by Dean Mayes
The young man looks up and out through the billowing curtains, through the balcony rail to the beach where she plays with the dog. What he sees, Andy sees, because Andy has become him. A woman is throwing the ball to the pup who chases after it eagerly, up and down the sand.
It is her.
It is Sonya.
Her shoulder-length auburn hair billows out and catches the breeze, blowing about her beautiful face. She wears an oversized knitted jacket over her bikini and pair of canvas shoes on her feet.
She is so vibrant, so alive, so beautiful. His heart aches for her.
She runs up the sand, across the grass and up the hill towards the house. The dog trails happily behind her, the ball in his mouth.
Then she is beside him, lounging back on the arm of the chair, a glass of wine in hand as she listens to him play. She gently strokes his hair and smiles ... listens to them play.
Andy watches, yet he is experiencing the touch of her hand on his skin at the same time.
How could that be?
He looks up at her, a loving gaze, and she leans down kisses him tenderly, fully on the lips. Her lips linger there.
Andy can feel her touch on his lips. The electricity of the kiss passes through him.
How could that be?
The guitar is set aside and she is in his lap now. They are passionate, lingering in an embrace, lingering in a kiss.
She whispers to him,“I love you, Denny.”
Andy’s eyes snapped opened and, for a moment, he was disoriented. He looked around urgently until he realized he was still in his bedroom, still in the apartment. The rain still fell outside the window.
“Denny?” He said the name out loud as if to test its sound on his lips. It felt instinctively natural.
He knew this name. How or why he knew, he couldn’t explain. He just did.
Laying the guitar down on the bed beside him Andy got up and went to the bathroom, filled the basin with cold water and lowered his face into it, holding himself there for a good 30 seconds. His mind continued to flash images. Images of other people, of another place, another time. There was vibrant color and light, the fresh smells of the sea and the countryside and the sweet tastes in the air. They contrasted with the dull gray of his surroundings here and now.
Drawing himself out of the water, he wiped his face with a towel and looked in the mirror. Andy was sure he knew those people, and that place. But how?
He had never even ventured out of this city, let alone been to a place like that - a seaside town, an idyllic place.
He gazed at his reflection in the mirror. His gaunt features, his severely close-shaved head, his eyes.
His eyes.
He focused on them now, looking deep into the iris, studying the pattern of the green striations around his pupil; patterns that were as individual and as unique as his own fingerprint.
Except his eyes had always been brown.
Andy blinked, startled at what he was seeing.
They were green. And then they were brown.
Green - then brown. Changing each time he blinked.
Shocked, Andy staggered back from the mirror.
What was going on here?
He rubbed his hand over his forehead. He looked in the mirror again.
“Are you doing this to me? ...Denny?”
***
Dawn on the other side of the world. The early morning sun peeked up and over the horizon, heralding the new day. It rose slowly, languidly over the calm sea casting warm, golden rays across the water and the sky above, where it touched the underside of billowing clouds, imbuing them with a pinkish hue.
There was just a hint of a breeze. It was cool. The few denizens that occupied the beach were rugged up. Their breath was visible in the crisp morning air. The water was choppy, but not fiercely so.
A line of jacarandas that flanked a thin bitumen road above the beach swayed gently. The scent of nearby eucalyptus, melded with the salty spray coming off the ocean, giving the air a sweet earthiness.
This tranquil scene of the New South Wales south coast greeted a lone figure who appeared over a rise on the road above the beach. She paused briefly by the side of the road, putting her hand to her brow to take in the picture-perfect dawn.
A pair of sea birds soared lazily over the water, scanning for an opportunity to snare an early breakfast. On the beach, an elderly couple power-walked along the sand, past a couple of curmudgeonly fishermen who were bickering about something they’d heard on the morning news that was blaring from a battered transistor radio. A trio of young surfers sat on their boards, just beyond the breakers, engaged in an intellectual discussion about the water and weather conditions at this moment. A group of seniors practiced Tai Chi on the grass a little further up the beach, completely absorbed in the serenity of the early morning and the harmony of their movements.
The young woman, dressed in an oversized woolen cardigan, knee-length shorts and canvas boating shoes, adjusted her shoulder bag. She then continued along the road that wound down along the coast towards the sleepy seaside village that lay just a few hundred yards ahead.
A black-and-white cross-breed cattle dog trotted a few feet in front of her, wagging his tail.
Sonya Llewellyn smiled at the occupants on the beach, each of them engaged in their leisurely pursuits. It was peaceful. It made her heart feel light.
Simon the dog seemed unfazed by the activity and was completely oblivious to it all. Their early morning walk - their constitutional - was unmissable so far as he was concerned. If Sonya so much as brushed passed the dog lead that hung on the hook just outside the back door of the beach house, Simon would spin himself into a flurry of yapping that wouldn’t let up until she diverted his attention with a special treat - or she relented. He was easy to please.
At 5 o’clock each morning, Sonya and Simon were up and out on the beach for their regular walk. Sometimes she resisted it, especially when it was cold out and the warmth of her bed was impossible to surrender. But this was a tradition begun during the first few months of this dog’s life by his former “master,” who would never dream of missing an early morning walk, no matter what the weather might be. Now that Denny was no longer here, Sonya felt it her duty to continue the tradition.
No longer here...
It had been a year since Denny’s death.
Sonya couldn’t quite comprehend it. It still seemed as though it had been only a few days since he’d died. Even now, part of her refused to believe that Denny, the love of her life, was gone.
The beach house Denny and Sonya had bought near the town of Hambledown was dilapidated, but it had perfect views and a quaint feel; and it was theirs. Everything was here in this little hamlet by the sea. Her work at her grandfather’s law practice. Denny’s career. Their house. Their life. It was to be their wonderful future. Now it was just Sonya and Simon. She had learned to function, but only barely.
Hambledown’s General Store was already open at this early hour. A newspaper van sat outside idling as the driver unloaded several bundles of newspapers. He greeted Sonya as she approached.
“G’day, love. Nice morning for it.”
Simon lowered his head and stiffened as the driver, Jim, approached him. He growled in the pit of his throat.
“Oh come on, pup. No one’s going to hurt you,” Jim chided gently.
Simon bared his teeth then and, as Jim went to put out his hand, the dog barked angrily, causing him to withdraw instinctively. Sonya dropped to her haunches and pulled Simon back.
“I’m so sorry, Jim. He still has this thing about men.”
Jim chuckled and rose to his full height.
“It’s fine, love. Some dogs are just hard to please, I guess.”
Nodding, Sonya passed him, gesturing sharply for Simon to follow. Jim flashed a sympathetic smile as she passed him, then went back to his work.
At the entrance to the store, Sonya leaned down and pushed Simon’s hind quarter down, forcing him to sit.
She gestured with an extended finger.
“Stay.”
Simon whimpered softly and licked his chops, but he obeyed her.
Past the fresh vegetables and fruit, past neat aisles stocked with dry goods and condiments, past racks of freshly baked bread, Sonya made her way to the counter where she was greeted by a kind-faced man with neatly parted hair and a warm smile. He patted a newspaper and a loaf of bread that sat on the counter waiting for her. She smiled at his courteousness as he picked up a sealed cup from the counter behind him and sat it next to the items on the counter. The aroma of the freshly brewed coffee hit her nostrils instantly and she went straight for the cup.
The shopkeeper chuckled heartily.
“Don’t laugh, Lionel,” Sonya chided half-seriously. “I could kiss you right now.”
Lionel Broadbent turned to a meat slicer behind him and switched it on. He shaved several slices of mild salami off a stumpy piece that hung in a group of similar smoked meats above his head. He wrapped the slices carefully and completed her purchase, placing them down next to the other items.
“There you are,” he said, in a gravelly but very precise British accent. “Simon is set for the day.”
Sonya regarded him with amusement as she took another mouthful of coffee.
“You know, it was you two who spoiled him. Simon is going to end up obese, I hope you realize.”
Lionel chuckled softly at the nameless mention of Denny. He loaded the items into Sonya’s shoulder bag while she sipped her coffee quietly. Realizing what she had said then, Sonya felt a twinge of emotion and she had to exert a great effort to stifle it.
Thankfully, she was distracted from her thoughts when a woman emerged from the rear of the shop and smiled upon seeing Sonya. Ruth Broadbent, Lionel’s wife, sidled up to her husband and planted a kiss on his cheek then circled the counter to repeat the gesture with Sonya.
“How are you this morning love?” Ruth inquired breezily in a similarly precise British accent to Lionel’s own.
Sonya returned the older woman’s smile with her own and closed her eyes as Ruth squeezed her with one arm around her shoulders.
“Sleep deprived,” Sonya replied dryly. “But well.”
Ruth was slightly shorter than her husband, dressed in a billowing silk blouse and was adorned with large items of jewelry that framed her distinguished features. Her graying hair was cropped stylishly short.
Sonya noticed a large camera bag, hanging from Ruth’s free shoulder.
“Off to capture some more images of beauty?”
Ruth regarded her bag with a lop sided grin.
“Sort of. I need to scout some locations for that wedding shoot this weekend. The Sallingers have expressed some concern about the old jetty. They think it’s not aged enough.”
“Ahh ... well. Mustn’t do anything to upset the apple cart there,” Sonya replied. “Jade Sallinger is some kind of bride-zilla so I’ve heard.”
“Yes, indeed,” Ruth responded malevolently. “Gillian down at the post office told me that Jade’s mother is pushing her to see you about a pre-nuptial agreement. Can you imagine that sort of rubbish? It’s ridiculous!”
“You know,” Lionel began, searching for something to change the direction of their gossiping conversation. “People are talking about the practice; they are looking forward to your reopening. It’ll be a relief for them not to have to travel down to the city to see a lawyer.”
“Well, if I can get a second coat on the walls in the front area today,” Sonya grinned knowingly at Lionel. “I’ll be able to start seeing clients by the end of this week. It’s just taken me a lot longer to clean up Harry’s mess.”
“Hmm,” Lionel mused at the mention of her grandfather. “The old bugger died owing a lot of money. It was criminal for those creditors to come after you.”
Sonya nodded as she downed the last few mouthfuls of her coffee. The hot liquid scalded the inside of her mouth.
“I guess they thought I was a soft target. I never did find out how much trouble Harry was in when he took me on. Fortunately, I’ve gotten myself back into the good books with most of his people. At the very least, they’re taking my calls.”
Sonya slung her now-full bag back on her shoulder and handed the empty cup to Lionel, along with a $10 note. Taking out the small parcel of sandwich meat, she flipped him a jaunty salute, then turned for the exit.
Both Lionel and Ruth watched her go.
“He - would have been proud of you.”
Sonya paused and looked back at them as she put her hand to the door.
“Harry only ever cared about himself,” she responded gruffly.
“Harry wasn’t who I was talking about,” Lionel replied.
Sonya wordlessly acknowledged his meaning. She turned the handle and slipped out silently.
Simon leapt up enthusiastically, pawing at Sonya’s bare legs as she tried to tear an opening in the packaging and grasp a slice of the salami.
“Get down, you glutton,” she scolded, dropping a slice into Simon’s eagerly salivating jaws. He devoured the meat in seconds, then trotted along beside Sonya as she crossed over the street and walked a short distance along the path towards the center of the township, tossing him additional slices.
The old stone cottage stood in the main street directly across from the town’s single pub. The sign that hung precariously from a rusted frame just near the gate said it all.
“Harold Llewellyn, Barrister.”
Repainting the frame and replacing the sign was yet another item on her to-do list, but with everything else she had to get done just to start bringing in some income, this ranked very low right now.
So much to do.
She regarded the quaint cottage with a lopsided stare.
All of her energies were focused here on her grandfather’s failed legacy. This was her life now: breathing life into a moribund practice.
At least it was the one life she could save.
Unlocking the door to the old cottage, Sonya ushered Simon through and stepped inside. She negotiated her way around a maze of painting equipment: two ladders resting against the wall, canvas drop sheets, cans of paint, brushes, rollers and other assorted paraphernalia of interior renovation.
Sonya surveyed the darkened former living room, which she had almost single-handedly converted into a smart reception desk and waiting area. It was quite an achievement given that, for the most part, she had no idea what she was doing. It was almost ready to be used now. It just needed a final coat of paint.
Sonya entered her office and made room on the cluttered desk to put her shoulder bag down. Simon trotted in after her and went for a battered wicker basket, filled with a pair of cushions, beside the desk.
Finally, Sonya flopped down in her own chair and kicked off her shoes, wriggling her toes with a sigh of relief. Simon sat up in his basket and pointed his ears towards her hopefully, noticing she still had one final slice of salami left in her hand.
Sonya regarded him sternly.
“You really are going to end up needing Jenny Craig for dogs, aren’t you?”
Simon lowered his ears and whimpered plaintively, as he nudged her hand with his snout.
Shaking her head, Sonya allowed him to take the last slice in his teeth.
Then she checked her watch. It was still only 7 am - way too early to get cracking.
Sonya kept a supply of fresh toiletries here at the practice, so she did not need to worry about walking home again for a shower. Placing her feet on the corner of the desk, she leaned back and closed her eyes. It wouldn’t hurt for her to have a power nap, she reasoned.
She allowed herself to drift. She lowered her head...
The darkness behind her eyes gave way to a smoky haze and, at first, she thought she was in a smoke-filled room that was on fire.
People surrounded her, chattering loudly. Glass clinked nearby. She wondered whether she was trapped in some stricken building, but as she got used to th
e haze, she realized the people were chatting and laughing and they were not under threat at all. The room was a smoky bar somewhere, but she didn’t know where.
She turned towards the sound of an instrument nearby. Someone was playing.
A guitar, perhaps?
The people around her clinked their glasses as they drank and sang, joining in with whoever it was that was playing. The atmosphere was lively, warm and cheerful. She craned her neck to see over the people in front of her, to see who it was performing, but she couldn’t make them out.
She began to work her way toward the front of the crowd. The sound of the guitar grew louder. Another throng of people prevented her from going any further, but now she could see past them to the guitar.
The arms that held the instrument were muscular, yet they held it with surprising delicacy. The fingers danced across the strings lightly, yet they elicited a sound that was pure and resonant.
Those hands.
She squinted in the half-light and saw the arm that held the head stock of the guitar. There, just above the fret board, she saw it. The inside of his forearm, just above the wrist. There was an inscription tattooed there.
Ancora Imparo.
Sonya gasped so loudly, she caused Simon to yelp and jump in his basket. She sat forward in her seat, as the fingers of the dream dissipated like tendrils of smoke. She grabbed reflexively at her chest, as if she were trying to slow her heartbeat.
The dream lingered and she shook her head to reorient herself. She looked down at Simon, who appeared a little spooked.
“That was intense,” she whispered breathlessly.
CHAPTER 9
Changes...
Andy battled withdrawal like never before. The pall of his addiction came in the night and wracked his body with such violence and torment, he was sure he was going mad. For weeks and weeks, he denied his body the crystal meth that it had come to crave and it punished him dearly.
His head exploded in a firestorm of agony. His body sweated and cramped. Knives of pain assailed him, striking deep into his core. Night after night, he screamed into the darkness, clawing at his eyes, trying to reach whatever it was that was crawling around behind them. Night after night, he watched as the beads of sweat that bathed his skin turned into vicious, transparent beetles that crawled across his body. They clawed at his skin, burrowing into it and Andy could only watch in horror as they hollowed out bloodied craters in his abdomen and chest. He scratched at his body, trying to rid himself of the disgusting creatures, realizing through his fractured lucidity that they were figments of his twisted imagination. Night after night, he felt searing pain in his right arm, as though someone was taking a white hot branding iron and punching it into his skin.