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Chapter Nine ~ there’s a sigh in it





“So, hows that!?!” Laurell asked brightly And, I craned my head round, to look at her. And boy did-she-look good….



She still wore her hair down, but it seemed fuller somehow, the way she’d pinned it up on the right side, to drape over her left shoulder, leaving the roght side of her swan-like neck bare



She had dressed in elasticated type skin-tight jeans, as tight as a second-skin; beize ankle boots, over matching socks; and a an angora wool long-sleeve jumper with a cowl-neck of pink and grey horizontal bands that reached mid-point her very flat stomach, to show-off her belly button, an inney. The insert looked to have a red ruby inset. And, as that’s my gaze lingered, I had to ask, “Is that real?”



With hands on her hips, Laurell laughed, “The belly button, the stomach, or the jewel? Now be specific…”



Continuing to stare, I’d looked for an answer, yet it was Laurel who found it first and, after laughing uproariously, she told me, between panting for air, “It’s almost too easy, to read you, when you’re emotional…”



Turning my face back to the bottom of the cot-bed I blushed, from my face to my neck, to my exposed upper body. And, the tent I’d made in the bedding was still there.



And, the tent I’d made in the bedding was still there.



Yet, all the while I heard her laughing, I heard Laurell’s voice, in my head. She’d said, “Aw, how cute he is, I’ll bet he’s still a virgin…”



She was right. But, Laurell hadn’t used her mouth, to say as she had… Yet, I’d heard her… Then, suddenly she was at my side, sitting next to me, holding my shaking right hand between her cool, steady hands, her voice calming me, with that soft Irish lilt: “Finally, you’re getting it…”



‘Gettit!?!’ I screamed, inside my head, through the pain of embarrassment, my frustration, at my lack of awareness, of surrounds and self; and my loneliness, my unending loneliness: I screamed, long and loud, inside my head, to shut it all out.



Laurell responded by squeezing my hand and saying to me ‘Shush, shush… be calm. Calm down Keiren. Seriously, calm down… Or, you’ll break something, literally.”



She had spoken to me with her lips moving, I noticed that. And, I kept watching her lips, as she continued to say, “Shush Keiren… Calm, down. Listen to my voice and, feel that connection we had earlier. Feel your heartbeat. Feel mine…



Then without her lips moving, she told me, “Make our connection as one. You can.”

And, I did. I felt my heart slow, then felt hers and, suddenly I could feel Her, inside my mind, with me. And, that union calmed my mind.



“It seems I was right…” she said, after long moments of blissful silence, “You’re capable of understanding, who and what you are…”

I’ll concede that Laurell knew more than me; yet, for me the curious thing was why was she so-interested in me and, who I am.



She grinned, still holding my hand: “Your Father was the son of one of the greatest of us. And, like you, he never knew his Father; and like you… he had powerful Psionic abilities…”



Stupified, I found myself squeezing her hand. Oh, not with my hind, with… something. I needed… I needed… something… And, I saw blood trickle from Laurell’s nose, as she winced… And then, she pushed back….



I fell into the mattress and down shattering the beds slats beneath. Then, I’d released her hand, as I fell through the splintered wood, to end up a tangle of limbs, looking up at Laurell.



“Are you alright?” She asked, looking down, into the hole in the middle of the bed, where I lie panting.



“Yes,” I told her quietly, feeling very, very stupid…

Chapter Eight ~ shirt, hair and legs



.

Laurell walked passed me, the long slender fingers aof her right hand lingering for a moment, on the bulge I’d made in the duvet.



Dumbfounded by her brazen move, I’d trembled a little. This wasn’t a girl, Laurell was a woman; and truth be told, I felt quite intimidated by her…



“There are things I could teach you,” she’d teased, a light smile playing on her lips; “But there’s other things you have to learn first…”



I’d gulped with a dry mouth; Laurel left me with my coffee, while she went to get dressed. Attractive as she was I found the woman distinctly intimidating.



Seconds later, Laurell reappeared, all legs, shirt, beautiful hair and, full lips, that she used to kiss me on the forehead.



Standing back, Laurell twirled again and, I got a flash of her white pants.



“See!” She said with a grin, “I’m not that scary, am I?”



“Erm… Erm…” I’d replied, still aware that an attractive woman had just kissed me; irrespective of the fact that she’d just evidenced the connection she’d spoken of.



And, as Laurell left to finally get dressed, I’d sipped at my coffee, totally bemused. After all, she had just read my mind, or so it had seemed…

Chapter Seven ~ Knowing Me, Knowing You





She had to be kidding? ‘Do you dream of your Father often?’ I’m adopted and, I had good parents, who gave me a good childhood. Hell, my Mum walked in, saw my blue-eyes, as I’d reached up to her She had even givem e a green book, ‘The Chosen Baby’, telling me, that’s what I’d been.



‘Did I dream of my Father?’ I missed my parents. But, the sperm donor. He had four kids of his own and, had been a married Catholic, while my Birth Mother had loved him and, had two of us to him. Then, he’d dumped her, or something like that.



I felt sorrowful, even thinking of it all. And, seemingly my sadness was mirrored in Laurells face. That was strangeness in itself, I’d thought.



Certainly, I had thought of him, whenever I’d travel on the Northern Line, knowing full well that if the stories had been right, he had travelled on that line.



But, I’d thought all of it way back when; when I’d been living in a mid-terraced house in Kirkdale, with my Fiancée, before she’d left to be with my best-friend and, as I’d recall her, I’m sure I can see my sadness reflected in my hosts face.



“Your Mother loved you though, didn’t she?” She asked, albeit as before, it was almost as though she knew the answer, before she’d spoken.



Yes, she had loved me. She had loved me so much that a new home had been found for me, with loving parents. I’d met her, when I’d been nineteen. That’d been weird, as he’d looked so like m. Hell, he’d even shared the same sense of humour and taste in women as me. And, I’d liked her.



Laurel had smiled then, as if at my memory and, I’ll concede, I found it disconcerting.



Smiling warmly, Laurell leant forward and proffered my coffee, to me; “While you drink that, I’ll go get dressed…”



Not on my account!” I blurted out, then blushed all over.



Hands on hips, so that her skirt rode up a little, Laurell exhaled deeply and frowned.



I felt mortified. ‘Had she taken offence, a gate, a hedge?”



Suddenly, she grinned.



“What is it they say? ‘There’s nothing better than to look at first thing in the morning than a woman in a long blue shirt that just about covers her buttocks?’”



I blushed further still and, she laughed.



Laurell either guessed very well, or everything she had said thus far was accurate?



The latter was difficult to fathom though…



The she looked at me a moment, her face quite serious, then turning a three hundred and sixty degrees, Laurell twirled, a wide smile on her face: “I’m afraid mine is a little too long…”



‘A little too long?’ I thought wryly.

“Nah,” I answered, “It looks… great… to me…” I said, slowly.



“Yes. I can see that!” Laurell pronounced, a look of mischievous delight playing on her face, as she looked at me.



And, quickly realising where Laurell was staring at she knew I found her arousing; she could see evidence of that from where I was tenting the duvet.

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NoctusAngelusProcella
13:53 Oct 26 2011

oooooooooooo

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Chapter Six ~ Memory Lives On.





We’re on the Northern Line and, as the train pulls out of the station I look to the faces of the men who get on; men of a certain age, with hair receding like mine and, a build that is similar to mine and, a ring upon their marriage finger.



Then, just ahead and across the aisle one sits, who fits the description; although he wears a suit of tweed, I’d never wear. And, I can’t help but frown, as he stares quite openly at me.



He notices and smiles.



So I turn and look our the window, as countryside takes over from the cityscape and, looking into the glass, I see the fellows reflected image, as his eyes of blue-green, like mine, glare at me quite intently. I squirm a little.



My bladder needs releasing, so I think, as he stands and slowly walks toward me, his hands holding each seat back, as he passes, to hold still his gait, as the train suddenly lurches to the left the right.



His gaze is fixed upon me and his mouth turns into a malevolent sneer as he gets ever near and, there few paces left for him to walk: then I balk and sweating profusely, I’m filled with a desire to shout… I am suddenly awake.

Chapter Five ~ Emergence





The Blackness had taken me, held me and, just for the first time in ever-so-long, the pain of my memories and the loss I associated with them mattered little.



There was no fear or regret and, I’d felt truly at peace, for awhile…



Then as my mind became accustomed to the comfort of nothingness it found peace within the void, I sensed something else with me, something darker than the surrounding darkness and, I became quite fearful.



It was then that I began to hear a multitude of voices, subverted by one voice, which possessed a fine Irish lilt.



“Come to me Keiren,” she instructed, as bright light formed ahead of me.



Then a hand, at the end of a long naked arm, came out of the light, long slender fingers outstretched.



“Reach for my heartbeat Keiren. Feel it. Match yours to mine and, come to me…” she called out to me and, I did as she had coached.



It was surprising how easy I found it, to find her breath, then her heartbeat; and finally reach for her hand.



As my fingers curled round those of the woman, her gentle voice filled the void, very quickly by the bright light, from which she emerged, quite naked, quite lovely...



“My name is Laurell,” she told me, taking my hand, drawing me toward her and out of the darkness…

Chapter Four ~ Eyes open, Mouth Shut





I’d stood up and away from the long green bench-seat after long moments had passed. Feeling extremely fatigued I’d wavered back and forth on my heels. I’d felt quite drained and, ready for bed; yet, taking a few stumbling paces forward, I reached the steps that had been created as a nature trail through the trees, leading down to the base of the vale.



And, although I’d stumbled a few times, my eventual exit from the woodland, then a few bushes had been without much incident. Then once out once out I’d found myself and, on one of several stretches of grassland intersected by a pathway falling to my knees, my hands on my thighs and, I’d sighed long and hard, staring across the nettle and brambles at the side of the stream, to the bulrushes ahead.



From my left a figure walked into view, as they walked the path that overlooked the stream and the bulrushes. And, as exhaustion coursed through every limb, I’d noticed the figure stop and turn toward me.



Then as my chin found the silver Ankh, resting round my neck and, my eyes closed there was a distinct awareness inside my head of a presence nearing me, someone who meant me no harm.



“Are you alright?” A voice asked, soft woman’s voice asked me; and, I recalled the voice, from earlier.



I had tried to lift my chin, so I could respond directly. But, to no avail.



“Calm down Keiren… Calm down…” I heard.



Nose still bleeding, I’d felt like saying, ‘How’d you know my name?’



But, the blinding pain that tore through my skull seemed to prevent any speech.



Then I’d felt her place a hand on my right shoulder, as she continued, “Just focus on my voice Keiren… and breathe in slowly, so slowly… and, allow your heartbeat to slow…” I’d liked her voice.



Her voice had a soft Irish lilt, that warmed.



As she told me to ‘calm down’ again and again, I found that I did.



And slowly, very slowly, I lifted my head to an upright position. Then I opened my eyes, equally slowly, surprised to see the woman from the subway days earlier.



It was the same woman running long, slender fingers through dark brown, almost black curly hair, that reached to her shoulders. And, she was dressed for a country walk, a camera draped round her neck by a strap.



“The bleeding has stopped…” She said: “How’d you feel?”



“A little better…thanks…” I’d responded, suddenly realising that her lips hadn’t moved, as she had spoken.



With twinkling green brown eyes, dimples at the corner of her smile and, that hand gently squeezing my shoulder, she told me, “Yes, you did hear me Keiren…”



Staring at her, my mouth open, I tried to ask, “How do you know…?”



“You’re nearly twenty-one and, you’re awakening…”



This time her lips moved; yet the voice was the same: that same soft Irish lilt, that calmed me so, with its warmth.



‘Awakening?’ I mused, filled with a desire to ask more. Yet, that’s when I’d fallen forward as the blackness took my mind.

Chapter Three ~ Voices from the Past and Present





Come Saturday cabin fever had set in by noon. So I got my black leather cap, glasses that go dark in the daylight and a light jacket in blue, to match the heavy button day trousers, I wore with the hem turned up. Over black boots, with a moderate heel.



My jacket had been a waist length zip-up, with a nylon out and a soft lined inner; and as usual, I had the zip way down, to reveal a fairly hirsute chest. And looking back, I guess it’s all based on a style of dress I chose at sixteen. Like many, I’d just wanted to be different. And, I always did feel… different.



Yet, I digress, I’d stood at the living-room window, at a rare blue-sky day and the mundane nature of Life, as a young woman pushed a pram toward the school down the way toward the school, as The Beatles song ‘Please Pease Me…’ filled my empty home and, .I sighed.



‘Yep, definitely time to go out…’ I’d muttered, walking into the kitchen and turning the radio off. Then I’d closed all the windows and, on the way out I locked up.



‘Yes,’ I’d mused looking down the drive and the wrought iron gates my Father had put up years ago: the padlock was in place; “All secure.”



No matter how many times I locked up my home, prior to going out, I always went through the same routine and, often double and treble checked my actions, always unsure that I’d done as I needed.



Then I had takenk a left at the end of the drive and walked to the end of the road where I’d paused a moment, trying to decide, ‘which way to do?’



I’d smiled at my own question, finding irony in it.



Turning to the left would take down the tree-lined lanes toward Raven Mere down the way, with a golf course opposite the road leading down to it; and, to the right, the shops and the road leading the station and The Village and, a country park I hadn’t visited for almost ten years or so.



‘Well, there you go…’ I’d muttered, as I’d begun to walk.



I’d walked up the hill, passed the station, then continued up the road and the two blocks of shops, then onward up the road, enjoying the fresh air and the sky of blue and, even the sound of the brown leaves crunching underoot.



Then I’d walked across The Common, where there had been a quarry, over a hundred years previous, that’d been filled in, with green grass and trees there Now.



The oasis of green in had been nectar for my senses and I walked with a slow easy pace, as I walked toward the other saide of The Common and back onto the pavement on the other side.



I’d walked through the village, passing by the shoppers, crossing the road with the old Saxon Cross at its centre, then passed the launderette and tools shop, with the other do-it-yourself store across the way.



Then continuing down the hill and houses built sometime in the lae forties, and down, toward the damn and, the country park.



The park had immediately brought back a myriad of memories from my youth, being out with my Mother as I’d held her hand, looking up to her gentle eyes, as they seemed to twinkle with delight, as she took pleasure in the moment.



How I’d missed that, these last past years.



I’d taken a path I recalled across a large field, the pond that the fishermen had cleaned out a few years previous to behind some trees to my left.



The trees ahead held a path that would lead down to my memories given form in green and, as I walked through the dense woodland I’d listened to the quiet.



And I had just stood there, a few yards from the green bench-seat, the one with the sign in brass saying that it was dedicated to Mrs Silverstone; the bench-seat near the stepped path leading down to the vale below, where the stream meandered, crossing marshland, filled with rushes on one side and, parkland on the other side.



All had been quiet and still, ‘cept for the sound of a barking dog, somewhere on the other side of the bulrushes and trees over the way.



I had closed my eyes, for a moment, then seconds later opened them, wondering why there was something wet on my top lip.



Using the back of my left hand, I’d wiped my across my face, noticing with curiosity the smear of blood there/



It hadn’t been a just a little blood though. It had been quite profuse and it had been accompanied by a blinding headache; and within minutes I was positively freaking.



I’d sat on the bench-seat, holding my head moaning, eyes closed.



And that’s when I’d heard the voice, a woman’s voice, which calmed me. The feelings I’d felt, just then, were of my Mother and those times Past, good times.



“Don’t worry, it’ll be alright…” The gentle voice had assured me… again and again and, I’d felt her hand on my shoulder.



‘My Mother?’ I’d mused for all of a second, then I recalled, ‘she was gone’



Yet, I felt calmer, with the touch of another and, just by hearing their words, which continued. Then, as the bloods flow ceased and the headache slowly passed, I’d looked up and turned round, to see who’d been so helpful.



The voice had ceased and, I couldn’t recall when and, there’d been nobody there, when I’d looked. I’d been sitting on the green bench-seat, all alone.



That’s when I’d looked wildly around, ‘First paranoia and, now voices?’ My only thought at that moment had been, ‘Am I going mad?’

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DestroyingAngel
22:42 Oct 11 2011

Ooooooooh. ;)

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I can’t help but think about what I had noticed, curious as to whether I’m being paranoid, or not…





Chapter Two ~ A stranger only till met





Time passed, or Tempus Fugit as an acquaintance of mine is wont to say. And, I’m pretty sure that manic depression isn’t my problem; that is ‘who are the occupants in the big white SUV, with the smoked glass windows?’



I mean, other than spotting that vehicle at least four times in the last two weeks, things have been pretty humdrum of late.



Although I did go out to the flix in the ‘Pool, last Friday. I had even ended my night with a whiskey, as I’d wound my way slowly back to the station to go home.



Yet, it was on the way to the ‘Pool that things got strange. After disembarking from my train I’d left the Wirral Line, then the undergrounds exit and taken the white-tiled tunnel to the left, leading to the escalator and, up to the main Liverpool Lime Street.



A woman strode toward me, of above average height for a woman, in cowboy boots and, faded blue-jeans and a suede coat, running long, slender fingers through dark brown, almost black curly hair, that reached to her shoulders.



And, on her approach to the staion I’d just left, our eyes met, with a distinct spark of something between us: gawd knows what it was, but it’s been there, of that I’m sure.



Then, she’d been gone.



And me?



I’d been halfway up the escalator when I’d realized I should’ve got off at Central, or better still, got off at James Street, for Liverpool One.



And, when I left the flix, after watching a particularly good film by Luc Bresson, I’d idled back through the city centre, ignoring the passers-by, the hen parties and the straggling reveller split from the party and the occasional fellow, seeling anywhere from forty to eighty pence, ‘for the train fare hair mate’.



I’d been intent on find a hostelry of my own liking and, taking a turn at the old Lewis’s store, I’d made my way to The Liffey which hadn’t been too busy, that night.



I’d opened the double doors and walked in, thinking of that scene, in almost every western I’d ever seen, where the main protagonist walks into the bar in a similar manner.



And I do like the décor of The Liffey, all dark wood, ‘cept for a little brass on the bar itself.



I’d taken the step up from the ground level to bar level then approached the bar itself.



It had been as I’d done so that a double-whiskey had mysteriously appeared on the bar, much to the bemusement of the two people either side of where it sat waiting.



Eyeing the barman I had mouthed ‘thank you’, then offered the correct money, plus a twenty pence tip, on my flat hand, on the end of my right outstretched arm.



The fellow had smiled and, taking the coins from me said, “Thanks mate” as I’d downed my whiskey all-in-one.



Smiling I had turned and walked back to the bars entrance, relishing the warmth that spread through my gut.



Two fellows worked the bar, both of them knowing my ways; one was a big friendly looking fellow with short black hair and twinkling eyes. The other fellow was small and wiry, with a perpetual grin and, often stood by the door with a smoke in his hand, as he talked to regular punters.



That fellow seemed to work just when the place was busy, so I’m figuring he was the manager, or maybe the owner.



Either way, when one of those two was working, I’d not have to wait long for a double of the ‘water of Life.’



Come the street and a quickly whirling head thanks to alcohol on an empty stomach, I’d found myself meandering back to Central Station, my eyes darting back and forth, alert as ever, to any potential threat.



And still, the woman I’d passed earlier rattled around in my head, as I stood on the escalator, going down to the platform. Then, as I’d got there I had noticed the display telling me that the West Kirby train was due, in a minute or two.



‘Being scathing?’ I’d mused with a grin, at my own lack of appreciation of a British Rail minute.



The train had pulled into the station, the doors had opened; then from amongst those who stepped forward from those waiting, was the woman I’d seen earlier.



My mouth had opened: I’d wanted to say… something. Yet I’d stood there mute, as she got onto the train. And, moments before the doors had closed, the woman had turned her head, to look at me, as she smiled.



Then the train doors had closed and, it sped away, leaving me surprised, as I just couldn’t get my head around the fact that she’s smiled… as if… she knew me.

Chapter One ~ Once Upon A Wary Day





I live on what had been a block of houses and bungalows off a side road, leading to a Mere, golf-course and farmland to e left and, a small village, to the right; then the main road,



Now though, the Ravensbrook had two roads running parallel, into a large sprawling estate of mostly tree-lined streets and cul-de-sac: such is Ravensbrook Estate.



The bungalow where I live is also where I’d had for many years, until moving away for ten years or so, to Live a Life and more.



And then I’d returned, thanks to the good graces of my folks, who’d come to my aid, yet again.



All-in-all, Life has been good, ‘cept for the spell I had inna psychie-unit, after my parents death. And, for quite a while, I had teetered, on the edge somewhat. Yet, things are better Now.



And, I can’t help but smile a little, as I look out the living-rooms picture window, to a blue-sky and a green lawn; a tidy front border, in front of a small wall and, to the right a low privet hedge, dividing my property from next-door. Well, that and, a dividing wall, of course.



I watch a young mother in tight, light-blue jeans, pushing a buggy toward the school, further down the road. Watching her; and sometimes, just sometimes, I wish there were more. Yet, I’ve got more than most and, particularly in these dire times.



And that car, that big white SUV with darkened windows has been parked at the end of our drive now, for over twenty minutes.



The window on the driver’s side wound down and I watched the driver use his mobile, then drink juice and, have a cigarette while he read the paper.



Going through to the kitchen and the back door, I clean the stainless-stell pedal bin, keeping my eyes looking right occasionallu, as I stare through the wrought iron gates and up the drive, to where the cats sits, still at the end of our drive.



And, it’s been nearly forty minutes now I notice, brefly looking to the kitchen clock, as I wash my hands, prior to making myself a much needed coffee.



I haven’t been sleeping well of late; ‘just way too much on my mind,’ I consider a few minutes later, sitting on the bench seat opposite the kitchen door, sipping at the hot brew, glancing between the cacti and spider plant and out of the window.



Still there, I notice.



Then the fellow, with fell cheeks and cropped hair and, wearing a suit, seems to glance my way while his face stares straight ahead, a moment, just a moment.



And, I hold my cup, knuckles tightening as I do so.



The smoked-glass window descends slowly, as I watch intently, then the car drives away and, turning away from the window, I make my way through to the kitchen and make myself yet another coffee. I need, just need to stay awake.



I can’t help but think about what I had noticed, curious as to whether I’m being paranoid, or not…

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Damia
00:37 Oct 04 2011

Very interesting indeed to read! I always love reading what you have written. You are a very good writer!

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SinginGhost88
19:24 Oct 09 2011

Not at all paranoid!!! :)

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The Porthole Pact





Chapter One – A Stranger, till met





The weather had been at its worst and it had rained for hour and would continue to pour. Lauren, a woman of maturity, yet still in her youth, had origins of dark and light. Protected in trench-coat and water proof parasol through the rain, she at last reached the book store hidden in gothic architecture. Safe. Dry. Yet still a bit cold she entered the candle lit welcoming, creepy and medieval-looking bookstore. "What does await me here...?" She mused finding her own way deeper in.



Opening and closing her umbrella a little, to rid it of the excess water, Lauren looked around, amazed that so much dust could sit on the top of a row of books, without bringing the shelf down, beneath it’s weight. She hung the parasol over the lower half of her right arm, then continued walking.



She walked between old and dusty bookshelves, that created an avenue toward the center of the shop, where a woman sat before a small cloth covered table; a small woman, wrapped in silks and robes.



The woman was old-looking, Lauren noted, as she unbuttoned her coat, revealing her daywear; a white blouse, a black A-line skirt and around her waist, a front-fastening black corset, with red trim, that fastened at the front, acting to emphasize her bust, already a generous size, some might say.



On her feet, she wore blood-red high-heels, that echoed, click-click, across the old, uneven stone, which made up the shops floor.



Finally Lauren was within feet of the old woman, hunched over a crystal ball, on a walnut base, her hand’s moving over it in semi-circular motion.



The old woman looked up and, as a slow benign smile spread across the heavily wrinkled face, then she said in a croaky voice, “Yes Lauren, what can I do for you?”



Eyes opening wide with surprise the young woman asked, “How do you know my name, or that I want something?”



At that moment, a cough drew the attention of both women, to a third person, in the old shop and, heads turned to see who had spoken.



From behind a line of shelving, a face appeared between two-parted books peering toward them, gaunt, clean-shaven and wearing, small round glass-frame lenses.



Replacing the books, a figure appeared from behind the shelves; a tall man, wearing a black leather cap, tilted to an angle, a long black coat, fastened tightly at the waist. As he walked to where the two women stood, the fellow opened his coated, to reveal clothing that was bright and style well, in a dark brown and a forest green waistcoat, of threads so metallic, the garment seemed to shine in the dim light hanging over the table.



“You have a fire,” he stated, pointing to a small electric heater near the old woman’s feet, “Would you mind if’n I warm myself up ladies?”



The old woman looked up, as the fellow stepped forward, smiling brightly, “I’m Kevin, Kevin Foster and, boy is it good, to be out of the rain.”



Then, as he knelt by the small fire, warming his hands, Lauren looked toward the old woman with a grin on her face, “Now, you can’t tell me I’ll meet a ‘tall dark stranger’…”



‘After all,’ she thought with more than a trace of wry amusement, ‘the fellow introduced himself to us, by name.’





Chapter Two – Connections Make for Strange Bedfellows





‘We may have been introduced, but I still don’t know him,’ Lauren mused, choosing to ignore the references made toward the man as the old woman patted her hand once again.



She then continued to talk, slowly, each word drawn out: “You wanted to know about The Porthole Miss?”



“You know of it? What can you tell me about it? Erm, do you have a copy?” Lauren asked, her words tumbling out, all at once.



And from where he knelt, Kevin’s eyes opened wide beneath the lens of his glasses, as he heard the question.



Smiling a tight-lipped smile, the old woman looked to Lauren, and taking her right hand in her left as she spoke, she patted the back of Lauren’s hand with her right hand, “You’re not the first to ask about that book…”



Lauren shook for a moment, filled with repressed exultation.



Steam rose from Kevin’s wet coat, the damp, dank smell it made further adding to the fusty, musty, dusty smell of the antique book emporium.



Still fascinated, by what he had heard from her, Kevin drew his eyes from the two women, to gaze at the healthy-looking half-moons of flesh, seemingly trying to escape the confines of her black corset with red trim, worn over a white red blouse.



“I think we’re after the same thing, you and me…”



Noting where he was looking Lauren scowled, “Oh, I seriously doubt it.”



Once more the old woman patted Lauren’s hand, as she sighed a distinctly melancholic sigh, as she began to talk again, “Van Gogh, De Vinci, Huxley and Morrison, men of their time… All dreamed of the book, like you…” She began, nodding briefly to Kevin and then Lauren, who looked to him, with surprise evident on her.



‘You as well?’ she mouthed.



Kevin nodded, as the old woman continued talking, “Dreamers all, whilst still having a foot in this world…” And she paused, her eyes closed a moment and smiled, only to open them with a sigh: “Except for poor Vincent…”



“Poor Vincent. Truly a tortured soul…” she mumbled, as a tear rolled down the old woman’s left cheek, “Poor Vincent. Truly a tortured soul…”





Chapter Three – Answers and, More Questions





A question needed to be asked and, had needed to be asked since Lauren had taken her seat at the small table. And, having listened to all she had, Lauren decided to ask it Now. Yet, before she asked, a frowning Kevin did, “Please, what’s your name?”



“My name? My name? It’s something I haven’t used for many years. And, back then, there were three of us…” the old woman replied obscurely, her words distant and wistful, as she stood and walked toward the back of the counter and the rear of the shop.



“Why don’t you sit down young man,” she called through, “I’ll make you both a hot drink… if you’d like?”



“Thanks…?” Kevin responded as he sat in the vacated seat, with a pause that seemed to require an answer.



“Moira…” she called back, “call me Moira.”



With her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands, Lauren stared over the Crystal ball, toward Kevin, a look of total confusion on her face; “I can’t imagine why I’m here.”



“Because you dreamed the place?” He asked in turn, removing his hat, furling it in on itself and setting it on the table before him.



“Yes, but I don’t normally have dreams that lucid. Do you?” Lauren asked.



“Of late, I have…” Kevin admitted, his gaze on the room at the back, where Moira had disappeared moments earlier.



“Really…?” Lauren quizzed.



“Uh huh, just recently my dreams have been disturbing me somewhat, with the reality, or unreality of them…” He answered.



“And?”



“It was the last, the most… unreal, that drew me here….” Kevin responded.



“Whereas mine are cryptic…” Lauren explained, “and then, there was the last. That one had almost like going to the pictures, with knowledge of the address, somehow supplied, as well.”



“And, we’re both here… aren’t we?” Lauren countered, with a smile.



“Yes, we are…” Kevin said, sitting back, crossing his arms.



At that point, Moira busied out from the dark of the back of the shop, a silver tray in her hands, with a teapot, cups and saucers on it, with a small plate of cookies.



“Ah, you’re getting on famously, I see…” Moira said, beaming.



She set the tray down on the table, and then picked up the crystal and stand and, turning to the counter, she set it down.



As the old woman returned to the table, Kevin stood to offer the chair.



“Oh there’s no need for that young man,” Moira replied graciously, one hand on the counter-top, “these old knees of mine need exercise, every Now and Then.”



Stepping forward once more she picked up the teapot and asked, “Now, shall I be Mother?”



Lauren looked to Kevin, then back to Moira and she smiled herself, “By all means.”



As the tea was poured into two cups he asked, “The names you mentioned. What were they looking for in The Porthole.”



“Ah now,” Moira began, looking up with a grin on her face, “Now that was the right thing to ask, my young friend…”



Lauren looked to Kevin, one eyebrow raised.

“The people you mentioned, there were a lot of years between them all… and yet, you say they came to you…” He persisted, noting the interest that Lauren showed in his question.



“To ask about The Porthole?” she added.



“Ah yes,” she replied with a grin, “The Porthole. Let’s say that for those I talked of, it meant something more to each of them, than a book.”



“And they sought what then?” Kevin queried.



“They had been looking to a doorway to another reality, that’s just outsside what you know now…” she told him.



“So why did they come to you?” Lauren queried, sipping at her drink..



“They each knew something of the myths…” Moira answered flatly.



“What myths?” Kevin asked; his curiosity piqued somewhat.



Sorrow in her voice Moira told him, “My sisters and I had a reputation for truth. And, we’d a way of seeing things that others could not. Even the Gods were afeared of us…”



“You and your sisters? The Gods?” Lauren exclaimed: “Explain, please?”



Slowly the old woman told them, “The Romans called us the Parcae, the Germanic people called us the Norms and, Shakespeare wrote of the three witches…” then with a grin she added, “and, that had tickled me.”



Both Kevin and Lauren sat mouth open, until he closed his momentarily before asking, “You’re talking of The Fates, aren’t you?”



“Yes,” Moira whispered, “even the lives of the Immortals were within our vision and, that was not… appreciated, shall I say.” As she spoke, the old woman watched Kevin sip at his own drink: and, she smiled.





Chapter Four – When Is A Door Not A Door?





“This all sounds so crazy!” Lauren exclaimed.



“But, no more than both of us dreaming of this place, or The Porthole…” Kevin reminded.



“Ah, The Porthole…” Moira sighed: “Each of them sought their own Porthole: shortcuts on their own pathway…”



She was talking to herself now.



“Huxley and Morison thought they’d found a door to perception, whilst poor Vincent…



“…he just, couldn’t comprehend what he saw, although his visions were quite lovely. Yet…” And, again, a tear fell, at the thought of the gentle man, of mixed character, who had so easily found his darker side.



She sighed: “It hardly mattered in the end. Just like, the others.”



Lauren and Kevin had not been the first that Moira had directed through Dreamweaving. But, she hoped that they would be the last she would help, on her own.



The old woman picked up the tray, glancing idly at the pair at the table, now silent.



Both Lauren and Kevin’s bodies had sat motionless as Moira continued to chatter to herself, their unblinking eyes an indication that each of them where elsewhere.



“Zeus took my sisters… leaving me…” And, as she finished drying the cups, Moira looked for the word she needed; a word that she loathed; “…alone.”



Then, turning back to the doorway, the woman pulled her shawl tighter over her shoulders, as a wry smile spread across her face: Moira knew, the mistake that so many had made, was to make that journey on their own. They… needed unity, to survive.



They needed to be as The One.



“If they find the porthole, together and, come return to me, then I will have found the two I’ve been looking for,” she said, to the endless shelves of books.



As her words died, two people walked through Elysian Fields, beneath a fine-blue sky that had mountains of white fluffiness to it.



They were slowly approaching two marble columns of a width of thirty cubits, a distance of a hundred and fifty cubits from each other, their tops disappearing into the sky.



Both Lauren and Kevin were naked, as these non-corporeal astral forms had no need of clothing. And, each of them had quickly lost all trace of modesty, realizing that it were fascicle, in a place such as that they had found themselves in.



“They look so far away,” Kevin said to her.



And Lauren smiled, her eyes dancing with merriment, finding herself filled with a warm sense of contentment, emanating toward her from ahead, filling her, caressing her.



She hoped he felt as she and, squeezing his hand gently, turned to her companion, an almost blissful smile playing upon her lips.



And, Lauren reminded him, “But, the journey there will be pleasant, with company.”



Kevin didn’t hesitate, before answering and, taking her other hand he looked to her face, “Yes, it will…”



They stood, like this for a long moment, the faint smell of jasmine floating lightly in the air. Then, parting from their embrace, Kevin took her left hand in his right and, leading the way, he trod lightly, amongst the flowers of many colors.



And the couple continued their journey…