“How do you know about the VW Beetle? Were you there?”
The church, with its condemned walls, hail-beaten roof and nearly-crumbling spires reminded them of the ruins, both physical and emotional, from their past.
“Yes, Mrs. Slocum, I was sitting in the Mercedes that parked in the lot on that rainy summer day in 1999. I was looking out the tinted windows into the rain as you selected the Beetle and as Jonas swooped in to make you feel miserable.” Nathaniel sighed. “In retrospect, I wonder what would have happened if I had gotten out of our car and joined you in yours; if perhaps we would have explored the world! If I had the opportunity to fix that moment, I would be sorely tempted . . .”
“But you didn’t introduce yourself.”
“No, I didn’t. It’s because of my lack of actions that an unhappy set of circumstances unfolded. Some of those circumstances dealt with Jonas discovering, and attempting to maliciously extort, my talent. And all because I climbed a familiar church rooftop on that very same night in 1999 to find my library book that Jonas had chucked there twelve years prior.” He turned his eyes to the roof of the church where Jonas had thrown his copy of Dorian Gray. There was another memory he wanted to share in which he had sought to retrieve the abandoned book but that story was for another time. He smiled wanly at Annette. “Shall we go inside, Mrs. Slocum? I’m sure you’re anxious to unmask the hooded individual that the motel manager mentioned.”
Annette said with some hesitancy, “. . . Yes. Yes, I suppose I am.”
*
It disappointed Nathaniel to think that, after many years and well into Jonas’ afterlife, his step-brother was capable of evoking the odious monsters within those he encountered. Whether it was a disparaging remark, a mere suggestion of a debilitating memory, or being in his presence for any length, Jonas poisoned those around him. Nathaniel considered Annette and how Jonas’ involvement in her life had sensitively affected her. It wasn’t until they reached the church that he understood the transformation’s extent.
When she and Nathaniel entered the sanctuary, they found a discarded black hoodie on one of the pews. She lifted it and shifted her eyes to the muses wondering which serpent had shed its casing. Annette’s interrogation skills as Detective Redmond were chilling. She was cold, emotionless and uncaring as she met with each muse privately in a run-down Sunday school room. They sat in flimsy plastic chairs. The black hoodie was on a dusty rectangular table. She required Nathaniel to sit with her as the questions and answers were bounced between her and the suspects.
He obliged but, as Annette dug into interrogation-mode, he was aware of how the case had rotted her spirit. Annette’s core, based on Nathaniel’s perspective, had been robbed of optimism. Though Jonas had not personally been a part of her life as Annette Redmond, his presence as an unresolved issue injected venom that coaxed Annette into a gruesome, devilishly-wrought version of her earlier self.
She mentally mapped the interrogations so that each piece of information received led to another which aided in narrowing the facts and the list of suspects. She listened to the muses as they told their stories. Annette unsympathetically familiarized herself with the sordid details of their lives and prodded for regrets, disappointments and moments of despair that Jonas may have used to his advantage. She made notes of downtime activities, what groupings they had formed and mentally clocked the person’s use of the department’s popular black hoodie.
She determined that every muse had worn the associated apparel at some point during their second stay. There was only a handful of muses who had encountered Jonas which may have advanced the implications of her closest, most trusted, peers. Alliances that she had once shaped between Harriet, Fiona, and Lucas, were spectacularly set to flames during this process with Annette standing pitilessly over the smoldering cinders.
“How dare you’d insinuate that I’ve been working with that devil?” Harriet spat. “If you recall, Annette, I was there with you in his apartment when we stole your obituary! If I was on anyone’s side it would have been yours; more specifically, Management’s. Jonas is a creep. I’ve shared that feeling multiple times but no one listened to me.” Harriet stood. “You’re no better than he is, Annette! If I ever come across you or that meteorologist again, the attention I’ll be giving is a fist to the face!”
When Fiona was interrogated, she took a calm breath and shook her head. In regards to Harriet’s actions, Fiona said: “Harriet has a lot to learn if she is going to be Head Muse. I’m sorry that she acted in such an emotional manner. I believe she has enough passion for the job; positively channeling it will be an issue.” To the accusation of being the apprentice, Fiona commented: “I’m used to witch hunts. I was indicted for witchcraft during the Salem trials. Mr. Cauliflower can attest that, in the beginning, my motives for our office’s evolution were perceived as questionable.” She looked at Nathaniel as she said this. “Throughout the generations, I hope I’ve proven my loyalty. Though a client, or a muse, may not get the happy ending they think they deserve, I try to implant a happier ending than they ever imagined for themselves.” To which Fiona added “if there is one thing I’m guilty of it’s believing that, despite what’s happened, Mr. Rothchild has integrity.”
Lucas was last in the line of interrogations. He said nothing for a moment while staring at the hoodie, absorbing the blame. “No, I’m not working with Jonas,” Lucas said truthfully to both Annette and Nathaniel. “As I told Icarus, I wouldn’t change anything for fear of being any different than I am now.” He looked into Annette’s eyes. “Whenever I would visit your cathedral office, you were always on an inspiration or inundated in that mound of paperwork from your missing person’s case. I’ve been waiting for you to talk to me so that we could build from the foundations of our friendship. Here we are face to face for the first time – but instead of a friend,” he shook his head and sighed. “There’s a stranger, you know?” Noticing Annette was still stoic, Lucas asked “So we’re done?” He turned his eyes to Nathaniel.
Nathaniel whispered “Yes, Mr. Richardson. We’re done.”
Nathaniel noticed that Lucas, upon leaving the room, had purposefully discarded Gabriel’s guitar pick on the tabletop.
Annette turned to Nathaniel. “There’s one individual left to question.”
Nathaniel blinked. There was no one left for Annette to interrogate but the department’s caretaker.
“You said so yourself, Mr. Cauliflower. You have moments in your life that you would change if given the opportunity.”
“I’ve been nothing but honest with you, Mrs. Slocum. Any questions that you’ve asked of me, I’ve answered. Given that you know about my turbulent relationship with Jonas, I can’t imagine that you would find fault with me.”
“How do I know if any of what you say is true? It could be an intensely sculpted lie to throw me from your scent.”
Nathaniel deflated in his chair.
Annette added: “I mean no disrespect but I have to look at this from many angles, Mr. Cauliflower. The words written in the six envelopes state . . .”
“I know what the words state, Mrs. Slocum.” Nathaniel nodded. “Perhaps I should be the one interrogating you.”
“Me?”
“How many people have you told about the department when you were a Ninth Generation muse?”
“How many?” Annette quickly answered “No one.”
“No one?” Nathaniel pressured her. “Think about it, Mrs. Slocum. Think about your clients in your last employment term. I can think of two to whom you aired your dirty laundry.”
“I may have mentioned something to Patrick - the public speaker for Lucas’ retirement party.”
“And . . .?”
“And to my ex-husband, Lyle . . . to Adam Mansfield . . .” Saying these names, Annette’s face grew pale. “But everyone hated Jonas, Mr. Cauliflower. Everyone! No one in their right mind would work with him on something this dubious. Besides, the only people in the sanctuary were the muses. If Patrick
, Lyle or Adam were in the sanctuary, I would’ve known.”
Nathaniel gave her a fixed stare. “I want to tell you a story,” Nathaniel offered. He recalled his own moment of victory over Jonas in 1999. As he began Nathaniel could mentally hear the rain in the car lot on that summer day many years ago. “When Thomas drove us to the car lot on that May afternoon I expected him to buy Jonas a fancy luxury vehicle for graduation. Though I sat in the Mercedes looking out the window, I could read the body language between Lyle and Thomas. Jonas was tormenting you over your choice in the Beetle and Thomas wanted to humble his son by buying him the very same vehicle. But, because you were instantly attached to the Beetle, Jonas accumulated a rusted, horribly outdated 1957 Chevy two-door Sedan. I never forgot that look on Jonas’ face: a look of defeat. I wanted to taste that victory.”
As Nathaniel said the story out loud, visions of the passing incidents danced about him like vividly colorful Cancan dresses in a bordello.
“That night, after the rain had stopped and everyone had gone to bed, I filled a dark green backpack. To camouflage myself, I wore a black long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans. There was a thin coating of mist on my glasses as I rode my bicycle through the night-shadowed streets, down alleyways and past storefronts until I reached the parking lot of our church. I propped my bicycle near the bushes and searched for the kitchen door. It was there that I said a prayer and picked one of the locks. Once inside, I closed the door and found myself in near silence. The kitchen’s countertops were barely noticeable from a nearby streetlamp shining through one of the windows. I knew the church well enough to orient properly. With the aid of a flashlight from my bag, I found the flight of stairs leading to the main hallway. The church was filled with silent, invisible angels. As I snuck up the flight of stairs, my flashlight glowed on various objects: the glass windowed heavy oak doors of the fellowship hall, the vending machine in the vestibule and the banister to another flight, which I grabbed on to while climbing farther and farther up the staircase to another small landing. Another flight of stairs winded in the opposite direction.
“The church had been a fairly expansive area even in the daytime; at night it was like scaling a medieval armory! Hallways were stretched. Side tables, cushioned chairs and couches lined the walls. I passed the parlor on my left and the church offices on my right. My flashlight shined on another flight of stairs at the far end of the hallway which led me to the level with the classrooms and gymnasium.” Nathaniel crossed to one of the classroom windows while remembering his path. “On that night, I exited this exact classroom’s window.” Nathaniel could see the roof. It reminded him of that night and how he had opened the window and gained access to the roof. “The shingles were slick but I didn’t care. I had a whiff of triumph in my nostrils that I couldn’t shake. I looked to the same yard in which I had stood with Jonas twelve years prior when he had thrown my library book. I knew I was in the right place. Then,” Nathaniel told Annette “after a few minutes of searching with my flashlight . . . and with the help of a newly approaching thunderstorm’s lightning . . .”
*
In his mind’s eye, lightning had revealed a portion of the roof that had recently been cloaked in shadows. With his heart racing, teenage Nathaniel crossed the roof with confident, sure footing and reached the niche. There were countless crinkled leaves from past autumns that were choked into the neglected alcove. Though he wasn’t completely sure that Dorian Gray had been hidden there, he sifted through the leaves and trusted the instinctive tug on his heart strings. As he did so, rain fell and thunder crashed. Nathaniel’s fingers touched a familiar leather spine. Accented by a bolt of nearby lightning, he held the unbearably spoiled copy of Dorian Gray.
Weather hadn’t been kind to the book after twelve years. The pages had crinkled and bent in on themselves. The inked letters of the prose had been distorted. The blemished cover was unrecognizable. But the pocket in the back of the book was still there with the library’s ledger that held his first and last name in cursive.
As Nathaniel stood on the rooftop with Dorian Gray in 1999, Jonas had awoken with a start in his own bedroom. Lightning flashed through his window onto his face. Upon seeing the lightning, Jonas abandoned his covers. Barefoot, he exited his bedroom and approached the downstairs common room from which there was access to the backyard. Jonas unlatched the lock on the backyard door and stepped out to investigate the oncoming storm. As he opened the door, a strong gust tickled the fabric of his white t-shirt and dark blue boxer shorts. Thunderheads churned and released electric feelers into the neighborhood’s skyline.
Jonas’ eyes settled on a chain dangling from a wind-chime that was forced into a clamor. The chain dangled low enough so that Jonas, who had grown considerably taller in the passing years, could easily grasp it. As Jonas held the chain, another flash of lightning brought illumination to the object attached to it: a key with the dandelion insignia. Though he wasn’t sure where it had come from, Jonas knew to which lock it belonged.
Meanwhile, on the church’s roof, Nathaniel crossed the roof’s ridge. There was an explosion of lightning which brought with it manifestation of the Dandelion Sisters’ circus tent. Nathaniel, upon seeing the tent again, stopped. The flap didn’t open, nor were there dandelions at his feet. The only direction to safety was on the other side of the tent. Despite that, he felt honorable in his mission to successfully retrieve the library book. He had plans to take it home, repair it, and savor that victory over his step-brother even if it killed him. He thought he would be happy by repairing those library books. He felt it would make him better than Jonas. More evolved. More civilized. However, he didn’t realize at what expenditure.
In his retelling, teenage Nathaniel circled around the tent he spied the open window to the classroom. But his foot slid on the shingles. Nathaniel stumbled from the rooftop and frantically grasped for the fabric of the circus tent for support. But it was too late. Clawing at the remaining shingles, Nathaniel fell into midair. As he dropped, Nathaniel noticed another face staring at him from the rooftop – a man in a three-piece suit, wolf-life eyes, brandishing a cane with a small pewter brain on its tip.
Nathaniel collided to the ground, landing into a thick ooze-like puddle of mud. Though the mud was pliant it wasn’t cushiony. A jagged pain shot from his right leg. Nathaniel saw the exposed bone from his leg which led him to surmise that he’d broken it during the fall. White pain torn through his entire body as he shouted and cried. As the storm bellowed, and as the pain worsened with the slightest movement, Nathaniel noticed that the circus tent, and the mysterious man with the wolf-life eyes, had disappeared from the roof. The echo of his folly pulsated throughout. With each wave of pain, new memories of his past lives rushed to him like an invasion of enraged blood cells charging onto the battlefield of his torn skin and exposed fractured femur.
*
“I received three ‘gifts’ that night,” Nathaniel told Annette. “The library book, a broken femur . . . and a head full of seven memories and lifetimes. Management had humbled me, you see. I found myself in a cast lying stationary in my bed with my foot elevated. Thomas and my mom wanted to know what I had been doing on the rooftop but I couldn’t bring myself to tell them. The circumstances in that house changed, you see. I didn’t see myself as a boy anymore. I knew who I was, and who I had been in the past six lives. Something else changed. Jonas stood at my bedside. He took a red sharpie marker and was the first to sign my cast. He didn’t ask me why I was on the rooftop. I had a feeling he already knew. This gave him power over my imprudent measures.”
He said to Annette, “I say this to hopefully humble you before you too are addicted. You have to let go of Jonas at some point, Mrs. Slocum. This isn’t the life that Management meant for you. You were meant to be happy – happier than anyone I’ve ever come across. Can you honestly say that you’re happy?”
“Yes . . .” Annette said with diffidence. Then she sighed, letting out a single word that countered it: “. . . No.�
�� She said earnestly. “I wanted to be a modest pie maker. I wanted to live each day to its fullest and to appreciate each moment that Management had given me. I don’t know where it went wrong. Every day I look in a mirror and see a cynical reflection.” She shook her head and added “I wish I could forget, Mr. Cauliflower. But I can’t. I won’t. At least not until I complete this case.”
Nathaniel left Annette to her thoughts, escaping into the hallway. He closed the door and propped himself against the wall taking a few soothing breaths. He heard two male voices from around a far left corner.
Lucas and Icarus were in another room discussing the interrogation.
“I kept something from detective Redmond that I want to tell you, if you’ll listen,” Icarus told Lucas. “When I was brought through the double doors in the ramshackle Underworld amusement park, I was introduced to a young woman named Persephone, who had been a flower in a garden of pesky overgrown, thorn-infested weeds. She was owned by another creature – the chilling God of the Underworld. He took the form of a young boy with brass kaleidoscopes for eyes. Stupid me, I fell for Persephone’s advances and the boy noticed how much she, in turn, lusted after me. As punishment, he gave me a task: he stated I would be brought back to life and, if I collected a single feather from every species of bird (living and dead) and if I was able to construct a second pair of wings with those feathers in three days, he would deliver me directly to Heaven and into the arms of an awaiting Persephone. If I failed, he promised that I would be doomed to spend the rest of eternity in an even darker, more foreboding place of anguish.”
Nathaniel approached, keeping out of sight.
Lucas asked “And what happened?”
“I leapt at the opportunity, of course. I should’ve seen through his sincere façade to the true wretched trickery underneath. There’s more to this story but I’m worried that if I tell you, you won’t love me. The reason I’m explaining this to you, Lucas, is because I’ve been affiliated with evil. No matter how long I exist, I can’t detach. Detective Redmond is looking for an affiliated monster. To receive penitence for my diabolical behavior, I have to confess.”
Asphodel: The Second Volume of the Muse Chronicles Page 28