Coleridge
Page 7
She debated another cup of tea, but her emotions and exhaustion had teamed up to nauseate her. She placed the book on the table and walked resolutely to the sink. The curtains on the small window that looked out onto the patio were pulled tightly, blocking any view of the yard. The same as they had been since…
g
The last day of Zadie’s life began like any other. The two women rose mid-morning, grabbed a quick breakfast, and started working on the house. It struck Dalia as she stood at the kitchen window, hands poised to open the curtains, that the day had started exactly like the day they’d had their big fight. Just another weird parallel in their lives together.
Dalia had been planting the last of the bushes in one of the flower beds in the back yard, while Zadie was working on the patio. The mason had come, repaired, and power-washed the fountain, then done some of the work on the patio, but Zadie insisted on doing the final touch herself: a black Sahara granite border around the traditional gray flagstone patio.
Dalia had watched her work, Zadie oblivious, focused on her job. At one point, she had seen tears in Zadie’s eyes and later seen her shoulders shaking, wracked with sobs. Dalia had been surprised when Zadie’s voice called out to her cheerily. “Hey Dalia, I’m almost finished here. How about you run down to Sweetwater and get us a couple of coffees? Then we can take a break on our new patio.” She spread her hands out expansively, showing off her work, smiling radiantly. There was a single black paver left to place in the corner, then the patio would be another completed project.
Dalia’s heart had almost exploded in her chest. Maybe, she thought, things would be okay after all. She’d gone giddily to get the coffees, leaving after a tender kiss. Then, she’d come home.
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She pulled her hand back from the curtain without opening it, fresh tears burning her cheeks. Something about that day, something besides the emptiness it left in her heart, was pulling at her brain. She sat at the kitchen table and opened the journal, needing to find what was eluding her.
April 29, 7:30am
Things remain strained between us. My heart breaks more and more each day. Every night I lie sleepless thinking it cannot break any more, then I wake up to Dalia’s beautiful face and it breaks just a little more. I know what I’m going to do. It won’t be easy, for me or Dalia, but it’s necessary. Maybe my fears will never come true and Dalia won’t ever have to worry.
Today is the day. I will spend it with my love, finishing what we’ve started. I should say, finishing the house. What we’ve started, our lives together, will remain bitterly unfinished. The unfairness of it haunts me, enrages me. I can see the life Dalia and I could have had, should have had, but it will never be. Instead, there’s only the pain I’ve been living with, the pain I’ve caused Dalia, and the pain I’m about to cause her. I have no idea if there’s anything after this life, but if there is, please let Dalia be a part of it.
3:30pm
The time has come. For all my life, the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do was to say goodbye to my parents. They refused to accept my lifestyle, always trying to “fix” me, yet I still loved them. I had to leave before their anger and bitterness forced me to hate them. Today will be so much more difficult of a day. I came close to telling Dalia everything. I nearly convinced myself there was a way we could face this thing together, but in the end, I had to let her go. It’s the only way. Maybe in my own way I did tell her everything. She knows me, knows my manias, even the made-up ones that we laughed about. The answers are all here for her.
My debt is paid for whatever I’ve done to end up in this position. Now, the payment must be sealed in blood.
I carry my love for Dalia in what’s left of my heart. I’ll carry it wherever I go from here. It hurts, knowing I’ll never see her again, but it hurts worse knowing how she’ll see me for the last time. For that, I’m sorry. I love you, Dal. We were perfect together. Our last kiss was perfect. It made what comes next impossible and unavoidable at the same time. But that last kiss was us, and it will always be there. Never fading.
I always want you to remember, my Dalia, the depth of my love for your heart and soul. With my last breath, I’ll declare it. I will always miss coffee on the patio and a run in the park. I know the Earth, Sun, and stars won’t change but for the fact that you, alone, get to see more patio sunsets. My heart turns to stone knowing what I must do.
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Dalia placed the book on the table. She expected more tears to come, but her thoughts were elsewhere, focused on Zadie’s words instead of her emotions. She was picturing that last day, watching it unfold in her head like a spectator instead of a participant. Had she been too excited by Zadie’s enthusiasm to notice something? She squeezed her eyes shut as if it would make the picture in her memory somehow clearer.
She remembered walking to the coffee shop a few blocks from the house, excited to get back and relax on the patio. But hadn’t she been troubled by Zadie’s sudden normalcy? Hadn’t she thought that maybe, just maybe, Zadie was trying to get rid of her?
Dalia rose and paced to the sink, staring at the curtain-covered window. Of course she was trying to get rid of me, look at what she was planning. Dalia clenched her teeth and ripped the curtain aside. The backyard was covered in a thin blanket of snow. She flipped on the spotlights and a million diamonds sparkled back at her. Zadie would have loved this. She stared at the slush-covered patio. Why did you do it, my love?
She turned abruptly away. She had to stay focused. She reread Zadie’s last words. It was obvious she had planned the events of the day, but something had changed. She’d returned to the journal to add the last entry. Her final words were beautiful, a tribute to their love. The guilt hit Dalia like a sledgehammer. The accusations, the doubts—she shook her head. There would be plenty of time for that later. It was the first paragraph in Zadie’s last entry Dalia couldn’t figure out.
Maybe in my own way I did tell her everything. She knows me, knows my manias, even the made-up ones that we laughed about. The answers are all here for her. There was a message there, a message somewhere. It was a not-so-thinly-veiled way of telling Dalia without really telling her, without spelling it out. Dalia gasped. She knows me, knows my manias, even the made-up ones that we laughed about. Her heart was flapping around in her chest like a bird trapped in a glass house. Her manias…the made-up ones. That lascivious smile.
Dalia flipped through the journal…but where to look? Of course, she thought, the day Zadie found the other book. She rifled through the pages until she found the entry she was looking for. From the other room, the sounds of the rocking chair moving and Slade grunting reached her ears, but she ignored them. She reread the page, then reread it again, finally just staring at the words. Dalia was unsure of what she was looking for, but she knew it was there.
August 29,
When I left my sleepy Dalia after our rambunctious post-shower lovemaking she looked like a cute kitten. Meanwhile, I’m a visitor in my own body, too energetic, without the will to relax. I asked her, “Come with me?” to explore the attic, but I’m not sure she heard. And really, who knows what would have happened? The powerful, mysterious “they” (they always have something to say): ‘Nothing is more deceptive than the obvious.’ I don’t think I can ever really give credence to God, but if there is a “Him” or “Her” I don’t know what the plan is.
Whoever built the secret door, he was a fine craftsman. Everyone wants to find a secret treasure, I found a secret curse.
Dalia gasped. At first, there was only Zadie’s somewhat rambling entry, then the answer was there, plain as day. Her mouth fell open, and she shook her head. She blinked, sure she was imagining it. But when she looked again, counting every sixth word, then every ninth, there was a message. Dalia a visitor will come not who they say don’t give him what he wants.
Her manias. She knew there had to be more and started scanning the rest of the entries, training her brain to count the words.
Things remain strained between us. My heart breaks more and more each day. Every night I lie sleepless thinking it cannot break any more, then I wake up to Dalia’s beautiful face and it breaks just a little more. I know what I’m going to do. It won’t be easy, for me or Dalia, but it’s necessary. Maybe my fears will never come true and Dalia won’t ever have to worry.
Today is the day. I will spend it with my love, finishing what we’ve started. I should say, finishing the house. What we’ve started, our lives together, will remain bitterly unfinished. The unfairness of it haunts me, enrages me. I can see the life Dalia and I could have had, should have had, but it will never be. Instead, there’s only the pain I’ve been living with, the pain I’ve caused Dalia, and the pain I’m about to cause her. I have no idea if there’s anything after this life, but if there is, please let Dalia be a part of it.
“Nothing there,” she whispered, and went to the next entry.
3:30pm,
The time has come. For all my life, the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do was to say goodbye to my parents. They refused to accept my lifestyle, always trying to “fix” me, yet I still loved them. I had to leave before their anger and bitterness forced me to hate them. Today will be so much more difficult of a day. I came close to telling Dalia everything. I nearly convinced myself there was a way we could face this thing together, but in the end, I had to let her go. It’s the only way. Maybe in my own way I did tell her everything. She knows me, knows my manias, even the made-up ones that we laughed about. The answers are all here for her.
My debt is paid for whatever I’ve done to end up in this position. Now, the payment must be sealed in blood.
I carry my love for Dalia in what’s left of my heart. I’ll carry it wherever I go from here. It hurts, knowing I’ll never see her again, but it hurts worse knowing how she’ll see me for the last time. For that, I’m sorry. I love you, Dal. We were perfect together. Our last kiss was perfect. It made what comes next impossible and unavoidable at the same time. But that last kiss was us, and it will always be there. Never fading.
I always want you to remember, my Dalia, the depth of my love for your heart and soul. With my last breath, I’ll declare it. I will always miss coffee on the patio and a run in the park. I know the Earth, Sun, and stars won’t change but for the fact that you, alone, get to see more patio sunsets. My heart turns to stone knowing what I must do.
“There it is,” she whispered. Remember your last coffee run and the patio stone. How could Zadie have had the presence of mind to do this on her last day alive? Dalia’s chest tightened, not with fear but something else. Pride? Admiration? She wasn’t sure, but she knew it hurt.
Dalia stood and peeked in at Slade. He had somehow managed to get the rocking chair close to the fireplace tools, probably with the idea of using one of them to extricate himself from the plastic ties. Dalia doubted it would work and shook her head, imagining the gyrations he must have used to get the chair to move that far. It disturbed her she hadn’t noticed.
“Slade,” she barked. His head snapped toward her, his expression that of the proverbial kid with his hand in the cookie jar. “I just read Zadie’s journal, and do you know what? There’s not a word in there about your rock.”
Slade gaped at her. “That’s impossible. I know it’s here, he told me it was here.”
Dalia laughed at his petulant tone. “Did it ever cross your mind, Slade, that he lied?”
Slade bristled. “I see no reason for a man of his stature to lie.”
Dalia laughed harder, shaking her head. “Do you hear yourself? You claim this guy has the secret to eternal life and you think he’s just going to hand it to you? And if this stone is so important, do you really think he’d leave it here in an empty house? Slade, I daresay you’ve been duped.”
Slade’s face reddened, his lips a thin, bloodless slash across his face. He began flailing to escape his bonds, rocking wildly in the chair.
“Slade!” Dalia bellowed. He turned his attention back to her, pinning her with lethal scrutiny. “This needs to end. What you’re looking for is not here, if it exists at all. Short of killing you, how do I end this?”
“You don’t end this,” he hissed, “I end this. I will leave here with the Stone of the Elders, Miss Cromwell. Mark me well on that account.”
Dalia’s weariness threatened to overtake her. The idea of stretching out on the couch and closing her eyes was seductive. Instead, she grabbed Zadie’s journal and stepped closer to Slade. “If I let you read it, will you believe me?”
Slade stared at the fire, his bravado of a moment ago already gone. He seemed to be mulling over his options, but Dalia disliked the cunning she saw in those eyes. She knew he was plotting a way to appease her until he was free of the chair. He replied without answering her question. “The journals were found together. That means Zadie found the stone along with the other journal.”
Dalia hissed in a breath through her teeth. “And I’m telling you, yes, she found the journal, but your precious stone was not there.”
Slade’s eyes flashed. “And I’m telling you it was. I know it for a fact.”
Dalia nodded. “Then it appears we’ve come to an impasse, Slade.
“Let me out of these foolish bonds, Miss Cromwell. I’ll have the stone one way or another.”
SIXTEEN: Dalia Digs a Hole
Dalia turned and walked back to the kitchen. She stopped at the sink and stared out into the night. Was there something buried under that patio stone? The very thing Slade wanted? Is that why her beautiful Zadie was gone? She stayed that way for a long time before trudging past Slade to the coat closet in the front hall. She pulled on her heavy winter coat, the one she used to wear when she and Zadie would take winter hikes, and walked past him again toward the back door.
“Wait,” Slade yelled, “where are you going? What do you think you’re doing?”
Dalia didn’t answer, she flipped the switches for all the floodlights in the yard, and stepped out onto the patio. She wasn’t sure what she thought would happen, but was still surprised when nothing did. It was just a patio. Yes, the gruesome scene of her lover’s death, but still, just a patio.
She trudged out into the rain, ignoring Slade’s cries behind her. She pulled on her hat and gloves as she slogged through the slush and mud to the small shed at the rear of the property. A chill ran through her as she passed the fountain. Maybe everything about this place is wrong. She opened the shed and selected a pick and long-handled shovel. After consideration, she grabbed a sledge hammer as well.
Returning to the patio, she dropped her collection of tools and raised her face to the rain to see the boarded-up attic window. In her mind’s eye, she saw Zadie crash through it, arms pin-wheeling as she plunged to her demise, her visage a mix of terror, resignation, and sweet relief.
She shook the image away and grabbed the pick. She slammed its point through the frozen ground and wedged it under the black corner paver. The last piece Zadie had placed before— With a grunt, she pried the ebony corner paver away, shoving it onto the grass. She swapped the pick for the shovel and commenced digging. The first few forays were difficult, the shovel grinding against the crushed stone that supported the patio. Then she was down to regular dirt and the going became easier. It wasn’t long before the shovel clanked against something hard, sending a shockwave up her arms and a slippery cold down her spine.
She scooped a few more shovelfuls of dirt away, then dropped to her knees and began pulling out handfuls of cold, wet earth until the object was exposed. In the harsh glare of the floodlights, she saw the stone. She stood again, jimmying the stone from side to side with the head of the shovel, finally getting the tip under the bowling-ball-sized rock. She heaved, raising it out of the hole, where it tipped off the end of the shovel and crashed to the patio. Just like Zadie had.
The rain intensified, aided by the biting wind to become a weapon, sting
ing her face but not penetrating her resolve. Dalia stared at the stone. Had she really expected to find anything, let alone the very object Slade spoke of? She shook her head in answer. Licking her numb lips, she leaned forward and touched the stone. A jolt ran up her forearms, as if she’d grabbed a live wire. Or perhaps it was her imagination. She rolled it over, surprised at how heavy it was, some dense form of rock. It appeared to be jet black and porous, moon rocks they called them as kids, but she’d never seen one so large. And those rocks had always been lighter than other rocks, this one was denser. Parts of it had an unusual smoothness, like the lava-formed obsidian rocks she’d seen in museums.
“What are you?” she said aloud. She glanced again at the attic window, as if looking for guidance. Then she bent, picked up the sledge, and began swinging. With the first blow, she felt another thunderbolt run up her arms, this time all the way to her shoulders, her neck, her head. She also heard an inhuman shriek from inside the house. It had to be Slade, she told herself as she raised the sledge again, but it sounded otherworldly. She brought the hammer down with a cry. Again, and again, every blow somehow a tribute to Zadie, until the stone was barely more than pebbles and dust, mixed in with the pulverized remains of the black and gray pavers. She let the sledge slip from her grasp, and dropped to her knees, weeping. She stayed that way for a long time.
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Dalia left the yard as it was, a mess of smashed stones, the tools scattered where they fell. The rain had finally stopped and the eastern sky was a lighter shade of black, hinting that sunrise was not far off. She entered the house sopping wet and covered in mud. She dropped her heavy coat on the floor. “I’ll clean up later,” she mumbled, shambling toward the living room.