She nods. “Yes.”
“And you will not consume any more coffee for the duration of the night.”
“No. I’ve had enough.”
“Good.” James turns to me. “Can you please take your mum inside?”
“What just happened?”
“Now isn’t the time for questions, Manny.”
“But — ”
“Your mum has been under a lot of stress these last few days. Take her inside,” he demands.
Mom extends her arm. “Please?”
What the hell is going on? “Okay.”
Micah remains on the porch, unfazed by it all. “Thank you for ensuring my grandson’s safe arrival, Edie. Minerva and I are eternally grateful. Have a good night.”
Mom breaks into tears once we enter the foyer, wrapping her arms around me.
“What is going on with you? Are you drunk?”
“Of course not. I was worried, Manny.”
“But you’re acting crazy.”
“You’re not a parent. You don’t know what it would do to me if I lost you. You can’t do that to me, okay? Ever again.”
“Okay. I won’t.”
She caresses my tender cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose my temper. It’s just that I didn’t know where you were. And you’re not familiar with the way things work out here.”
“Jesus, Mom, we’re in Devil’s Dyke, not Mars. And I’m fine. I’m right here. We’re both fine.” I pull her in for a hug. “Have you eaten anything?”
“I tried to, earlier. My stomach’s been in knots all day.”
“Mine, too.”
“What about a nice cup of tea?” Edith says over Micah’s shoulder. “That always calms my nerves.” She steps onto the porch and pulls out several unmarked teabags from her purse. “I have chamomile, hawthorn, passionflower. You know, the Chinese believe passionflower — ”
“Edith,” Micah interjects, “I think what we need right now is peace and quiet. Good night.” He begins to shut the door.
Edith’s arm shoots out, and her open palm slams against the solid oak paneling. The painful sound of flesh-against-wood echoes throughout the estate. Edith doesn’t even flinch. Instead, she smiles and pulls her hand back, wrapping her bony fingers around the handles of her black purse. “Isidore would have liked me to comfort his wife and child in this dire hour,” she explains, resuming her frail demeanor. “Won’t you please allow me the honor?” She pulls out the bags of tea once more.
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Edie. And you’re right. Isidore would be happy knowing you went out of your way to make sure we were taken care of,” Mom says, masking her nerves. “But I think Micah is right. We need some peace and quiet right now. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Good night, Edie,” Micah says for a third time.
“Wait. Er… Would you mind if I used the toilet? On account of the indigestion.”
“As a matter of fact, yes. The pipes have been a mess, and the water is shut off at the moment. Good night.”
“But I” — Edith stalls — “I can’t seem to remember the name to my inn.”
“Autumn Terrace,” I exclaim. “You’re staying at the Autumn Terrace.”
“Right. Well then. May I come inside and use your telephone? To dial a taxi, you see.”
“Don’t you have a mobile?” Micah inquires.
“Yes. But the charge seems to have died.”
“How unfortunate. You can use mine.” Micah pulls out his cell phone and extends his arm across the threshold.
Edith glowers at him with her violet eyes, and the flecks of red become bolder. “You’re making a grave mistake,” she whispers.
“Edie, behave yourself,” Micah mutters back. “Now isn’t the time.”
“But we heard him. And he heard him.”
“Come on.” Mom leads me up the stairs. “We’ve got to finish packing.”
“He’s exposed,” Edith declares. “You must tell him, Mina. You must prepare him.”
“What’s she talking about?” I ask.
“Your flesh is weak, Emmanuel,” Edith professes, “but your mind is willing.”
“Good night, Edith.” Mom continues to drag me up the stairs.
I pull away and return to the foyer. “No. Let her finish.”
Micah intercepts me. “Emmanuel, mind your mum.”
“Micah, do not forsake the Sire,” Edith cautions.
The Sire?
Micah turns to address her, and they seem to have an exchange — though words never leave their mouths.
“Then he shall see,” Edith responds.
“See what?” I inquire, confused.
The dots of red surrounding Edith’s pupils pulsate, growing outward at an alarming rate. ‘You will make a choice, Emmanuel, or it will be made for you’ — her voice fills my head in the identical way James spoke to me at the church. Then a sharp pain pierces my temples and creeps over my brain to the nape of my neck. It clamps down on my head like a metal claw, digging its razor-sharp fingers deeper and deeper into the soft parts of my skull.
“Ahh.” My knees buckle, and the side of my head dribbles against the parquet floor as my body starts to spasm.
“Manny,” my mother cries.
“Don’t you see? He’s not strong enough, Micah. You and I know Isidore would never have allowed this level of vulnerability. We can’t waste any more time,” Edith cries.
Blood oozes from my nose and trickles down my cheeks. The aftertaste of Mom’s coffee reappears in the back of my throat, but it tastes more rancid than before — like a handful of old pennies. I try to sit up, but it’s impossible to lift my head. So I lie there, helpless, listening to the weakening sound of my heartbeat.
‘Hold on, Emmanuel. Hold on, son. It’s not your time. It’s not your time,’ I hear a voice say, but it’s not Micah’s or Edith’s. It’s not even my mother’s.
It’s James’.
“He’s alive,” Micah jests, raising his hands toward the ceiling in praise.
I sit up, surprised to wake up in my upstairs bedroom. “What happened?”
“You fainted. Bonked your head on the hardwood floor, too. Gave us quite the scare. How do you feel?”
“Okay, I guess. How did I get up here?”
“James carried you.”
James? He must be stronger than he looks.
“You know, Manny, in light of your health, you’re more than welcome to stay an extra day. Until you’re fully recovered.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. Where’s my mom?”
“Packing her things.”
“And Edith?”
“Don’t worry yourself about Edith. She’s been removed from the premises.”
“She was talking about something. Before I fainted. She was angry, I think.”
“Do you not remember?”
“Not really. I just know she was mad.”
“Exactly. Edith Dunstan is mad.” Micah scoots closer to the bed. “I should have been more explicit about her condition. She suffers from a severe case of delusional paranoid schizophrenia. To her, everyone is keeping secrets, and everyone is part of some elaborate conspiracy. I told you not to let her fool you,” he laughs. “Did I not?”
It’s true. Micah did warn me.
“Isidore was one of the few people who put up with her condition, and the poor woman became fixated on his patience. I don’t blame her. She doesn’t have many people to talk to, I’d imagine, so when she takes a liking to someone, she’ll fight to keep their attention. Even if it means concocting elaborate lies or stories.”
Could frail little Edith Dunstan be that much of a menace? “I feel kind of sorry for her.”
“You shouldn’t. She can still be a danger, Manny, to herself and to those around her, if she isn�
�t watched closely. But it’s not her fault. Edith’s mind is weak.” He taps his index finger against his temple.
“Why did my father put up with her?”
“The same reason we all do. Deep down we know she means well. Edith may be daft, but she’s a loyal mate. To a fault, I’m afraid.”
I agree, remembering how adamant she was to not leave my side after the accident. “Grandpa Micah, I need to tell you something. When Edith found me on the side of the road, it was because I had almost hit another car. I swerved onto the shoulder to avoid the crash.”
“Well, that explains everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your fainting spell. Your body must have been in latent shock,” he exclaims. “And I’m sure your mum’s erratic behavior only escalated the trauma, God forgive her.”
“Is she all right?”
“Yes. She’s in much better spirits now.” Micah removes her stainless steel flask from his pocket.
“Thank you. I was worried about that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her drink before.”
Micah chuckles. “I could tell you a story or two. Keep in mind your mum used to be just as young and defiant as you.”
“She was?” It’s weird thinking of Mom as some adolescent rebel.
“Yes. But parenthood has its way of changing us. However” — he shakes the flask — “some old habits die harder than others.”
“The car is fine, by the way,” I add. “I promise there isn’t a scratch on it.”
“Poppycock. I couldn’t care less about James’ toy.”
I remember hearing his voice.
“Where is James?”
“I had him escort Edith to the Autumn Terrace. He’ll be back shortly. Shall I give him a message?”
“Uh… no. I just wanted to…thank him,” I lie, “for calming my mother down.”
Micah smiles. “It’s one of his many gifts.”
“Were they close, James and my father?”
My grandfather sighs. “James and Isidore were civil, but like all brothers, they had a habit of butting heads. Especially when it came to matters of business.”
Business? “What say could James have in my father’s business?”
He laughs. “Stockton Farms is a family company, Manny. We all have a say, even you. And speaking of, Isidore’s passing has a great impact on our future. If you’re interested…”
“In?”
“A job. I believe you’d be a tremendous asset to Stockton Farms. You have the same influential and authoritative qualities as your father, and it would be an honor to have you serve on the board of directors in Isidore’s place. Now, I know you have a superb life in the States — and I’ve been trying to hold my tongue — but I cannot let you leave without presenting you the option.”
“Wow. Thank you, Grandpa Micah. I’m flattered, but I don’t think I’m the right person.”
“Of course you are. Business is in your blood.”
“But I don’t know anything about sheep or gardening, or whatever it is my father did.”
“Those are minor details. Isidore did exactly what you’re doing now. He went out and spoke to the people, told them how their participation in this company could benefit their businesses, provide for their families, and improve their quality of life. The only difference is Isidore was selling Stockton Farms and not attendance at some university business school. And you don’t have to decide this instant, heavens no. I only ask you to consider it.”
“I don’t know…”
“Please, Manny. Your father would have appreciated it, and it would mean the world to me. And Miss Weston.”
“Lucy?”
“Yes. You would work with her on a daily basis.”
See Lucy on a daily basis? “Okay. I’ll consider it.”
“Wonderful. That’s all I wanted to hear.” He rises to leave, pausing by the door. “If you don’t mind me asking, what were you dreaming about?”
“What do you mean?”
“You were humming something before you stirred just now. ‘Amazing Grace,’ I believe.”
“I was?” Did I have another dream about my father? “I must have forgotten. It was probably nothing.”
“I wouldn’t be so dismissive. I once read somewhere ‘dreams are the language of God.’”
“That’s a quote from The Alchemist.”
“Is it?”
I nod.
Micah flashes his signature grin. “Imagine that. Rest up. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I reach into the JanSport for my tattered copy of The Alchemist and flip to page twelve: “You came so that you could learn about your dreams,” said the old woman. “And dreams are the language of God…”
My phone buzzes. It’s Andrew: Yo! So my shrink said Ovisang is super popular in Europe and hasn’t been cleared in the States yet but is totally safe if you don’t take with meals. LOL.
I respond: Really?
Andrew: Yup. Even said he’s gonna switch me to it when it’s approved. Supposed to be cheaper.
Why didn’t Dr. Kris mention that? Why hasn’t she mentioned anything?
Andrew and I continue chatting, discussing the funeral, his newfound obsession with vintage yo-yos, and the latest university gossip. But when the hollow feeling in my stomach becomes too distracting to ignore, I end our conversation and venture out into the West Wing lobby.
The fireplace is ablaze, and the curtains to the window overlooking Lake Myrrh have been drawn back. I approach the ledge and marvel at the celestial view beyond the glass.
Isidore used to take me stargazing on clear nights like this. We’d spread a blanket on the grass and lie on our backs, looking up at the sky. He’d tell me the name and history of the seasonal constellations, followed by a short quiz. That’s how my father was. He never shared things for the sake of sharing, but rather, so I would learn. So I would never forget.
Ursa Major and Ursa Minor were his favorites, the Big and Little Dippers. He claimed they reminded him of Mom and me. I remember the story so clearly:
Callisto was a nymph and a loyal follower of Artemis, virgin goddess of the hunt. Zeus, king of the gods, fell in love with Callisto, and he took on the form of Artemis as a way to gain her trust. After their relationship blossomed, she bore Zeus a son, Arcas.
This made Zeus’ wife, Hera, furious, and to protect Callisto from her wrath, Zeus turned Callisto into a bear. This angered Hera further because the bear was a symbol of royalty and immortality among the gods.
Arcas was unaware of this and grew weary in the absence of his mother. So Hera told Arcas that Artemis would reunite him and his mother if he offered the goddess a sacrifice, but it was all a trick. Hera steered Arcas into the path of the Great Bear, intending for him to pierce the heart of Callisto with his mighty arrow. Zeus intervened and turned Arcas into a bear, as well. Then he placed mother and son in the safety of the heavens for all of eternity — Ursa Major and Ursa Minor.
Music drifts into the West Wing from the corridor: the gentle tune of “Amazing Grace.”
Dad? I follow the melody down the stairs, through the foyer, and into the library. I slowly open the door, mindful of the books shelved on the other side. The music is louder in here, but it’s still below me. I press my ear to the floor, and the notes become clearer:
Dum-dum, dah-duh-dah,
Dah-dah, dah-dum,
Dum-dum, dah-duh-dah,
Dah-dahhh…
The music stops.
“Can I help you?”
Startled, I scramble to my feet.
A man steps forward, into the stream of moonlight from the oculus above. It’s one of the two mourners from my father’s service, the older one with the long brown hair and five-o’clock shadow. This time, he isn’t wearing his sunglasses, revealing a large pair of go
lden eyes. He approaches the edge of the glass table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Nicholas. I manage the allotment.”
“How did you get in here?”
“I asked Micah if I could borrow one of the books from his collection a few days ago. But it seems to be missing.” He indicates the empty space left by the Bible Micah insisted I read.
“My grandfather lent it to me yesterday. I can get it for you. I’m not going to read it.”
“Are you not a believer?”
His question catches me off guard.
“I’m sorry. That was out of line of me to ask. It’s just, your father was a very devout follower, and I assumed…”
“Did you know him well?”
“I knew him well enough to know the kind of person he was.” Nicholas scans the wall of Bibles for a new selection, making his way closer to me. “That was a beautiful speech you gave, by the way. Especially what you said about the truth.”
“Thanks.”
“Then again, I’d expect nothing less. ‘For whatever the father does, that the son does likewise.’”
“Excuse me?”
“Isidore. He was an excellent speaker, as well, I mean.” Nicholas’ eyes stay focused on the shelves. “Forgive me if it’s out of place to ask, but there’s a rumor circulating you’re staying to take your father’s place in the business. Is that true?”
“Not exactly.”
“Shame. The rightful son should inherit the legacy of the father,” he mumbles. Then the left corner of his mouth rises into a half smile. “Ah. This’ll do.” He selects a book from the shelf behind the door. “It was an honor meeting you, Emmanuel. I do hope you’ve a safe return home. Godspeed.” Nicholas slips through the open door in a shadowy blur.
“Wait.” I follow him into the hall. “What do you mean, rightful son?”
He’s already at the far end of the corridor. I quicken my pace, moving deeper into the dark passages of the estate. “Nicholas?”
He doesn’t respond.
I squint my eyes to survey the hall, and something strange occurs to me: I can see. Not perfectly, though — some colors are harder to identify than others — but I can distinguish the shape of furniture, doorways, and the corners in the wall. It’s almost like…night vision. This is what it felt like to play Crawlers with Lucy, the game where we pretended to be wild animals on the hunt for food. Déjà vu. I explore the estate with new eyes, taking note of how my pupils adjust to the changes in light throughout the corridors.
The Afterliving (His Blood & Silver Series Book 1) Page 7