut to the chase.

  ‘Bullshit!’ Nathaniel objected to the implication.

  The sound of metal landing on the wooden kitchen table startled them all to look in that direction.

  ‘Holy shit!’ Tyme was the first to venture closer. ‘What the hell?’ She looked up to the ceiling in the hope of determining where the object had fallen from.

  ‘What is it?’ Monique grew impatient waiting for Tyme to recover from her awe, and spotting the ring of old keys she gasped and looked to Tyme. ‘Do you think they fit —?’

  ‘That would be spooky,’ Tyme granted.

  ‘This is already spooky!’ Nathaniel was staring at the ceiling. ‘I mean where the hell did they fall from?’ He looked back to the girls as Tyme retrieved the keys and slotted one deep into the lock of one of the books on the table. ‘What have you got there?’

  ‘We’re about to find out.’ Tyme turned the key and the lock popped open.

  WRITER’S BLOCK

  It was very tempting to curse the name of his deceased mentor for ending the session on that note. But he knew no matter how much she wrote, he’d still want more, until the story was done. Sadly, this story would never have an ending.

  ‘Well, I’ve done all I can for it.’ He slid the manuscript, memory sticks, keys and Penelope’s unopened note into a parcel bag, all ready to give to the courier.

  As he awaited the parcel pick-up, Peter forced himself to eat something, all the while contemplating what the characters had found in those journals. Just one more scene and something of Em’s mystery would have been revealed.

  ‘I’m sure the enigma will haunt me the rest of my days!’ he commented out loud for the benefit of Penelope’s ghost — if there was such a thing! ‘Why did we not write non-fiction? At least I could have researched some answers.’

  A few bites of a sandwich and a sip of coffee was all he could stomach. His gut was in knots as he eyed over the package he was to send off, tempted to rip it open and retrieve the key and note for Penelope’s treasure hunt.

  A knock on the door ended his dilemma and Peter handed over Penelope’s manuscript to be delivered to her agent.

  Although deflated by the missed opportunity, Peter felt proud of himself for not being tempted to undermine Fabrizia’s rights and Penelope’s will. If Penelope had wanted him to attempt to finish the story she wouldn’t have left all the rights to the book in Fabrizia’s hands.

  Duty done, he was left drained. The thought of sleeping off the remainder of the day was an appealing one. As Peter headed into his bedroom, he was stunned to find Penelope’s note and keys still sitting on his bedside table.

  ‘What the —?’ He moved to retrieve them and ran to the window in the hope of delaying the courier, but the van pulled out of its parking spot and drove off down the road. ‘I distinctly remember packing these.’ Was the stress of the day affecting his mind?

  This event was somewhat reminiscent of the incident he’d just read about in the last instalment of the story — coincidence? It seemed a rather uncanny one. Penelope had always insisted there was no such thing as coincidence, only synchronicity. Such instances were like signposts to your destiny if you recognised them as such. He’d assumed Penelope’s death would end his active participation in her fantasy world, but clearly for his character the mystery continued.

  ‘Is this your doing, Penelope?’ he asked out loud, still uneasy about the situation. ‘Do you want me to do this treasure hunt, is that it?’

  No answer was forthcoming and Peter was rather grateful for that — he was freaked out enough already. He stared at the items in his hand, his memories of Penelope silently coaxing him on.

  ‘If you wanted to be a writer, Peter, why did you become a nurse?’

  ‘Because I didn’t realise what I was missing.’ But he did now. Still, he was unsure if he had the talent he needed to seriously pursue his ideal life.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with your writerly instincts. All you need is a good story to follow and you’ll be on your way.’

  If such a great writer would bestow such a high praise upon him, he owed it to Penelope to at least try and meet that expectation or what had it all been for?

  His resolve to pursue the mystery hardened. ‘Even if I can’t finish writing the story, just some insight into the ending would maybe be enough for Fabrizia to hand the manuscript to one of her more seasoned writers to finish . . . maybe Denise Yin?’

  With car keys and wallet in hand, Peter made for the front door. Upon opening it he found Gabrielle holding up a hand as she prepared to knock. ‘Peter! I’ve been trying to call you all day.’

  ‘I turned my phone off.’ He was a little frustrated to have his plans delayed. ‘I had some work to do for Fabrizia.’ Peter didn’t want Gabrielle to think he was avoiding her, even though he was.

  ‘Can we talk? Please.’

  If he told her he was on his way out, she’d want to know where, and he wasn’t in the mood to explain. Hence, he reluctantly backed out of the doorway and allowed her inside. ‘If this is about last night, I know it was a disaster —’

  ‘Not your fault,’ she pointed out. ‘I should’ve told you sooner. But that said, my grandmother warned me that you were in a dilemma —’

  ‘I’m not.’ Peter was a little fast to deny her speculation.

  ‘She says you’re fibbing or deluded.’ Gabrielle appeared in no doubt about that.

  ‘Look,’ Peter didn’t want to offend, ‘how do you know you’re talking to your dead grandmother? How do you know you’re not just telling yourself what you want to hear?’

  Gabrielle folded her arms. ‘Do you think I wanted to hear Penelope was having a stroke last night? And were we wrong about that?’

  Several chills ran down Peter’s spine.

  ‘Except for my abuelita being deceased, everything else I’ve told you is completely true,’ she appealed.

  ‘You want me to forgive you for lying to me?’ Peter needed to cut to the chase. ‘No problem; I forgive you.’

  ‘Don’t patronise me!’ Gabrielle looked distinctly annoyed. ‘I don’t care about forgiveness, I care about you! Grandma said you needed guidance —’

  ‘I can’t imagine why.’ Peter was sceptical.

  Gabrielle stood quietly for a moment listening to an inner voice and then looke
d to him wide-eyed. ‘She said if you are going to ally yourself with the disembodied, you’re going to need to know some basic psychic self-defence.’

  ‘What?’ Peter thought that was a bit extreme. ‘Do you really think Penelope would try to harm me?’

  Gabrielle again consulted her grandmother’s spirit on the quiet and appeared alarmed. ‘She said you are not dealing with Penelope’s spirit any more, but another, more malignant spirit.’

  Again, shivers down his spine. ‘Who am I dealing with?’

  Gabrielle gasped. ‘Em, she says you’re dealing with Em.’

  The suggestion frustrated Peter. ‘Em is a character, not a real person.’

  She held up a finger to beg his patience. ‘According to Grandma that is only speculation on your part.’

  Patience with this discourse was something Peter was fast running out of. ‘I appreciate your concern, but I’m not dealing with anything. I’m just trying to find some time alone to mourn a dear friend.’

  ‘I’m mourning her too,’ Gabrielle defended. ‘I worked for her ten times longer than you did, but that doesn’t prevent me from caring about you. Why are you so afraid to confide in me when I’ve laid my soul bare before you? Unless you still think I’m lying about Grandma?’

  ‘I . . . I . . .’ Peter didn’t know how to respond; he wasn’t sure what he thought, or how he felt. ‘I’m not good with trusting others, and I don’t want to bring you any trouble.’

  ‘Well I don’t want you landing in any trouble either, so let me watch your back.’ She placed her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. ‘And Grandma too,’ she seemed compelled to add.

  ‘To tell you the truth, the idea of your grandma watching me and knowing everything about me, does freak me out ever so slightly,’ he admitted.

  ‘She’s not always around, just when I summon her, or when something really bad is happening, like last night,’ she explained, and then raised her gaze to the ceiling to listen. ‘She says she doesn’t know why you are so worried about her knowing about you as the worst thing you’ve ever done was cheat on your nursing entrance exam.’

  ‘What the hell?’ Peter was shocked to the core. ‘Nobody knows about that.’ Peter could feel his heart beating in his throat, and heat rising in his face — the claim gave Gabrielle’s talent more validity.

  ‘She said the girl you cheated out of a place who wanted it so badly . . .’ Gabrielle glanced at him and he nodded to confirm he knew of whom she spoke, ‘. . . discovered two days later that she was pregnant to a man she had met overseas and ended up leaving the country to marry him.’

  ‘Really?’ Peter felt a great weight lift from his being. ‘My heart was never really in it, but I wanted to appease my parents at the time.’

  Gabrielle nodded. ‘Even so, the position was always meant to be yours, so that you could follow your path to here and now.’

  ‘I’ve spent years feeling guilty about that,’ he realised.

  ‘So you see, having a family ghost around is not entirely without benefit. Now tell me, what are you up to?’

  ‘Well, can’t Grandma tell you?’ Peter challenged.

  ‘She says that she’s not a snitch.’

  ‘What do you mean? She just told you the worst thing I’ve ever done!’

  ‘But that’s in your past,’ Gabrielle justified on her grandma’s behalf. ‘In the present, it’s up to you to tell me or not.’

  ‘Finally, Grandma’s on my side,’ Peter teased.

  ‘We are both on your side.’

  Clearly, she was not taking no for an answer, and if Penelope had meant for him to do this alone, she wouldn’t have suggested that he take Gabrielle along with him after the awards dinner. ‘It’s the treasure hunt.’

  Gabrielle’s eyes opened wide with excitement. ‘I’d forgotten all about that.’

  ‘I sent the keys and note with the manuscript to Fabrizia an hour ago.’ Peter outlined his predicament.

  ‘Aw . . . what?’ Gabrielle was clearly deflated by the news.

  ‘And then found them in my room after the courier left.’ He produced the said items and Gabrielle’s spirits seemed to soar once more, yet she maintained some reserve.

  ‘Just like the story. Whoa! This is what Grandma was talking about?’ Gabrielle was as perplexed as Peter now. ‘She thinks this was Em’s doing and not Penelope’s.’

  ‘Why are you asking me?’ Peter wondered.

  Gabrielle conceded his point. ‘Abuelita? Grandma? She’s gone.’

  ‘Got her way, so now she’s happy,’ Peter reckoned.

  ‘That sounds about right,’ Gabrielle concurred. ‘So . . . we’re going to Penelope’s.’

  ‘Well I was.’ Peter shrugged only prepared to speak for himself.

  ‘We are,’ Gabrielle corrected and snatched the note and keys from his possession. ‘You drive,’ she instructed with a smile.

  Penelope’s house would have been more accurately described as an estate. Tall sandstone walls surrounded the perimeter, complete with a large set of security gates out front.

  ‘Shall we try to climb the wall?’ Peter posed, as they sat in the car staring at the locked gates before them.

  Gabrielle checked the keys for a remote, but there were only regular keys. ‘Let’s try the direct, lawful approach first, shall we?’ She climbed out of the car and walked around to the security intercom.

  ‘What are you going to say?’ Peter was curious as she pushed the button to alert security, but Gabrielle held a finger to her lips to request his silence.

  ‘Whitman estate, can I help you?’ It was a woman’s voice, and she sounded quite old.

  ‘Hello, I have a letter here from Ms Whitman —’

  ‘Sorry, you’ll have to speak up.’ The voice insisted. ‘Are you the people Ms Whitman’s lawyer said to expect?’

  Gabrielle looked to Peter to seek his approval to lie.

  He nodded, ahead of whispering, ‘If you try and explain she won’t hear you anyway?’

  ‘What was that? Please speak up, I’m very hard of hearing.’

  ‘Ah yes, that is correct,’ Gabrielle confirmed.

  ‘One moment. I’ll open the gates.’

  ‘Thank you!’ they both yelled in response, as Gabrielle headed back around the car and climbed into her seat.

  ‘What if the real people show?’ Peter uttered to his accomplice.

  ‘We’ll just show them Penelope’s letter and plead misunderstanding.’ She shrugged as the gates parted and they proceeded down the long driveway towards the large roundabout at the end.

  ‘Perhaps we should open the letter and find out if Penelope’s written anything more than three words this time?’ Peter hadn’t expected to be met by anyone at the house and had planned on reading the communication upon arrival.

  ‘Good call.’ Gabrielle did the honours, pulling out another sealed envelope. ‘Open in the library.’ She showed him the instruction written on the front of the missive.

  ‘Okay,’ Peter relented. ‘We’ll play this Penelope’s way.’

  By the time they parked the car and scaled the few stairs of the front pillared porch, the front door had been opened and an elderly couple stood in the void, waiting to greet them.

  ‘Mr Lemond, Miss Valdez?’ the gentleman assumed and stunned them both.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Peter confirmed.

  ‘You are lucky you caught us. We were expecting you yesterday,’ he said, as his expression turned sombre. ‘Sad events delayed you, I understand. But everything is still as Ms Whitman instructed. Please, come in.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Peter stepped into the foyer along with Gabrielle, admiring its grandeur.

  ‘I am Wilfred Eddington and this is my wife, Thelma, we are the caretakers of the Whitman estate. We were just leaving for the day, but I understand you have a key?’

  ‘We do.’ Gabrielle held it up.

  ‘Very good,’ Wilfred said. ‘Would you like me to show you around —?’

  ‘I’m
sure we can manage, thank you, Wilfred,’ Peter declined, and gave them their leave. ‘You and Thelma have a lovely evening.’

  ‘There’s food in the kitchen,’ Thelma advised.

  ‘And plenty of wood by the fires, should you need it,’ Wilfred added. ‘Make yourselves at home, you are Ms Whitman’s guests.’ The delivery of this message near reduced the old man to tears. ‘God rest her precious soul.’

  ‘It is a tragedy,’ Peter agreed, ‘but not one that was entirely unexpected.’

  ‘No, that’s quite true.’ Wilfred looked to his wife, who was dabbing tears from her eyes with a tissue. ‘We thought we had lost her five years ago, we were lucky to have had the extra years in her service.’

  Thelma forced a smile, appearing mildly consoled by the fact.

  ‘We shall all miss her.’ Gabrielle added her condolences to the outpouring.

  ‘You know about the funeral I assume?’ Wilfred checked.

  ‘We do,’ Peter confirmed. ‘Fabrizia Zenton informed me.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see you there.’ Wilfred placed an arm around his wife.

  ‘We’ll be sure to lock up when we leave.’ Peter saw the old couple to the door.

  ‘The beds are made if you require them,’ Thelma advised and waved.

  ‘We won’t be back until after the funeral.’ Wilfred paused upon exiting the front door, to look over the exterior. ‘I expect they’ll need the place all spick and span for auction.’ He gave a heavy sigh but roused a smile. ‘The gates will open automatically for you to exit, and lock behind you. A remote is by the phone in the kitchen, along with our phone number, should you have any queries.’ He waved and accompanied his wife down the stairs.

  ‘Many thanks.’ Peter watched them walk up the drive, arm-inarm.

  ‘Makes you wonder how many times they’ve done that walk together,’ Gabrielle voiced his exact thought.

  ‘Well clearly your grandma isn’t here or we would have got their entire life story.’ Peter closed the doors, and Gabrielle was amused.

  ‘I must say you are handling the fact of Grandma rather well.’

  ‘Well I can hardly hold it against you when I have a fictional character leaving keys in my bedroom.’ Peter turned his attention to the beautiful manor house around them. ‘I’ll bet this place saw some amazing parties in its time.’