The door snapped, creaked, then broke away. To her horror, the door swung open with a tremendous bang. Separated from the door she shrieked, sailing through the air as if she had fallen off a cliff and into an abyss.
She had no unrealistic expectations about what came next. And if this is what it felt like to die, she welcomed it. Because in death, there was no pain, no guilt, or caring, just nothingness. A part of her welcomed death because that meant she could finally rest with her parents. And in a way, she felt relieved.
________________________
Morning’s merciless light burst into the upstairs room, scalding tired eyes, punishing an exhausted mind. The night had been a relentless combination of frightening dreams, panic, and spells of sleeplessness. When sleep came, it was too often interrupted by bouts of night-sweats and hypnic jerks. In the end, she gave up on sleep altogether.
Valerie sat on the bed’s edge, massaging her head, coaxing blurry eyes back into service. Everything seemed to hurt: her back and legs felt like she had run a marathon. Reaching out for Orson, she realized the cat was gone. Valerie rubbed her neck, confused. Dazed and confused, her thoughts returned to last night.
Sleep had come peacefully for the past few weeks. She hoped to have outgrown the dreams. But last night turned out to be a series of torments she would not soon forget.
Why would the nightmares stop abruptly, then return with a vengeance? It didn’t make sense. Just when it seemed as if she had outgrown them, they appeared to return more punishing than ever. She took a deep breath, then sighed at the realization that the dreadful apparitions of the night had merely taken an unexplainable holiday.
In one respect, last night’s dreams were different. Unlike any previous dream in this one she had died. She heard that if you die in your dreams, you died in reality, your heart stopped, and you simply never woke up. She didn’t know if there was any truth in it, but she certainly felt close enough to death at that moment to make her wonder how close she had come to actually dying.
Thankfully the hammering in her head was beginning to settle down as her eyes became more accustomed to the light. But the gut-wrenching memory of the frightful dreams she had endured that night felt like a block of ice inside her head.
And where was that darned cat anyway? Probably sleeping with Corell, she guessed and cussed Orson for leaving her alone when she needed him most. Valerie felt awful, nonfunctional, which disturbed her further, knowing today would be an important one.
Expectations were high, and much would be demanded of her. She needed to get moving, so reluctantly easing herself from the edge of the bed, she dragged herself into the bathroom, where she began putting herself back together.
Forty minutes later, Valerie left the bathroom showered, dressed in blue jeans, a long sleeve top, tennis shoes, and with her raven black hair pulled back into a ponytail. Stopping to look at her image in the mirror from the bathroom door, she decided she didn’t look too bad, considering she had died in her sleep.
With hands on hips, she told herself to get over it, to get on with her day, and make the best of it. The absurdity that she should get over dying in her sleep brought a smile to her face that lightened her mood. Bowling balls and arrows needed tending to, so she headed downstairs to begin her day.
It was early. A digital clock on the wall indicated the time at 6:08. She heard the cook chopping something in the kitchen, but she found herself alone in the great room. It was Sunday, so it made sense that no one else was there yet.
The coffee maker was on, so Valerie poured herself a mug then settled into an overstuffed chair while she waited for Corell or April to make an appearance. The coffee helped her head stop pounding.
Rubbing her eyes, Valerie squinted at the ceiling. She admired the way morning light warmed the wooden rafters overhead. The big timbers seemed to glow, enhancing the woodsy lodge theme to the place.
What April referred to as the library was, in actuality, no more than a wall of shelves, full of books and nick-nacks adjacent to the dining room. She assumed an architect had skillfully created a contiguous gathering place with its addition. The room had an unobstructed view of the garden, which seemed like the perfect place to meditate. What did the room lack? Just one big old tabby to pet, Valerie sighed.
Then she noticed the lodge-like nick-knacks and decorations on the library shelves, and it all began to make sense. She had seen similar decorations in Corell’s study and at the old farmhouse. For the first time, she recognized these were his things, Corell’s belongings, objects that made him feel at home. She liked the style and felt at home, too.
These thoughts lead Valerie to wonder how long she would stay in this place. Could it ever become her home? She didn’t see why it couldn’t be. There was no way to know but concluded it felt right for her to be here. If it became necessary for her to stay, she found no reason to fight it. The only down-side she could think of was the family and friends she left behind back in Arlington. That and her seemingly delayed or abandoned career aspirations.
After pouring herself another mug of coffee, her thoughts returned to Darcy and her friends back home. Tomorrow they would be going back to school without her. That stung. Valerie wondered if she would be missed and if the story they concocted about her running off to Montana with her grandfather would fly. The fact that she had left saying good-bye only in texts troubled her.
“Good morning!” April sang from in front of the big coffee maker. “You started early!” she observed, then eased herself into the chair opposite hers. The clock now recorded the time at 7:10.
“Morning, April,” Valerie returned, smiling as brightly as her haggard mind would allow.
“You look tired. Are you alright?”
Before she could answer, movement out of the corner of Valerie’s eye caught her attention. Turning, she saw Corell enter the room, followed closely by Comet and Orson. As he poured himself a mug of coffee, the cat rubbed his fluffy body against Corell’s legs then rolled on the floor at his feet. As Corell tried to step away, the big tabby made a nuisance of himself by batting his paws at Corell’s feet. When a claw hooked on a pant leg, Corell had to put his cup down to free himself from the hooked claw.
“Orson!” Valerie scolded with an unmistakable note of irritation in her voice. “Don’t be such a pest!”
Orson stopped pawing and clawing and peered up at her, an innocent look on his face.
“I’m sorry, Corell,” Valerie apologized, “he’s been such a pain since we left home.”
“No, bother,” Corell replied, sounding unconcerned as he took a seat next to hers.
Valerie’s gut jumped as, for the first time, she realized more was going on between Corell and her cat than what met the eye. More than playfulness, she perceived; the familiarity between them was undeniable. Ever since Corell appeared, Orson had paid little or no attention to her but fawned all over him. For the first time she could remember, Orson hadn’t slept all night on her bed. She had been abandoned for someone else. It just didn’t make sense that the cat would desert her for someone that, in essence, should be a virtual stranger.
Valerie said nothing about it because she wanted to avoid giving the impression she was jealous. But in truth, she was jealous, veryjealous, and it really bothered her. Was she about to lose her pet, her lifelong companion? She didn’t know what to make of it, so she classified the whole thing in the category of being thoroughly weird.
As the three of them settled in talking and sipping coffee, it occurred to her that April, Corell, and the animals had entered the room within moments of one another. That realization caused her to wonder if Corell and April were a couple. Were they sleeping together? While she felt it was none of her business, she also knew she needed a better understanding of their relationship. She didn’t want to come right out and ask; that might be uncomfortable for everyone. Rather, the best thing to do would be to watch for signals. Sooner or later, the truth would come out.
Others began filteri
ng into the great room, and the dining hall became a hub of activity. Soon the place was filled with the din of the working kitchen, clinking tableware, and people talking.
When the conversation turned to the day’s plans, Corell turned to Valerie. “If you plan to bring Orson along, I think I will bring Comet, too.” His eyes moved between Valerie and April as if he was seeking their approval. However, the ladies knew he was just being polite. His mind was made up, so neither woman objected.
After breakfast, April left to begin her workday. With one eye on Orson, Valerie asked Corell what time he planned to leave for the old farm.
“After lunch,” he told her, ”I have some loose ends to tie up first.”
“I’ll be ready and waiting here when you are ready to go,” Valerie said, then grabbed Orson and carried him to her room. As Valerie petted Orson he purred contentedly, and she was relieved he didn’t seem to care about being abruptly separated from Corell. Nevertheless, her suspicion that some kind of strange connection existed between the two wouldn’t leave her. She wasn’t sure but suspected the ring had something to do with it.
Did the ring allow Corell to have some sort of control over animals? If it did, why Orson, and why bother? The notion seemed crazy. The feeling there was something Corell had not told her about his budding relationship with her cat continued scratching at her tired mind. ________________________
Corell worked alone at his desk, trying to catch up on the mound of paperwork piled up while he was away the previous week. He detested paperwork, putting it off whenever possible, or avoiding it altogether. But he was good at delegating, so the job got done regardless of his inattention. The office staff jokingly referred to his desktop as quicksand because whatever went in seemed to disappear, never to be seen again.
After signing a stack of checks, he concentrated on answering emails and other messages. By the time he had whittled the pile down to a more manageable level, it was nearly noon. Exhaling a blast of air in relief, Corell kicked back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk to clear his mind before making an important phone call.
When he was ready, he pulled a fob from the top drawer of his desk then dialed a familiar number from memory. When the call connected, he pushed the button on the fob and waited. Moments later, he heard a click.
“Garrett on a secure line. How can I help you today, Mister Paris?”
“Hey, Cliff,” Corell said easily. “What’s going on?” “Just keeping the boss grounded as usual. Ed can be
a handful.”
“That’s a job I would pass on. Everyone hates the
Chief of Staff, but I don’t care what anyone says. I’m
starting to like you—honest!”
“Yeah, it’s a thankless job,” Cliff laughed.
“When are we going to see you again?” Corell asked. “Funny, we were just talking about that. Might be
sooner than later.”
“Really, what’s up?”
“Can’t say just now. But I will tell you that it’s big,
real big if it is what we think it is. In fact it doesn’t get
any bigger.”
“Now you have me worried. Are you going to bring
me in on it?”
“If it pans out, you can count on it. We’ll let you
know.”
“Alright.”
“Why did you call?”
“Is Buchanon available?”
“He’s over at STARCOM. Can I relay a message?” “Tell Buchanon I got the girl. She’s staying with me
here in Jacksonville. You guys need to meet her sometime soon.”
“Is it pressing?”
“No, but put it on the agenda, will you?”
“Will do.”
“Oh, one more thing. We need to keep the station
open in Arlington for the time being. Her parents could
be a hostage risk.”
“Got it,” Cliff acknowledged.
“Keep me in the loop, will you?” Corell said, aware
that regardless of whether they were on a secure line,
there were limits to what Garrett could say. But it was
easy enough to read between the lines. Something
big was going down at STARCOM, or the President
wouldn’t be there.
“Will do,” Cliff promised, then the line went dead. Corell fell back into his chair, holding his head. News
that the President was at STARCOM had him worried. Ed Buchanon is at Star Command? Corell thought.
That’s Peterson AirForce Base in Colorado. Normally they
come to him, not the other way around. The President does
not go to them unless there is a very good reason. Whatever
they have going on must be just as Cliff said, ‘real big,’which
doesn’t sound good at all.
Corell rubbed his temples. Well, there’s nothing I can
do to help unless they decide to bring me in on it. Then he
felt a twinge: it was his ring, a whisper, just one word—
Valerie.’ That word made him wonder about the timing.
Could what was going on at Peterson AFB have anything to
do with Valerie Dunne or the Boecki? Or was the ring simply
nudging him to get on with her training?
The Boecki seemed like a long shot, but Valerie definitely needed his attention, so he changed mental gears
and turned his thoughts toward Valerie and his plans
for the day.
________________________
That afternoon they would be moving into the old farmhouse. The remote location was safe and secure, the perfect place to work with the girl. Corell could think of no better place to demonstrate the ring’s power without distraction, interruption, or prying eyes. There they would be allowed to talk without reservation, and the barn would provide excellent cover for some of the more sensitive exercises he had in mind.
But deep down, he had mixed emotions about it, specifically about being there. Corell knew sleeping in the old house for a week or more wouldn’t be easy for him. He hadn’t spent a night there in almost sixty years, and although part of him was always eager to go back, another part of him dreaded it.
Other than yesterday, he couldn’t recall precisely when he was last inside. In recent years, he had driven out to it a few times intending to go in but found himself unable to open the door. Not long ago, he had parked out front but could not get out of the old truck, let alone go inside. He should be able to go in, have a look around, and reminisce, but he just couldn’t force himself through the door. While the place drew him to it like a magnet, it also repulsed him, pushing him away at the same time. Instead of going inside, he merely stared at his old home from a distance.
There was certainly no shortage of cherished memories there; that wasn’t the problem. It had been a happy home for Corell, Laura, Mark, and Michelle for many years. The house itself had nothing to do with what prevented him from going inside. After seventy years, the loss of his entire family was still too painful to revisit.
After being married in 1923 at the Jackson County Courthouse in nearby Medford, he and Laura remodeled the old house themselves. The happy couple had two children: Michelle came first, soon followed by Mark. As the children grew, Michelle gravitated to her mother, preferring domestic life rather than the outdoors. Michelle, a studious girl who read voraciously, expressed interest in poetry and writing but had little interest in the farm or other outdoor activities. She loved animals but seldom ventured further than the front porch, preferring to watch the birds and squirrels from the rocking chair on the porch with Orson on her lap.
Unlike his sister, Mark was her exact opposite when it came to an interest in the farm and outdoor activities. The boy couldn’t wait to get out the door in the morning, often staying outside until well after dark. As he grew, he and his father became exceptionally close, working the farm together, tending the animals, campi
ng, scouting, and hunting.
Corell’s thoughts returned to his son. He had hoped Mark would be his heir to the ring, but those hopes were long ago dashed. Driving home from town one day, he and Laura came upon their son’s favorite horse. The saddled animal was running wild alongside the road with Mark nowhere in sight. They found the boy lying dead in the street with the back of his head smashed. Corell and Laura were devastated; their son was only fifteen. Nine years later, Michelle was lost when the hospital ship she had been serving on went down in the Atlantic, sunk by a German Uboat.
In such a short time, the loss of both children destroyed Laura, who withdrew and began drinking heavily. Corell knew better than to try killing the pain with alcohol, having learned his lesson the hard way centuries earlier. Keeping Laura busy by traveling with her didn’t help, either. Twenty years of heavy drinking took its toll, and her liver began to fail. Corell tried using the power of his ring to support her health, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t heal his wife’s broken spirit.
When Corell realized nothing he was doing helped, he took Laura to a psychologist in San Francisco. However, she didn’t respond to professional help, either. As time progressed, Laura’s alcoholism became acute, and she died in 1958, leaving Corell alone in the old farmhouse.
Corell batted away the sudden tears flooding his eyes. Life together as a family had been the happiest years of his long existence. Laura and the children would never know the truth about him and the ring because now they were forever lost to him. His secrets were safe, but the cost was nearly unbearable.
Laura would never know that he had taken the surname Paris the year she met him or that he had lived in the area for twenty years before meeting her. But the most burdensome secret he kept was that he had already outlived more families than he could count. His family, the people he loved, all died without ever knowing who he truly was or that he was more than thirteen hundred years old. Even worse, he was left alone without an heir to his ring. Despair threatened to ruin him.
The Rings of Hesaurun Page 24