by Morgana Best
The presence left, leaving only a void. I shook my head. Brady had been murdered, but was unwilling or unable to come forward to communicate, apart from the one word, Cyclops.
I had studied Greek mythology in school, along with everyone else, so I knew that a Cyclops was a giant with one eye. But why was I getting that word here? And what did a Cyclops have to do with Brady Wayland’s death? If there was a connection, I had not the faintest clue what it could be.
Chapter 7
I had called Amanda to tell her that her brother had not come through for me, apart from the impression that he had been murdered. I did not tell her about the word ‘Cyclops’ in case it was a code word for a police operation, or something of that nature. I thought she would be disappointed that Brady hadn’t come through, but she didn’t appear to mind in the slightest.
I, on the other hand, was disappointed that I had wasted a whole day. I fed the cats, and then had to referee when Lily growled at Possum. All of a sudden, and in unison, the two cats abandoned their food and sprinted from the room, their fur standing on end. I swung around to see Alum. He shimmered softly in the evening light, and then took solid form—rather, what looked like solid form. At least the cats provided an early warning system: “Ghost incoming!”
I chuckled.
“I came by earlier, but you weren’t here,” he said.
“Where did you go?”
Alum looked puzzled. “I actually don’t know. Sometimes it’s as if I black out.”
I thought that a little unusual, but I didn’t comment. What would I know? This was the first corporeal ghost I had ever seen or heard. “I found out that Brady Wayland had a sister, Amanda. Did you know that?”
Alum stroked his chin. “I think I did, now that you mention it. My memory’s still hazy. Yes, I must have known.” He walked over and sat on the sofa next to me.
I nearly offered him a cup of tea or a glass of wine, but then caught myself. He seemed so real, and I had already fallen into being comfortable with him. He was just like an old friend. An old, dead friend. I explained the whole day’s events, ending with the mysterious word, Cyclops.
“Cyclops, huh? Like the comic book character.”
“What?” I asked.
Alum waved a hand through the air. “I read them as a kid. He was an X-Man.”
“Oh, of course!” I said. I got up to pull the curtains and turn on the light. “I’d completely forgotten about the X-Men movies. I’ve seen them all, too. I was thinking of the figures from Greek mythology, the sons of Poseidon. You know—Odysseus tricked one of them, blinded him, and escaped from the cave by clinging to the belly of a giant sheep.”
Alum looked at me blankly. “If you say so. But what does it mean?”
I shrugged. “If only I knew. It’s so frustrating.” Of course, Alum didn’t need to know I was irritated for two reasons. I was irritated by the cryptic clue, and I was irritated that a handsome and caring man had finally joined me in my house, and he was dead. It was strange that I’d had an instant attraction to Alum, but I couldn’t pretend that it hadn’t happened. Of course, he was a phantom, and I was alive, and that was the end of that. It didn’t do to dwell on it. We were worse off than Romeo and Juliet. I smiled wryly at the irony of it all.
“Cyclops,” Alum said thoughtfully. “I don’t know what it means.”
“I thought it might be the name of a police operation, ‘Operation Cyclops’ or something like that?”
Alum laughed. “Not as far as I know, but my memory has been bad since I died. Are you sure it has to do with the case?”
I thought for a moment. “No,” I admitted. “It could be something else, but I could feel Brady there. He didn’t come through as such, just to project the impression that he had been murdered, but then the word ‘Cyclops’ did come through loud and clear. I don’t know how to explain it properly. It’s hard to explain a paranormal experience.”
“Well, I’m glad I’m able to see and talk to you,” Alum said. “Playing ghost Pictionary doesn’t sound like too much fun.”
I knew he was just trying to make me smile, but to tell the truth, he had hit the nail on the head. Sometimes it was exasperating getting feelings and images, glimpses into a world about which I knew nothing.
“Well, perhaps something will come up,” he added.
I nodded. “I thought it might be a computer password, perhaps to Jason Taylor’s computer, or something like that.”
Alum’s eyes lit up. “You know, that makes sense. You might be onto something there.”
“Perhaps Brady discovered it, and that’s why he was killed.”
Alum wagged his finger at me, and his expression turned solemn. “And speaking of such things, I wanted you to help me by googling stuff, not actually going out and interviewing family members. That could be dangerous.” He stopped talking and looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, I feel myself leaving.”
I lifted my hand in a small wave, but he had already vanished. The cats reappeared, and finished their food, politely—no squabbles this time. I made a cup of tea and took it back to the living room. I soon felt better. There’s nothing like a nice cup of hot tea.
I turned on the TV and tried to find something to watch on Netflix while I drank my tea, but the usual shows I liked to watch were only serving to make me tense. I gave up and lay back on the sofa. Soon the two cats jumped on top of me, with Lily kneading me with her claws. I carefully picked her little paws from my leg as I turned the word ‘Cyclops’ over and over in my mind.
But I didn’t know how it fitted, and I didn’t know how it was related to a man’s death. It was just a strange word, a mythical creature of the Greeks, or a flamboyantly dressed superhero. Neither made sense.
I had thought going to the cabin would make things clearer, but it had done nothing but muddy my vision. And there was no time for that: the guests would be here soon. I had already cleaned the house and filled the refrigerator and the cupboards with all manner of food. I had wine for Uncle Tim and Christina, both of whom were rather fond of the stuff.
Every Christmas, I had psyched myself up to enjoy the time with the relatives, but something always went wrong. I wasn’t delusional enough to think that this year would be any different.
Chapter 8
“Merry Christmas!” My friend, Barbara, toasted me with her wine glass.
Constance snorted rudely. “It’s only Christmas Eve, Barbara.”
Barbara looked puzzled. “So?”
Constance waved her wine glass at her. “You cannot say ‘Merry Christmas’ to someone on Christmas Eve. That never happens in polite society, and I should know, as I’m a socialite.”
“Well, I can if I want to,” Barbara said sulkily.
My third friend, Iris, held up her wine glass. “It’s good to know that some things get better with age. It’s too bad we can’t age as well as wine. It’s not easy getting old.”
I slowly swirled the liquid inside my wine glass. I had known Iris since I was thirty, and she had thought we were old at that age. I resisted the urge to tell her that we were nowhere near old yet, because that would have provoked a whole evening of talk about her aches and pains. Iris’s favorite subjects included how we used to stay up all night and still be refreshed the next day, how we were now sagging and bagging, how we had aches and creaks and flabby underarms. I dare not point out that I did not have saggy underarms because I worked out. My triceps were better than most, if I did say so myself. Still, I kept those opinions to myself.
Iris was still talking. “Isn’t it awful how we’re no longer attractive to men?” She shot me a pitying look. “It must be hard for you, Prudence. You would have been an attractive woman back in your day.”
“Thanks, I think,” I said with barely veiled irritation.
“Speak for yourself, Iris.” Barbara flung her hair over one shoulder and winked at me. Barbara fancied herself as attractive, and flirted with every man she met, although she drew the line at Uncle Tim.
>
“You’re all very attractive ladies,” Uncle Tim said to Barbara.
Barbara ignored him and turned to me. “Prudence, can you come out for coffee with me tomorrow?”
I winced. Barbara was somewhat clingy and demanding. “I’m just so tired, Barbara. I’ve been away for weeks, and I can’t leave my guests. They’ve just arrived.”
Barbara crossed one leg over the other. “You blew me off last time, and then you were gone for weeks!”
“I don’t mind if you go for coffee with Barbara,” Uncle Tim said. “I can come, too.”
Luke ran into the room and screamed. We all jumped. “What’s wrong with him?” I asked Clara, who had run into the room after him.
“He wants to go for coffee, too,” she said. “Children shouldn’t be left out, just because they’re children.”
“The kid drinks coffee?” Uncle Tim asked. “That’s a bit young, don’t you think, Clara? No wonder the kid’s so loud!”
“It’s Rainbow!” she snapped. “And please do not call Luke ‘the kid’, and you must not say he’s loud! He’s merely expressing himself, and I believe in freedom of expression, especially with a child as bright as Luke. Luke is very sensitive because he’s so gifted, you know, and I think you’ve upset him.”
Luke took his cue from her words and screamed even more loudly, before proceeding to run around the room in circles, his arms out like a plane’s wings. He ran up to the Christmas tree, seized a green glass hanging bauble, and smashed it on the floor.
“The brat needs a good slap!” Uncle Tim said.
Christina groaned and poured herself a glass of wine. “Here we go!”
Clara’s hand flew to her mouth. She let out a shriek and ran from the room, followed by Luke.
“Now we know where the kid gets it from,” Uncle Tim said with a chuckle.
I left the room to get a dustpan and brush, and when I returned, Constance was speaking. “Back to our original subject—coffee is bad for you, Barbara.”
Constance was very proud of being the most knowledgeable person in town. The trouble was that she was the only one in town who held that opinion. Constance was still talking. “I trained as a barista once, you know. I’m quite the expert on coffee.”
And everything else, I added silently.
Barbara’s face turned beet red. “Thank you very much, Miss Lush. That’s what? Your third glass of wine?”
“Second. And wine has antioxidants,” Constance said in a superior tone. “It doesn’t have half the downsides of those lattes you guzzle. Don’t you know those big coffee companies enslave five year old children to roast those beans? If Luke was over there, they’d enslave him.”
No one dignified the outlandish statement with a response, but I for one was wondering how to send Luke to a big coffee company post haste.
Alum materialized in front of me. I jumped, but then covered it with a pretend sneeze. “She doesn’t really believe that, does she?” Alum asked me.
I shrugged, and continued to sweep up the broken glass. There were bits of it all over the floor. Thank goodness my cats were hiding in my bedroom.
“Your work seems to keep you away quite a lot, Prudence,” Iris said. “You really should spend more time at home and leave all that travel to the younger generation.”
Alum stared at Iris and then at me, raising his brow. “I thought women lied about their age to appear younger, not to qualify for a senior discount.”
“Oh shush!” I said, laughing. I caught myself when all three friends stared at me. I turned to Iris. “There are people twice my age who do this all the time.”
“But most have husbands to help them,” Iris pointed out.
“Iris!” Barbara exclaimed.
“I’m just saying that it’s not fair for Prudence to have to do all this alone.” Iris frowned. “We worry about you out there. We’d be able to help you more if you were closer to home.”
“I appreciate that,” I said in a strained voice. Iris was Iris. Her words were not always as kind as her intentions, but I dearly wished she didn’t always harp about age. It was as irritating as it was depressing. “I’ll be okay.”
“If it weren’t for your guests, you’d be spending Christmas alone, and that’s about as not-okay as it gets,” Constance stated in her usual superior tone. “It’s a well known fact that people who spend Christmas alone get wrinkles faster and even get depressed. I did a college degree on depression when I was younger. If you were to spend Christmas alone, you’d be sorry. Mark my words!”
Barbara snickered, and I fought the urge to say something I would regret later. Iris rolled her eyes and sighed loudly.
Constance kept talking, oblivious to the reactions her words were causing. “You should have brought back a handsome stranger for the holidays.”
“Like that would ever happen!” Iris said.
“Why not?” I asked as a reflex.
Iris patted my hand. “You’d never be that irresponsible. You’d never bring home a stranger.”
I forced a smile. Technically, I had brought home a stranger, albeit not deliberately. And based on Alum’s amused grin, the same thought had crossed his mind.
“Yes, unless she got tailed by a creepy stalker,” Constance said. “I studied stalkers, and they do follow women home. My professors at college said I was good at psychology. They wanted me to help people.”
Alum spoke up. “For the record, I’m not stalking you. I swear on my own grave that something keeps drawing me back to you. I would never stalk a woman!”
I smiled. His words did sound like something a stalker would say. Unknown forces compelling someone to follow a lone woman wherever she went? If I didn’t have an audience, I would have delighted in teasing him about it.
“So Mark can’t come home for Christmas?” Iris asked me.
“No, but I had a video call from Mark and his wife, Victoria this morning.” I took a small sip of my wine.
Iris clucked her tongue. “It’s a shame that Mark and Victoria couldn’t come for Christmas. You really shouldn’t spend the holidays alone, Prudence. When your guests leave, why don’t you come to my house? You can stay in the guest bedroom with my dog.”
“Thanks, but it’s fine, really!” I had absolutely no desire to take any of them up on such an offer, as kind as it was. I couldn’t imagine myself hovering around while Iris was busy entertaining her family. I would be an interloper. Worse still, I’d have to deal with questioning or pitying eyes. I would see the question on their faces as to why I was not spending the holidays with my own family.
None of them seemed convinced. Christmas was a bittersweet holiday for me, and in fact, it had been a long time since I had enjoyed Christmas. I missed the days when we were still a family, before everything went wrong.
After the divorce, each holiday seemed to become more strained with the passing years. People always encouraged me to ‘make things right’ with my ex-husband over the holidays, as if by magic the tinsel and carols would make the resentment and nastiness fade from his heart, and the wounds from mine, and we would be a picture perfect family. These people meant well, but I always felt as if they blamed me. Maybe some of them did, with all the wild rumors my husband had let loose about me.
“I’m happy that you have family here, because no one should be alone on Christmas,” Constance said loudly. “Is there more bubbly?”
“I’ll get it,” Barbara said. “Prudence, I’ll take that with me and throw it in the trash.” I thanked her and handed her the dustpan and brush. She went into the kitchen and returned with two bottles. “White or pink champagne?” She held them both up.
“Huh!” Constance made no attempt to hide her disdain. “That is bubbly, Barbara. Don’t you know anything? The name ‘Champagne’ is reserved for wines grown in France. Have I ever told you that I’m an expert on wine? My mother lived in the south of France for years. She was high society, you see, as am I. I’m fluent in French, too.”
Barbara set the
wine bottles in front of Constance, and then returned to her chair. I could see she was itching to say something, but thankfully, she didn’t. Iris kept rolling her eyes. Christina shook her head and poured herself another wine.
“Do you have any beer, Prudence?” Uncle Tim said.
I stood up. “Sure, I’ll get you a bottle.” I went into the kitchen and took a bottle from the fridge, but when I turned around, I saw that Clara was sitting at the kitchen table and sobbing quietly. When Luke saw me looking, he pretended to sob.
I rubbed my forehead. “Are you all right, Rainbow?” I patted her shoulder.
She stood up. “Luke doesn’t want to sleep on the mattress on the floor, so he can have my bed and I’ll have the mattress on the floor. Is that all right?”
“Yes, of course,” I said, wondering why she was even asking me. “Make yourselves at home. But don’t you want any dinner?”
“No, thanks. I’m going to bed now,” she said. “Luke doesn’t want to go to sleep yet, so he’s going to play games on my iPad.”
“In your room?” I said hopefully.
Clara nodded. I smiled and rejoined the others.
“The kid’s a brat,” Uncle Tim said when I handed him his beer.
I shushed him. “His father’s a geologist on an oil rig, as you know, and he can’t be home for Christmas.”
“That’s no excuse,” Uncle Tim said. “The kid’s still a brat.”
I breathed a huge sigh of relief when the door finally shut tight on my three friends. I looked around at Christina, who had fallen asleep on the couch, clutching a half-empty wine bottle. I tried to extract it from her sleeping hand, but she had it in a vice-like grip.
“Looks like it’s only the two of us for dinner, Uncle Tim,” I said.
He responded with a burp, and then clamped his hand over his mouth. “Pardon me. Just as well your parents aren’t here to see me, Prudence. I hope they’re having a good time on their cruise. Have you heard from them?”
I nodded. “Yesterday. I’ll just set the table.”
Uncle Tim shook his head. “Not for me, thanks, Prudence. I couldn’t eat a thing. I’m a bit over-refreshed.” He chuckled. “I think I’ll go to bed. Do you have any beer I could take to bed, just in case I get thirsty in the night?”