IMAGINED
© 2013 By Cheri Crystal. All rights reserved.
THIS ELECTRONIC ORIGINAL SHORT STORY CONTAINS EROTIC CONTENT AND ADULT THEMES. READERS MUST BE OVER 18 TO PURCHASE.
PUBLISH DATE: 2nd Edition February 2013.
THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, BUISINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.
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GRAPHIC DESIGN: CHERI CRYSTAL
Cover Photograph: Cheri Crystal
Graphic Design: Cheri Crystal
FIND CHERI CRYSTAL ON THE WEB AT www.chericrystal.com, facebook.com/chericrystal, and http://www.amazon.com/Cheri-Crystal/e/B002VG3738
Berry Pomeroy is touted as being the most haunted castle in all of England.
IMAGINED
By
Cheri crystal
An ambitious yet newly unemployed woman is still consumed with guilt and grief two years after her lover leaves shy of their thirty-year anniversary. Fearing there’s nothing left worth living for, Joanie distracts herself from misery by going back to school for a college degree. In the midst of studying medieval history, particularly ghost stories, she dismisses the spooky unexplained occurrences in her apartment. Joanie can’t begin to imagine what life has in store when strange things keep happening.
To Jo who loves to tell scary ghost stories
and who dared me to write one too.
W e’d met at a fashion show. I was a buyer then, and she was the go-to-girl or some kind of administrative assistant to the designer. You know, the quietly efficient one who made everything all better in ways the more self-serving staff had yet to figure out. Instantly intrigued, I had one of my cohorts inquire after her name.
“Her name’s Lily,” he had said, “and she’s quite a looker. Shall I introduce you?”
I nodded, and so began a year of unsuccessfully trying to get her to consent to coffee, let alone procure a phone number, but I’d learned where she worked and sent the usual wooing gifts of flowers, candy, cards, and stuffed teddy bears, as always the lady charmer. All to no avail, until one day she showed up at my office door. She invited me to lunch, if I was free. I cleared my calendar so fast it’s a wonder I wasn’t fired.
After lunch, we went to her apartment, newly vacated by her ex-partner, and talked until the sun rose the following day. I fell in love without as much as a kiss. She claimed she wanted to go slow this time, and I complied. There wasn’t a day that we didn’t see each other or speak on the phone. At our first opportunity, we planned a joint vacation and consummated our love in a historic bed and breakfast during an unexpected blizzard that kept us under the covers the entire time. I’ve relived the wonder of those moments ever since. The rest is history.
We complemented each other in every way. I worried meeting her was too good to be true, and she quieted my fears. Now I realize for twenty-nine years, I took our love for granted. I was an insufferable, stubborn fool; no wonder my actions came back to haunt me. She had to know I loved her with all that I was and more. I still do.
If Lily could see me now, at fifty-nine, getting a jump on my second semester at the local university, she would surely comment about how I hadn’t changed one iota. Never in my wildest dreams had I fancied myself a student of any sort, let alone an undergraduate. I’d always hated being cooped up in a classroom and skipped high school more than I attended. It was a major miracle I’d graduated at all. Inherent smarts, good looks, modesty, luck, and sheer determination landed me my first job in the garment district pushing clothing racks. In those days, I was an efficient climber with dreams of greatness. I worked my way up the fashion industry ladder two rungs at a time.
I lost sight of my aspirations the night Lily left. Later that year, my company went bust and I ended up unemployed as well. It was out of desperation that I decided to switch careers and get a college degree. I had no idea I had an aptitude for history. Now I wished I’d paid more attention way back when. If I could get tenure, teaching might be a more reliable profession than retail. It wouldn’t be easy competing against classmates young enough to be my grandchildren. But apparently, stranger things can happen, and did happen all the time.
Another New Year’s eve and for hours on end, I planted myself at the entrance of the long, narrow kitchen, seated at an oblong Formica-topped table, courtesy of this fine rental, which wobbled with every minute movement. I poked Zieggy, who, for the most part, thought grooming his fur far more interesting than my rants, yet, I demanded answers. “What was the name of that British castle, Zieg old boy?” Zieggy continued his arduous task despite my faux British accent and was equally unfazed by my exasperation. “I may as well be talking to a wall!” I grasped his head allowing him no choice but to pay attention. He mewed, as if commiserating with my plight, until I couldn’t help but scratch his neck in a way that made him purr.
“You know the one; it’s a medieval castle that stands in ruins?” I sighed, scratching the back of his neck for emphasis. “Come on, think! It’s the one where the lady in the blue cape was raped by her father, and then killed the resultant baby only to walk forever in remorse?” Alas, Zieggy was of no use, so I flipped through a pack of index cards on which I’d scribbled facts for my Medieval History report and tried to put them in sequential order. Maybe that second bottle of wine hadn’t been a great idea. My mental clarity was caput and the caustic contents of my stomach had backed up to burn my throat. I kept mixing facts with legends, unable to integrate either into a coherent, inspiring dissertation. It would have helped enormously if I could read my handwriting and things would stop mysteriously moving out of my reach.
I hoped for complete numbness, my foul stomach, mood and torturous mind be damned, and aimed the Cabernet Sauvignon toward a tumbler. The glass moved making me miss the damn thing by a mile. I blinked several times. At least I could have sworn the mess wasn’t my fault. There weren’t any logical explanations for the strange noises I heard in the middle of the night or the weird occurrences, like a window I was certain I’d closed that had mysteriously opened by itself, so I drank the remaining wine right out of the bottle without a second thought. I forced my attention back on track, praying for a miracle to stop me from wallowing in guilt, loneliness and despair. Some hope. Instead, I searched my mind and cards for the answer. It was the same castle where the lady in the white robe was sighted. What was her name again? The pile of index cards slipped through my shaky grasp, landing in the blood-colored spill. They soaked up wine like a thirsty drunkard, which magnified the disaster. I smacked at the keys of my laptop and cursed dial-up for taking forever to connect. Somewhere on my hard drive, I’d written a story about the white lady who was seen on the castle ramparts and in the dungeon. Her jealous sister locked her up until she starved to death, all because of her good looks and popularity. And they say blood is thicker than water.
“Ha!” I toasted the empty chair and took one last swallow of poison. Dial up sucked, but at least I had it as long as my savings lasted. Ziegfeld, no longer the emaciated bundle of black, tan and white fur I’d rescued, was all I had left. I’d given up the lovely apartment Lily and I had shared when I couldn’t bear the sight of the familiar surroundings without her in it. I had moved, taking only a few small items and our bed. This cheaper, partly furnished flat, worked out better in the long run now that I’d lost my job and started school. Zieggy lounged comfortably besides the keyboard. “You’re no help!” I shouted, and he prompt
ly leapt off the table.
I drummed my fingernails until inspiration struck, “Ah ha! About time!” I pulled a card from under the pile of debris and found my answer. Margaret Pomeroy and her ugly duckling sister, Eleanor—the miserable cow. “Of course, it’s the Berry Pomeroy Castle, you fool!” My computer finally came to life, and I clicked through the pictures of the ghost tales reported in the most haunted castle in England. “Thanks for your help, Zieggy.” I shut the laptop and shot the empty bottle toward the trash, but the pail had moved and the bottle bounced on the vinyl tiles. I rubbed my eyes several times. Zieggy’s fur puffed out as he hissed at me, and then fled. “Lucky it didn’t break,” I called after him. “Scaredy cat.” Lily had been big into recycling; she taught me to mind the environment. I got up and deposited the bottle on the counter, before heading to the living room.
“Zieggy, get your butt over here. The ball is dropping any minute, and we’re not missing it again this year!” The moment I sat on the recliner, threadbare and lopsided due to a broken spring, Zieggy leapt onto my lap. I rubbed under his chin until he relaxed and purred.
“You’ve been jumpy lately. Last year sucked, but 2010…” I nodded. “2010 will be different.”
The phone shrilled seconds after “Auld Lang Synge.” I knew it was Barbara before I snatched the cordless phone and slurred hello. I held the receiver away from my ear as she ranted about my current intoxication, demanding to know exactly when I planned to leave the apartment for fresh air and scolding me for missing our friends’ New Year’s Eve party. I heard merriment in the background, glad to be home.
I swallowed a sob. “Lily is gone…and nobody will ever compare.” This time tears leaked from the corner of my eyes. I didn’t think I had any grieving left inside.
Barb’s gloomy sigh was audible. I knew she felt bad, but she couldn’t understand my torment because she hadn’t lived it. Barb’s strident voice rang in my ears. “I’ve told you countless times. Give it a rest. I get that you’re still pining for her, fine, but it’s been long enough and you’ve not set foot outdoors except for work—you’d never miss a day of work.”
“Now that I’m unemployed, I won’t have to leave except for attending classes.” I couldn’t decide for whose benefit my retort was meant, but I sure as hell didn’t need Barbara judging my decisions.
“You could look for another job, part-time, or take out a student loan, instead of wallowing in self-pity.”
“Who the heck is going to hire a fifty-nine-year-old regional manager with a salary and benefits commensurate with my experience, when they can get a kid out of school for a fraction of the cost?”
“You haven’t stopped sending out resumes, have you?”
My fingers itched to hang up. My offered explanation should have sufficed. “I’m using the winter break to try to get ahead on some of my assignments.” I didn’t let on that I had overbooked my schedule with twenty-one credits.
“That’s no excuse for not calling or answering the phone in weeks.”
She was right, of course, but I wanted a first draft completed before the semester started. Actually, I had always relied on my work addiction to get through life’s rough spots, and the past two years were the roughest yet.
The last time I fought with Lily, she gave me an ultimatum. Either I spend more time at home or work myself into a lonely existence because she’d had enough. She was gone before I had time to decide. Still unable to forgive myself, ever, I swallowed a lump the size of a cannon ball, determined not to break down again. What was the point? Nothing brought her back, and it only served to accentuate the miserable person I’d become. The alcohol I’d drunk hadn’t had the desired effect, and I was on the verge of becoming a raging lunatic.
As another form of distraction, I loaded a laundry bag, forcing myself to converse with Barb, my oldest friend, and right now, a supreme pain in my ass. “Listen, I’m heading to the laundromat as a New Year’s resolution.” I wasn’t going to tell her I hadn’t taken a bath, nor changed my clothes in days. Suddenly, my stench became overwhelming, stifling even.
She raised her voice, which caused the ringing in my ears to worsen, and as a result, I hadn’t registered a single word she shouted.
“Why are you yelling?”
“I said there are better resolutions, like giving up alcohol for starters.”
“If I can gather enough change to run a load, meet me there tomorrow afternoon, if you have to, but I’m hanging up now. Bye.” I didn’t wait for her to finish her sentence, but I did catch a phrase about my birthday coming up. Good old Barbara. She meant well, but I didn’t ask for her opinion.
On the cusp of turning the big six-o-my-fucking-god, without employment, no prospects in this crummy recession, and desperately missing Lily, I fought each day for the will to live.
The following afternoon I dragged my sorry ass out of bed and walked to the laundromat. It didn’t surprise me that all of the machines were taken on New Year’s Day. What did surprise me was that Barb had not gotten there first. Not overwhelmingly disappointed, I’d brought reading material from my elective creative writing course in historical romance. I fetched the book from my bag and glanced at the cover of a recent paperback edition of Jane Austen’s, Pride and Prejudice. What was I thinking? Although Austen’s second masterpiece was revered as a classic, I hoped I could stomach a romance set in the 18th century, considering my current condition. Guilt replaced remorse as I tried to play back last night’s conversation with Barb. Had I hurt her feelings and severed our friendship for good this time? My head pounded in sync with the driers, and the heated machines evaporated what little moisture was left in my mouth. A queasy dread descended upon me. I patted my pockets only to realize I must have left my cell phone at home. Good thing I had spare change. I went in search of a pay phone, planning to apologize to Barb and beg her forgiveness. She didn’t answer.
I slumped on the plastic chair with my laundry bag at my feet and dozed off to the hypnotic rhythm of the laundry room beat that would lull a kid with Attention Deficit Disorder into a catatonic state.
Not sure how long I had slept, I swatted at whatever brushed my cheek. I figured it was a flying piece of lint until the brush became a pat, and then a deliberate shake. I held onto sleep for as long as I could, when a sudden draft gave me a chill down to the marrow. Will someone close the damn door! I wasn’t sure if I had dreamt it or said it aloud, but there wasn’t anyone around, and the door was closed. “Okay, what the fuck is going on here?” I was alert, although fuzzy, and annoyed to be taken out of my dream just as I was about to swoop down and save my imprisoned queen.
Well, well, I thought. My friend has finally gotten her ass over here. “Barb, it’s about time you showed up,” I said, realizing too late that I was wasting my breath since Barb had obviously stood me up. I blinked several times to clear the sticky remnants of sleep out of my eyes and focused on my surroundings.
A sense of calm washed over me, only to be followed by one of impending chaos. That’s when a cold front whooshed through the stale heated air, crackling as if fraught with electric charges. The laundry room adopted a surreal aura as though I had landed back in my dream, but I was awake. Wasn’t I? Brilliance obscured my vision for the briefest instant, less time than it takes to blink. And then she appeared. Lovelier than the last time I saw her on that fateful morning before I’d left for work. The ache in my heart returned full force.
Waves of golden, silky hair framed her pure as snow complexion, falling in tendrils to brush the shoulders of the royal blue satin gown that matched her eyes. Not trusting my vision, I roughly rubbed my eyes with my knuckles this time and opened them again, slowly, and focused on her delicate frame—she had always appeared fragile, but I knew she was like steel inside where it counted. I thought I’d burst. I was overcome with emotion. Immobilized, I didn’t dare breathe, fearful that one sudden move and she’d vanish again, this time forever. Yet I had such hope in my heart, unlimited want in my soul, and e
ndless need everywhere else. I couldn’t summon a sound, but I had to touch her. I needed to feel her soft skin with my fingers and hear her sweet wisdom, for she knew me best. I missed her special cuddles and caresses and the way one look, without a peep, spoke volumes. I could be quite a cynic, but not my girl. She was pure through and through. I had loved teasing her optimism, testing her patience, and toying with her emotions. She would return the favor with unconditional love and torturous tickles.
“Joanie, look at you! You’re a wreck,” she said. “We must clean up your act.”
“You left me.”
“I had no choice.”
“But…but…”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?”
Her eyes held their soft, loving wonder. Unable to sustain my anger, which I never could where she was concerned, I crumpled from the weight I was too exhausted to carry any longer.
“Lily, oh Lily.” My legs wobbled, and before I collapsed off the chair, she stilled my thighs, as always my lifeline. “You’re back,” I murmured. “You’re here.” I pulled her onto my lap and sobbed on her offered shoulder.
“I’ve missed you, Joanie; I’ve missed you so desperately.”
“Why did you leave me?” I continued to cry until the last of my tears were spent.
“I’m sorry, baby. So very sorry.”
“I can’t live without you.”
“It’s been torture for me, too. Seeing you like this breaks my heart anew.”
I touched every part of her to be sure she was here for real. “You’re not going away again, ever,” I rasped. “Promise me, Lily. Say it.”
“I won’t leave you again.” Her voice carried as if on a soft breeze, so far away. I nuzzled my nose into her neck and tightened my grip around her waist.
“Let’s get out of here.” I attempted to stand, but couldn’t summon the strength when she didn’t budge.
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