by TJ Vargo
How he moved so fast, he wasn't sure, but Jackson was on his feet, his muscles shaking with adrenaline. He looked down on Felicia, then back to the fire. The figure he had seen watching through the flames was no longer there. His racing heart made it hard to breath as he said, "We shouldn't be doing this."
She looked at him as if he was crazy. "Doing what?"
"Touching each other... you know." Seeing how she crinkled her brow he added, "You said you're my sister for God's sake. And besides, I saw someone watching us." He pointed. "There, on the other side of the fire."
Her look of confusion grew. She turned to look at the fire and then back to him. "What are you talking about? And what did you say about touching?" She waited a beat and could've driven nails with the stare she directed at him as she said, "Jackson, you just passed out a second ago. I had to lay you down. You scared the hell out of me. I was just about to get Dr. Kirtland when you jumped up."
Unsure of himself, his mind spinning, Jackson could only stare at her. He watched as she slipped her feet into her shoes and stood up, getting close enough to look into his eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked. Still unsure of himself, still voiceless, Jackson looked at her, wondering why he couldn't spit out a coherent sentence. It took her moving toward the door, saying, "I'm getting Doctor Kirtland," before he could move.
He stepped toward her and grabbed her arm. She turned and he held his hands up. Trying his best to look apologetic, he said, "Look I'm fine. No, that's wrong - I'm kind of screwed up, a little dizzy, but really I'm fine. It's been a strange night, you know?" His talking seemed to calm her. At least she didn't have that scared look anymore. He smiled and looked down at his feet, embarrassed with himself. "I don't know what the hell I was just talking about. Probably just dreaming or something. Why don't we just forget about it?"
She grabbed his hand. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Positive."
"Alright then, but I'm keeping an eye on you. You scared me."
Jackson nodded and followed her out the door back into the party. One step out the door he stopped. Alone in front of the fire stood Nathaniel, smiling and watching him. Jackson held eye contact for a moment and then followed Felicia. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Had Nathaniel been watching them through the fire? Had Felicia been coming on to him? He snorted. Ahh shit, forget about this nonsense. Paranoid and dizzy was no way to get a grip on things. "C'mon, let's go this way," he said, grabbing Felicia and pulling her through the crowd toward a table set with long-stemmed wine glasses. He handed one to her and grabbed one for himself. She made a toast he didn't hear, tinking her glass against his, the noise of people that were drinking too much humming all around. He drank and wiped at his forehead, wondering why a cold sweat had broken out there. Forget about it. Just drink. Forget about it and drink.
Chapter Ten
The night wore on without further incident. Alcohol flowed freely. Townspeople took time to come over and talk to Jackson about his father, what a great man he was, and how happy they were that Jackson was back where he belonged. It was exhausting and exhilarating to be the focus of so much attention. So much positive attention. By the end of the party, he sat alone in the courtyard that filled the backyard, his collar open, tie loosened, a nearly empty drink hanging loose in his hand. He looked into the remains of the party through a large picture window. A few stragglers remained, laughing too loud and looking sloppy, Nathaniel entertaining them. People had flitted around Nathaniel all night like moths to a flame. Tilting his glass to his lips, Jackson swished the dregs of ice and alcohol through his mouth and spat them out in a flowerbed. A great night. A fantastic night. A night that filled much of him up, but still...
He leaned back on the stone bench, resting his back against the brick wall that enclosed the courtyard, and looked up into the sky. It was cold and getting colder. The clouds were beginning to thicken, dimming the light of the stars and the moon. Clouds also gathered in his head. The thing with Felicia had rattled him and like all things he wasn't quite sure of he kept running it over and over in his head. He closed his eyes and laid his head over the back of the bench. She said I passed out. Did I pass out?
"What are you mumbling about?"
Jackson sat up, surprised. Felicia stood off to the side, cocking her head, looking at him with amused interest.
"I was just thinking out loud," he said.
She came over and held a hand out. "C'mon. Walk with me. Talk with me."
Pushing his hair back, Jackson got to his feet.
"Give me your hand, I won't bite."
Felicia held her hand out toward him. He let her take his hand. It made him uncomfortable as she began leading him, but he tried his best to relax. What the hell was there to be afraid of?
She walked him through the courtyard, stopping once at a goldfish pond where she insisted that they both throw a penny in and make a wish. Once the wishes were done they climbed the stairs going up out of the courtyard to an open pasture. The wind had a cold bite to it. It whipped through the huge expanse of rolling field. At the outer edges of the field, Jackson could make out tall shadows - the forest that surrounded this mountain-top castle. Letting go of Felicia's hand he took his suit jacket off, wrapping it around her.
She pulled it around her, a butterfly in its cocoon, then leaned against him. "It's getting cold," she said, her voice beginning to tremble as her teeth chattered.
He moved his arm around her hesitantly, then gave her a couple of friendly squeezes, trying too hard to show he wasn't being romantic. "Is that better?" he asked.
She nodded, smiling. "Isn't this place unbelievable?" she said, tilting her head back into his shoulder to look over the field bordered by the huge trees of an old forest.
"Yes, it is," he answered, viewing it with her, feeling a little more comfortable with himself. He turned his head, taking it all in. The beautiful rolling field. The utter quiet and majesty of nature surrounding him. He said, "I still can’t believe I'm here." He briefly touched at his pocket, feeling the belt buckle he'd taken from his farm house in there. Why the hell was he so nervous? She hadn't done anything to him, had she? Glancing down at her, he suddenly felt more at ease with himself. She smiled up at him and it made him feel better. Maybe he hadn't made a complete ass of himself. "So," he asked, "how did you get here?"
She paused and narrowed her eyes, the wind gusting, blowing her hair into a black halo around her face. "Are you sure you want me to tell you this now? We have all the time in the world."
Jackson nodded. "We're here now. Now is fine."
She studied him, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, then said, "I was left at the doorstep of a convent when I was just a baby. It was one of those cloistered ones where the nuns are either praying or working all the time, twenty-four hours a day. They took me in. I didn't even know what a television or radio was until Nathaniel came and got me. That was when I was nine years old."
"I never heard of anything like that," said Jackson, shaking his head. "How did you end up in a cloy... what did you say it was?"
"A cloistered nun's convent - something the Catholic's have." She studied his face. "What are you?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know, Catholic, Baptist, Jewish, Presbyterian, Lutheran... what are you?"
Shifting his feet, feeling uncomfortable again, he said, "I don't know. My dad, I mean the man who raised me, he took me to a bunch of different churches when I was a kid, but we never stayed at one."
"Why?"
Jackson shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Half the time he would take me to church he'd be drunk, get up in the middle of the sermon and start carrying on. We usually ended up being politely asked never to come back." His voice lowered as he said this, but he smiled when she bumped her shoulder against him.
"Lucky you. I had to go to mass twice a day."
"Yeah, lucky me," he said, bumping her back. They laughed a little at that. Looking back out over the field, Felicia
drew her shoulders up as the wind gusted. She shivered and said, "Well, you don't have to worry about any of it around here." She shot Jackson a glance and looked away. "Nathaniel isn't a marching Jesus."
"A what?"
"A marching Jesus, you know, someone who's into all that holy joe crap. You're your own church around here. If you treat people good they'll treat you good. Treat them better and they'll treat you better. Know what I mean?"
Jackson nodded his head. He tried to steer the conversation back to his original question. "So who left you at that convent?"
Her brows came together as she turned to look at him. "Who do you think left me there? Our mother, that's who."
"Our mother?" The word struck Jackson hard. He hadn't even contemplated it. "I always thought my mother was dead," he said, shaking his head, then added. "Is she here?"
"No. And that's all the better for her, leaving me there like a piece of trash."
"Don't you want to see her?"
Felicia turned away from him. He felt her shoulders stiffen.
"What's wrong?" He put a hand on her shoulder. She was a tight coil of anxiousness. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked.
"I've seen her. Ever since I was a little girl."
He drew closer.
"In my dreams Jackson. Only it's more than a dream. She haunts me."
His mind tilted. "What does she look like?"
Felicia snapped her head around to look at him, her face tight. "Why do you ask?"
"Was she a little girl when you were small?"
"How did you...?"
Jackson began to breath hard with excitement. "She used to protect me from bad dreams. But I didn't know it was my mother. How do you know it was her? Is she still alive?"
Before he could react, Felicia pulled away from him and began running toward the courtyard. Turning, watching the dark outline of her body bob out of sight as she ran down the steps that went to the courtyard, he yelled.
"Felicia! Wait!"
She was gone. He stayed frozen in place for another set of heartbeats. Then his feet moved of their own accord. He raced to the steps, taking them two at a time, but he saw that she was far ahead, already in the courtyard below. Jumping the last four steps, trying his best to catch up, his legs buckled as he landed in the courtyard. He stumbled, but was held upright by a strong grip that came from the shadows at the edge of the stairs.
The deep bass of Nathaniel's voice rumbled.
"Whoa, whoa, watch yourself."
Jackson tried unsuccessfully to pull away. Nathaniel held him fast.
Jackson watched with Nathaniel as Felicia stepped through a door into the castle. She turned for a moment before she went inside, her eyes locking on Jackson, then Nathaniel.
"Let me go. I need to talk to her," said Jackson.
Nathaniel released his hold, but Felicia had already disappeared behind the closed door. It was cold enough that Jackson could see vapor on Nathaniel's breath as he said, "You have all the time in the world to talk to her now. Why don't you wait until tomorrow, after you’ve had a chance to get a good night's sleep?"
Jackson nodded, getting a friendly clap on the shoulder from Nathaniel.
"I'm sure you two will have more than enough time to get together, like a son and daughter of mine should," said Nathaniel, giving Jackson's shoulder a squeeze before he walked up the stairs into the pasture, becoming lost in the night.
Jackson pushed by a cluster of people that were cleaning up the debris of the party and walked through the corridor that led to the stairs. He barely took time to watch where he was going he was so wrapped up in his thoughts. Weird. The whole night had left him dizzy. Especially that last thing Felicia said - that really shook him. He'd reached the foyer and he walked over to the staircase, putting a hand on the banister to steady himself. In her dreams. She said our mother was in her dreams. Did they both have the same dreams? It couldn't be. That kind of thing just didn't happen.
Jackson whirled at the sound of a raspy chuckle. The skeletal face of Kirtland looked on, amused.
"I think this is yours," said Kirtland, holding out the suit coat Jackson had given Felicia to keep her warm outside. Grabbing the coat from Kirtland, Jackson turned to go up the stairs. Kirtland's hand fell on his bicep like a set of talons. The old man had fingers of steel.
"Let me show you to your room."
Once inside his room, the heavy wooden door closing with a solid thud, he threw his suit coat over a chair and lay down on the bed, spent. The thought of trying to find Felicia's room had taken a hold of him. Find her and ask her about the dreams. Ask about his mother. Getting up from his bed he took a step toward the door and stopped. He barely heard it. Probably a figment of his exhaustion. A barely audible clop, clop, from somewhere far down the hall. It stopped, then continued, stopped, then continued, on and on, growing louder, as it approached. Jackson was frozen, straining to hear. His throat was dry when he tried to swallow. Growing up on a farm taught him the sound of many animals' tread. Horse, cow, goat... all of them had their own rhythm. But damn if he ever heard a hoofed animal walking with the steady clock-like rhythm of a two-legged animal. What the hell was that out there?
Finally, the sound reached his door, where it stopped. He held his breath, not moving a muscle. Exhaling, he saw a light cloud of vapor. His skin goosepimpled. It was cold in here. The hair rose on his neck as a sound pricked at his ears. He focused on where it was coming from. There, right at the edge of his door. He couldn't be sure (there was no way he could be hearing this right) but something was sniffing there. Like a dog. But it couldn’t be. The sniffing was up too high, on level for where a man's head would be. Not wanting to move, the air freezing around him, Jackson suddenly got angry. He strode toward the door, ready for a fight. Grabbing the doorknob, eyes like slits, jaw muscles tight, he stared at the door jam, his heart thudding. The sniffing was louder now, more excited, pulling longer inhales from the other side of the door. Fuck this. Jackson yanked the door open.
Nothing. Standing half in the hall, his heart pounding, he saw nothing. Closing the door behind him quietly, making sure to turn the deadbolt, he went over to his bed. He couldn't stop looking at the door. What could it have been? Laying down, he forced himself to look at the ceiling, but he couldn't stop from listening for sounds in the castle. Nothing but an occasional door closing. The sounds of the cleaning people leaving. He laid his hand over his eyes. Relax. Forget about it. I'm exhausted and hearing things. Finally, thankfully, his exhaustion overtook him. He closed his eyes, one hand over his face, gradually relaxing.
Sleep came, and with it he saw Sam Lewis, the crazy, drunken man he had thought was his father for his whole life. Beckoning him to come down with him. To the place where he swam. In a lake of fire that blackened and crackled his flesh, but never consumed him. Jackson hung on the edge of that lake, his fingers dug into the black basaltic rock that rimmed it, fighting for all he was worth, trying to push the sweet song of Sam Lewis's voice out of his head.
"Come on down son! The water's fine! Teach him a lesson and come down now! You'll save us all a lot of trouble!"
The voice wouldn't leave him. And he wouldn't budge. That's where it stood for the night, the smell of sulfur in his nose, burning his eyes, and the song of Sam Lewis's voice hooked in his soul. Pulling harder, and harder, and harder...
Chapter Eleven
The restlessness of the previous night together with the rapid changes in his life held Jackson in a state of lethargy the next day. He tried to take it slow. There was Nathaniel at first light, knocking on his door and saying he had business in town that would take the whole day, but go ahead and feel free to explore the inside and outside of the castle. It was just what the doctor ordered.
A leisurely walk through the outside grounds ate up most of the morning. Breakfast in the courtyard, the sun shining down on trees and plants that were starting to show new life. He relaxed for a while after a servant took his plate away, just letting the sun wa
rm him, smelling the plant life that was ready to bloom. Then he took a walk over to the horse stables, killing the remainder of the morning. Magnificent animals, with muscles bulging beneath their shiny coats. They took to him immediately. Nostrils flaring as he stroked their long, soft snouts. Visiting with the horses with the smell of hay all around him cleared his mind. Animals always did that to him. They didn't want anything from him, except a simple rub or a pat.
After the horses he went back to the castle, exploring it room by room. The gray stone walls draped with colorful quilts. Mantles stocked with old artifacts - it was just as Jackson imagined a castle should be. Some rooms even had brackets on the walls with torches, a Frankenstein's castle touch if he'd ever seen one. Probably a real creep show to have these old torches flickering in one of these old rooms at night. The rooms with torches, however, were the exception. Most of the rooms were like his, with electric lighting, luxurious rugs and antique furniture. Seeing this, the surrealness of it all, played havoc on his mind. One second gawking like a tourist; the next a voice whispering in his head. This is yours Jackson. All yours. You're the son of a very rich man.