Asphodel: The Second Volume of the Muse Chronicles

by David P. Jacobs

  “But Jonas wouldn’t love me anymore if I left him,” Doris sighed. “He’s already told me that no one is going to love me like he does. I can’t abandon what he and I have going, Jiminy Cricket.”

  “There is someone who will love you,” Annette reassured her. “See that man?” She turned Doris to Lyle who stared in awe at Doris’ culinary deliciousness. “Recognize him? He was the Man with the Eggs in the diner. I dropped the donut that you’d handed to me with the tongs so that he could catch it. So that you and he could begin a dialogue.”

  “But I don’t even know how to begin a dialogue!”

  “You already have, Doris,” Annette urged. “These funnel cakes are your dialogue. These funnel cakes are your opening statement that will propel you two together. You’ve seen what miracles have happened with the violinist, yes? You have to have faith that the same thing will happen to you. Believe me, I’ve seen what Management has in store. Have a bit of faith in the process, however silly. Take this,” Annette took a funnel cake from the mix and handed it to Doris on a spare paper plate. “Go to his house. Ring the doorbell and, for the love of Management, wait for him to answer . . .”

  Doris looked questioningly at Annette. “Jiminy Cricket, are you sure?”

  Though Nathaniel couldn’t hear Annette’s last words to Doris over the roar of approaching thunder, he surmised that they were at least sufficient in the completion of the rescue. Within seconds Doris was puffed with certainty as she brandished the paper plate with the funnel cake of powdered sugar. She found the tumbleweed-type bush that haunted the mailbox at the side of Lyle’s road.

  Nathaniel rotated Lyle’s colored peg clockwise as Annette promptly approached her ex-husband. As with Jonathan’s diagramed data and Doris’ aromatic aesthetics, Lyle’s decrepit details descended in the jumble. It was a house fallen into disarray that had shown itself – dishes piled in the sink, dusty furniture and piles of dirty laundry. Annette rode her own wave through the house ushering Lyle from his depression so that he could move on from her death in 2009 that had initially separated them from their marriage obligations. A backyard appeared where Annette hung the laundry to dry. It was here that she gave Lyle the encouraging words needed:

  “So you see,” Annette told her former husband “answering the doorbell is top priority.”

  “But I’ve never been a fan of funnel cakes.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Lyle. Eat the funnel cakes. Don’t eat the funnel cakes. The point is it’s time to get over my death and move on.”

  “I have to tell you, Annette . . . It took you leaving for me to realize how much I needed you. At your funeral I actually begged you to come back so that we could talk about Tolstoy’s War and Peace and John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, and for a chance to change history, to keep you safe instead of visiting the library on that day.”

  “But there’s really no way to change history, Lyle. Management orders events for a reason. You must understand that.”

  “I swore I’d change if you only came back for one more day.”

  “You can still change, Lyle. You can live your life. You can be happy again.”

  “But you’re dead, Annette. I can’t live my life without you.”

  “No, but you can live your life with Doris.”

  “Doris?”

  “All you have to do is answer the door when she rings and take her to dinner. Try a new restaurant; someplace you’ve both never been. Explore as much as possible. Time to let go of all the memories and propel yourself forward.”

  “I’m too old to propel forward, Annette.”

  To which Annette responded, “Believe me when I say that you are not too old to propel forward, Lyle. I know a man who has lived for seven lifetimes. He outranks you by many years and experiences. Even he is propelling forward . . . the best he can.”

  Doris rang Lyle’s doorbell in her own visible timeline. It was the ringing of the doorbell that Lyle heard as he looked at, and listened to, Annette.

  Hearing the ringing of the doorbell, Annette told her ex-husband: “It’s a new opportunity, Lyle. Take it, and be happy.”

  That is exactly what Lyle did. His and Doris’ timelines merged together into a splendid fast forward in which several uncomfortable dates roared. Lyle and Doris ate at new places that were far from the beaten path, they shared movie popcorn and played miniature golf. Soon their dates became spontaneous and unpredictable. Each outing was an escapade. As time progressed, Lyle fell in love with Doris, and Doris fell in love with Lyle. They had a baby girl who they decided to name after the muse who had changed everything.

  Though it was hard for Nathaniel to watch Lyle get his happy ending he accepted it with as much possible heart.

  Sleepy Sarah Milbourne watched these timelines unfold. There were no further words needed in order to describe how important it was for her to seek medical treatment for her narcolepsy. She was privileged to see the wonders that Management had provided and was spurred into action due to them. Nathaniel rotated her colored peg clockwise bringing forth an extra canopy.

  These images of Sarah Milbourne’s, Jonathan’s, Doris’ and Lyle’s lives were at often times boisterous adventures saturated in music and laughter. They forcefully brought the once drab abode of 252 Sisyphus Hill into the state of a melodious, yet equally dangerous, enclosed rain forest of rising multicolored Lite-Brite pegs. It was dangerous in so far as to the figure that Nathaniel noticed standing beyond a wave of inspirations: Jonas, unbound, and with the broad scissors in hand.

  “There are more inspirations,” Annette said behind Nathaniel. “Adam’s found the ceiling door to the attic.” Her words were hushed when she, Nathaniel assumed, noticed Jonas approaching with the scissors.

  Nathaniel’s ears were filled with the voice of his great aunt as she had once said to him “Never forget what happens in the story of The Talking Eggs, little one, and the lessons that must be learned.” He watched as his step-brother slowly approached. His great aunt’s voice had said, “When Blanche returned home with her treasures her sister Rose was extremely jealous and sought out the old crone. Rose was disrespectful to the hag and was overtly dismissive of the magic and wonders at the farm house. Rose made fun of, and laughed at, the old woman demanding she be given the same presents that Blanche received. In return for the older daughter’s wickedness the woman gave the same instructions about the eggs. However, Rose was anxiously covetous of the alternative jeweled eggs that screamed ‘Don’t Take Me!’”

  Remembering these words, Nathaniel held tight to the Lite-Brite as Jonas clawed an infuriated path through the virtually tightly-packed impressions left behind by the rescued timelines. As Jonas approached closer with the scissors poised for attack, Nathaniel finished his great aunt’s words out loud.

  “When the jeweled eggs were thrown over Rose’s shoulder on the road out came vapors of venomous snakes, speckled slimy toads, stinging yellow-jackets with other vicious insects and even a ravenous gray wolf – which chased her . . .”

  “Mr. Cauliflower, we have to move!” Annette shouted at him over the din of the surrounding repaired timelines.

  He felt a firm tug on his right arm. They dashed into the dense pulsating pictures and siren-wailing sounds. Thunder roared above and below them causing the images to quiver and shake. Nathaniel could hear Jonas’ shouts of protests and the swiping sound as his scissors caught, and madly sliced through, the agitated backdrops. He could see Phillip and Luanne running several feet ahead. He could hear as they so desperately tried to catch their breaths while jogging to the attic door. Jonathan’s violin music was crazed in its attempts to musically narrate the insanity and tumultuous motions. During this, the rising colored pegs jettisoned upward like multicolored hail in reverse.

  The rickety ladder from the attic door appeared. From Nathaniel’s perspective, Adam was in the process of climbing the rungs and urging Phillip then Luanne to hoist themselves. Annette gained a second boost of energy and ran faster to the ladder to joi
n her two clients in a maddened desire to reclaim ownership. He watched as everyone, including Annette, climbed inside. She poked her head out and yelled for Nathaniel.

  Nathaniel fell behind. He turned to look over his shoulder. Jonas was only a few steps away and gaining speed, seemingly not winded by this chase. Fortunately for Nathaniel the collection of pop-up books began to refold causing the ground to break. The ground-level jetted into a dramatic slant bringing Nathaniel to the attic’s ladder and to the eagerly reaching hands of Annette. Before he could touch her fingertips, the ground dipped. Nathaniel grabbed hold of the ladder’s middle looking up at Annette with a worried gaze.

  A sharp pain tore through Nathaniel’s right shoulder bringing him to collapse against the ladder. He loosely held on to the remaining rungs. As he tried to climb he felt a searing pain that alluded to the obvious: Jonas’ scissors had pierced Nathaniel’s flesh. Jonas grasped at Nathaniel’s legs and torso, impatient to climb over Nathaniel to the attic’s opening. Below, the pop-up books from the previous inspirations tore apart leaving an empty chasm of churning storm clouds ignited by flashes of lightning. Both Jonas and Nathaniel looked at the storm bringing about a cohesive fervor to climb upward.

  “See, Broccoli?” Jonas growled in Nathaniel’s ear as he scraped behind his step-brother. “Even after your efforts to save the day, I’m going to win. The scissors were meant to slow you for a brief time. I’m really saving them for her. I have a feeling that the scissors will be more fatal, don’t you?”

  Nathaniel looked at Annette who reached to him. With a spare hand, Jonas grasped the pair of scissors and jammed them deeper.

  “Are you listening, brother? Think of it as me doing you a favor, Broccoli. Take a good long look at her. It’s the last time you’ll see your precious Evangeline, I can assure you.”

  Nathaniel closed his eyes. Though he wasn’t one to admit it, the current white pain that he felt did offer Nathaniel an unexpected luxury. The intense aching offered him a few moments completely free of memories. It seemed a bestial deal.

  Then came the gunshot.

  Nathaniel felt a weight leave his body. He thought for a moment that he had been shot and that he was falling into the abyss with an indescribable weightlessness. When he opened his eyes Nathaniel found that the bullet had not been intended for him, but for Jonas, who tumbled down the remaining ladder rungs like the plummeting of a rolled-up carpet. Nathaniel looked at Annette who stood at the entrance with her smoking pistol. Nathaniel slowly found his footing and climbed up two rungs before being dragged into the attic by Adam and Phillip.

  The attic door was sealed bringing stillness to the madness that had transpired. As the scissors were extracted and Nathaniel’s wounds began to heal, he turned to Annette. She aimed the pistol to the closed attic door. When she was satisfied that Jonas wasn’t following them, she put the pistol into the thigh holster which was covered by the black cocktail dress.

  In the moonlight pouring from the window, Nathaniel could see that Annette’s appearance had reverted from Mrs. Slocum to Detective Redmond. The plain visage was replaced with the fiery red hair and tanned skin that she first sported when she arrived as one of the Nine Greatest Muses. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it but Nathaniel was pleased that the scissors had not pierced Annette’s skin during the climb. Even though they as a group were secure it didn’t change the sobering fact that the Lite Brite had dropped from Nathaniel’s grasp during the process. Without the Lite Brite there was nowhere for them to go but where they were. Nathaniel considered The Talking Eggs and the treasures that erupted once the shells were tossed over a shoulder. What if there was no one to crack open the eggs? If that was the case, the treasures remained encapsulated without being exposed to the daylight. They were like those incubating treasures – stuck inside eggs that pleaded for someone to either “take them” or “not to take them.” Unfortunately, no one was in the figurative hen house to hear them.

  CHAPTER 25: DARK MATTER

  “It feels like an eternity since we were in this attic,” Annette told Nathaniel who sat with his arms outstretched on his upward-arched knees in the corner of the room. Nathaniel, who had presented himself as “put together,” was atomizing into a rarely untailored aspect. His dress shirt was unbuttoned and untucked with the sleeves casually rolled to his elbows. A v-neck undershirt could be seen beneath with slightly discolored from sweat stains. In the mild darkness that pervaded the garret, Evangeline’s opal necklace could be seen around his neck. Moreover, Nathaniel had taken off his glasses and kept them folded at his side which made him unrecognizable.

  Annette, from Nathaniel’s line of sight, was standing beside him with her back propped against the wall. Though her eyes moved across the room, she held the physical stance of a sentinel watching the attic door for intruders.

  Annette went on, “Everything is the same as when we left it: the mobile, the empty picture frames affixed with the unrolled star charts, the flimsy solar system mobile . . .” She made the outward observation that even the accumulation of dust on the well-worn trunks, raised female bust, and black sewing machine was the same. When she didn’t get a response she turned her eyes to the bright beams of moonlight as they settled on the glow-in-the-dark message.

  Phillip had not yet seen the message as he was engrossed in the encircling expansion of the improvised cosmos. As he flipped through the books, he bore a look of slow-acting scrutiny.

  “But we’ve changed. Haven’t we, Mr. Cauliflower? It’s hard to believe how much we’ve had to go through to get here,” Annette’s words were directed to the room. “You know,” She turned to Nathaniel. “I’ve been going over everything in my head – imagine that, right? Me over-analyzing. I can’t wrap my mind around why you would be Jonas’ apprentice and it got me thinking. You and Jonas never played nice which leads me to believe that maybe what Icarus said in the church, about you being Jonas’ assistant, was hogwash.” She paused, allowing Nathaniel to respond. When her pause was met with silence, Annette pushed the issue. “Every noticeable action that you’ve taken has been for my safety, the progression of your muses and your clients. You said so yourself in that instructional video ‘Butterfly wings and earthquakes, dear muse . . . butterfly wings and earthquakes.’ Why would someone preach adamantly about one thing and then overtly do something counteracting it? Am I right?”

  Nathaniel did not respond, keeping a near-sighted vigil over the room.

  “I’m not an idiot, Mr. Cauliflower.”

  “I never said that you were,” Nathaniel replied softly.

  “I saw those two wedding rings, and the cube of billiard chalk, in the pocket of the black hoodie. I know where that chalk came from. And I have a suspicion that you do too.”

  Nathaniel looked from Annette toward Adam, who stared meditatively out the window viewing the moon. It vexed Nathaniel to think that Adam, who no doubt overheard this conversation, wouldn’t take ownership of his conduct.

  “Don’t you tire of the interrogations?” Nathaniel sighed defensively.

  “Please answer my question, Mr. Cauliflower.”

  “Yes, fine. You’re right. Miss Redmond is always right, let’s give her a prize!”

  “Don’t placate me, Mr. Cauliflower . . .”

  “If you’re already certain of your answer, then why do you need me to validate it?” Nathaniel asked. “It won’t make a hill of beans difference if I do.”

  “Yes, it will.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  “Yes, it will.”

  “No, it won’t! And do you know why? I’ll tell you why. Suppose I unmask the apprentice, what then? We’ll be closed up in this attic, without a Lite-Brite board, and restricted in our pains to move ahead with this cockamamie arrangement.” Nathaniel went on, clearly in a huff. “Even if we manage to rescue these remaining clients, which I don’t see how without rotating their pegs, you’ll return to your life as a missing person’s detective, a pie maker or what have you . . . I’ll go back
into my little hole of an office in the afterlife, spinning colored pegs this way and that for the rest of eternity, in an exertion to keep peace in this fragile universe for as long as there’s a Management out there to watch over it.”

  “Are you that presumptuous and self-absorbed to think that you know what Management has planned before it happens?” Annette asked, her full attention now on Nathaniel.

  Nathaniel stood to meet her level. He put his glasses on and stared at her furiously. “You think I’m self-absorbed?”

  “Oh, Management. I don’t think you’re self-absorbed, I can give you a million reasons that will prove that you’re self-absorbed.”

  “Oh, can you?” Nathaniel smirked.

  Annette counted the reasons with her fingers while saying, “Writing your own exhaustingly extensive memoirs from your past seven lives, for starters; building an office of seven obsessions from those said lives to safeguard yourself inside; relating to the other muses with your, frankly, over-the-top office decorations and, I’ll admit, mouth-watering dishes, and how it consistently connects to serve your inflated ego . . .”

  “Is that all?” Nathaniel scoffed.

  “Nope. I can go on until the sun comes up,” Annette teasingly chided. “Would you like me to? I can!”

  “You know, I liked you a lot better after your face, and attitude, had reverted to humble Annette Slocum. One gunshot from that pistol and here you are in full militaristic dispute – the inconsiderate, ill-tempered colleague, consumed with debilitating indignation that it’s categorically calamitous!”

  “If I hadn’t have fired that pistol, Jonas would have climbed over you. Management knows what would have happened!”