by Joe Mudak
Chimes of Passion
Chimes of Passion
Midpoint
Chimes of Passion
By Joe Mudak
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Copyright 2013 Joe Mudak
Smashwords Edition
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Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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These stories contain strong adult content and should not be viewed by anyone under the age of 18. All characters found in the following stories are 18 or older.
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This story is owned and copyrighted by author Joe Mudak.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
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It was a dark and stormy night, and the five friends backpacking across northern England scurried to find cover from the rapidly intensifying downpour.
Alyssa was the first to notice the silhouette of the large building, with a dimly flickering set of lights punctuating its shape. “Hey guys, look!” She pointed at the building.
Between the rain battering their heads and shoulders, and the mist that rose from the moors around them, no one was sure exactly how far away it was. But then again, no one cared either. Here was shelter. Sanctuary. A place to dry off and warm up.
The friends shared the unspoken hope that someone would take pity on five poor college students. Five college students who, Irene seemed overly fond of reminding everyone, could be sitting on a beach in Cancun at this very moment, sipping margaritas and wondering where the MTV cameras were.
Soon, the five friends found themselves within shouting distance of the shelter they sought. Following the roughly hewn path into the building, Lynda paused for a moment and inhaled deeply. “I think I smell lilacs.” She’d loved working with flowers since she was a little girl; that’s probably why, she would tell friends and acquaintances, she chose to major in botany.
Her friends had already reached the door into the building and she hastened to join them. The five friends stood in the doorway. Pete asked, “What kind of place is this?”
“A church of some sort, I think,” Ron answered. He let out a deep sigh and continued, “I guess we should knock, huh?” He felt along the door and found a heavy iron knocker, which he used to strike against the metal plate upon which it normally rested, the door opened slightly with a creak that echoed throughout the cavernous halls inside.
The five students shuffled into the building. The large stone walls were lined with thick, heavy candles that, at first glance, resembled torches. The candles sent shadows jumping across the granite floor. The building definitely had the feel of an old church, however there were no icons or religious statues. In fact, with the exception of the candles themselves, there was nothing adorning any of the walls.
As the gang of five surveyed the building, they couldn’t help but notice the large wooden pew-like benches facing what clearly resembled a low-key altar.
The air inside the church was heavy, yet dry. Irene removed her backpack and coat, remarking, “It feels good in here, but I’m chilly.” The other four nodded agreement and followed suit. Irene casually walked to a series of large, thick candles, attempting to dry her skin with the flames. As she rubbed her hands above one candle with two independent flaming wicks, she smiled. “This isn’t fast, but, man it feels good.” Alyssa took her place a few yards away from Irene and started doing the same.
One by one, all five students found a candle and attempted to dry themselves. Ron and Lynda found that they were more comfortable after removing their respective shirts. When Lynda noticed Pete staring at her rain-soaked bra clinging tightly to her skin, she chided him, “This isn’t a wet T-shirt contest, honey.”
Pete quickly looked away. For a long while no one spoke. Most were too thankful or too busy trying to dry off to think about actually communicating with one another. The rain battering the walls outside and the occasional distant crack of thunder was the extent of any real sound.
When Ron figured he was about as dry as he was going to get, he sat down on the floor and stared at the light flickering everywhere around him. He closed his eyes and a slight smile appeared on his face. He spread his arms in what he considered a silent homage to the atmosphere of this place. The sound of the rain, the feeling of the air, the mystery of this whole place.
Alyssa noticed him and asked, “What are you thinking?”
His voice echoed across the church, betraying a sense of revitalization that his companions hadn’t yet experienced. “Do you know the song, ‘Chimes of Freedom,’ by Bob Dylan?”
Pete answered sarcastically, “I try not to think of anything by Bob Dylan.”
Ron scoffed. “It’s just that, well, I can’t help but think that we just walked into that song.”
Alyssa moved closer to him. With a genuine interest in what he had to say, she asked “How does it go, Ron?”
“The first lines of the song go something like this:
Far between sundown’s finish and midnight’s broken toll
We ducked inside a doorway as thunder went crashing
As majestic bells of bolts struck shadows in the sound
Seeming to be the chimes of freedom flashing.
“I’ve always loved that song. He goes on to sing about how the chimes of freedom touched everyone who sought shelter from the storm which then reached out to the people he admired and loathed, extending, in one way or another, to everyone in the world. There’s a certain unity to it.”
Lynda cleared her throat. “Wouldn’t it be easier just to begin the song by saying, “It was a dark and stormy night?”
Ron laughed. “Um. No. It’s not --”
“But that’s what he said, isn’t it? Between sundown’s finish and midnight’s broken toll is night. Thunder went crashing, so it was stormy. It was a dark and stormy night.”
Letting out a deep sigh, Ron demurred. “Saying ‘it was a dark and stormy night’ is just too cliche. This way has a lot more poetry and symbolism.”
Pete defended his friend. “I’ll tell you what I’m thinking of. What’s that line by C.S. Lewis? April is the cruelest month, or something like that?”
“T.S. Eliot,” Ron corrected him. “It’s from ‘The Wasteland’.”
“Sorry. Either way, here we are, five friends taking spring break amid less than ideal conditions, it’s raining profusely outside, and didn’t you say you smelled lilacs outside, Lynda? There's something in that quote about lilacs, too, isn't there?”
Lynda nodded her head yes.
Ron smiled. “I guess you really did learn something in Lit 101 two years ago, didn’t you?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, you’ve got a good point. I thought of that quote, too. Eliot wasn’t the only one who waxed poetic about April’s cruelty. Chaucer did it in the Canterbury Tales. That’s part of why I thought of ‘Chimes of Freedom.’ That song, believe it or not, is a modern Canterbury Tales.”
Irene stood up and spoke quickly, impatiently. “When we get back home, you can play it for us. Right now, I’d just like to see if this place has a bathroom and maybe change into some dry -- dryer, I should say -- clothes.”
Alyssa stood up. “I’m with you. Besides, I’m not sure we should be going anywhere in here alone.”
Lynda joined Alyssa and Irene. “Why not all three of us go? That way, the guys can change here.”
Neither Irene or Alyssa objected to Lynda’s suggestion. Ron started to rummage in his backpack. As the three women started to walk away, Ron stopped Irene and handed her a flashlight. “You might need this.”
“Thanks.”
Pete called out, “When you find the bathroom, could you let us know where it is?”
The three women strode semi-confidently across the sanctuary and towards what appeared to be a door near altar, the pounding rain accentuating each stride.
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Once he was certain the women wouldn’t hear, Pete looked over at Ron. “Why do you keep trying to impress Irene, dude? She doesn’t have the patience for all of this artsy-fartsy shit. Besides, can’t you tell how much Alyssa wants you?”
“Yeah, I know. But you know how it is. I can’t have Irene, which is why I want her. I can have Alyssa, which is why I don’t.” Ron rummaged around in his backpack and found a clean shirt and a pair of jeans. Why he’d decided to wear shorts that morning, he couldn’t remember, but it didn’t seem all that bad an idea at the time. “How long do you think it’ll be before the storm lets up?”
“Hard to tell, but I think we should plan on sleeping here tonight.”
“Assuming no one tries to kick us out.”
“Assuming no one tries to kick us out. Right. Do you think there’s anyone else in here besides us five?”
“Well, someone lit these candles. Whether they’re still here right now, I can’t say.”
“So, what do you think this place is? Something about this place feels ... I don’t know. Off?”
“I get that same feeling, Pete. I’m not sure what this building’s used for now, but it definitely once was a church. I don’t think they have services or rituals in here any more, though.”
“Yeah. I’d think there’d be a cross, or a picture of Jesus, or something if it was still being used as a church. What do you think it’s used for now?”
“No clue. For tonight, I’m hoping it can be used as a haven for five wet and weary travelers. Here’s hoping the owner or owners of this place don’t mind us being here.”
As if on cue, a loud clap of thunder struck the ground somewhere on the grounds outside the building, lighting up the sky through the small windows in the top of the walls.
Irene, startled by the unexpected loud noise, jumped. The three women were standing in a hallway, lit with candles similar to the ones they had seen in the main sanctuary. Midway down the hallway stood a large wooden door. For the time being, this was their goal.
When they reached the door, the three women couldn’t help but notice the ornate markings on the door itself. There was text across the top, written in a language and alphabet none of them recognized. Two images were engraved below the text. On the left side of the door was the silhouette of what clearly appeared to be a woman. It was hard to tell based upon its appearance whether she was standing or lying down, but her legs were slightly askance and her hands stretched above her head. On the right side of the door was a man’s silhouette; the man’s figure, slightly larger than the woman’s, was in by and large the same position. Both images were remarkably well-defined, especially for an engraving into a wooden door.
Alyssa’s eyes darted back and forth between the two pictures chiseled into the door. “Do you think they’re naked?”
Irene didn’t want to dignify that question with a response. Lynda responded to Alyssa’s question with a grunt as she reached forward and turned the doorknob.
The door creaked open to reveal what looked like a medieval sitting room. The three friends assessed the decor: chairs placed around the room along the walls and a large table which bore nothing save for a bowl with a small pool of water, and more candles for lighting. The light from the candles in this room danced across the surface of the water.
“We might as well get changed here,” Irene finally spoke, as she started to search through her bag for clean underwear.
Alyssa placed her bag on one of the chairs and did the same. Lynda walked closer to the table and put her bag down on the table. She started to open her bag but stopped before she had the opportunity to find something. Taking a deep breath, she spoke to her friends, “Do you smell something?”
“Like what?” Irene countered.
“Oh, I don’t know. Something in here smells sweet and relaxing. It smells like ... lilacs. You know, what I smelled outside. Are you saying you don’t smell it?”
Irene sighed, “Nope.” Alyssa simply shrugged her shoulders.
Lynda inhaled deeply. When she opened her eyes, she casually removed her blouse and skirt and folded them neatly on top of the table. Once she had stripped down to her underwear, she felt the need to know more about this smell. “If someone’s growing flowers down here, I’d like to know how they’re doing it. I can’t imagine anyone having an indoor garden in a place like this. Do you mind if I go check?” Neither Alyssa nor Irene looked Lynda closely enough in her eyes to notice that her gaze seemed distant, unfeeling.
Irene started to say that she didn’t think this was a good idea, but Lynda said, “I’ll catch up with you back with the boys,” before any objections could actually be raised. Lynda turned on her heels and slowly walked out of the room.
Irene and Alyssa looked alternately at each other, and towards the door through which Lynda had just left, confused as to what just happened. Irene hastened to change her clothes and said, “Let’s go after her.”
Alyssa nodded and quickly changed into a sweatshirt and sweatpants, shoving her other clothes into her backpack. Both girls left the room and looked around. Alyssa asked, “Which way do you think she went?”
“She said she smelled lilacs. Do you smell anything?”
“No. She wouldn’t be imagining it, would she?”
“Probably not. But she works with this kind of stuff, so maybe she’s just more attuned to it.”
Alyssa pointed to her right. “We came from that way. I doubt she would have gone that way. What do you think?”
Irene scratched her chin, scowled and indicated the hallway to the left. “You’re probably right. Let’s go this way.” With each stride, both women felt colder and colder, as though the gusts of wind through which they had trudged to reach this place, were actually blowing within these cavernous walls. The only saving grace was that it wasn’t actually raining inside the building.
Alyssa rounded a corner and saw that the corridor stretched further than she could see. The torch-like candles still lit the way, but did little to help warm them up. Irene stayed close behind Alyssa, arms crossed and trying desperately not to let her teeth chatter too loudly.
“Ya know, Ally, I d-d-don’t th-th-th-think Lynd-da c-ca-came th-this w-w-w-w-way. It’s too c-c-c-cold and sh-she’s barely wearing anyth-th-thing.”
“I th-think you’re right. Let’s head b-b-back. M-maybe she’s already c-caught back up with Ron and P-p-p-p-pete. If not, we’ll get the guys to help us f-f-f-f-find her.”
Irene and Alyssa quickly turned around and headed back to the sanctuary where their friends were waiting. The rain outside gave little sign of easing up.
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Lynda reached the end of the corridor and entered a small foyer. She had sensed some of the coldness her friends had felt, but it didn’t affect her. The lure of the flowers was simply too strong. Once she reached her destination she saw a large circle of flowers growing out of a small mound of dirt in the center of the floor. She knelt down and deeply inhaled the sweet aroma.
She grabbed a handful of the dirt in the ground and examined it closely, sifting some through her fingers. With each handful of dirt that she grabbed and slowly released onto the floor below, she slipped deeper into a state of tranquility, remembering those happy times when she was a little girl, playing in the dirt and returning home, filthy, and loving every minute of it. To her, nothing else existed in the world: only this beau
tiful, aromatic, magical place.