Читать книгу A Road to Nowhere - Bradleigh Munk - Страница 11

Chapter Six

The Harvester

The weeping continued, floodgates wide open. Turning on his side away from his friend, he fell into a deep, restless sleep, dreams with flashes of blue light and amulets glowing red. After waking up several times and still too emotional to return to his flat, he decided to stay. His friend would probably not mind. It’s not like he would know, he said to himself, falling back to sleep. He found that the weight was too great to find relief. Sobbing and shaking, he finally slipped into the void, searching for comfort and the family he lost.

Comfort did return, however; he was too exhausted to question the source. Slowly opening his eyes, he felt the warmth of someone close. An arm held him, and his breathing began to sync. Like waves on a beach, he drifted back to the unknown. This time, however, his dreams included fields of scrub oak, sagebrush, and crisp, refreshing air. Music soon joined the adventure. Still holding on to the surrounding comfort, he slowly opened his eyes to find himself alone. From the front room, music filtered through the flat; he slowly moved toward the door and opened it. To his amazement, the room was filled with bright light, and a field of green stretched for as far as the eyes could see. Placed in the middle, like onstage, Thom was playing his piano as if his life depended on it. As soon as Clark stepped into the room, like a fog dissipating, the scene changed, and Thom was left alone sitting on his bench. Looking up at him, Clark could see the pain and anguish flowing from his eyes. Remembering the drama, within his dreams of the past two years, Clark could not hold back his tears; Thom simply stood, walked over, and embraced him.

After a few minutes, they both separated and settled on his couch; for what seemed an eternity, neither one spoke. Thom broke the silence by saying, “Losses will stay with us longer than any love expressed.” An agreement was reached between their eyes, and then he continued, “Would you like to get some grub? I feel as if I haven’t eaten in days.” Back at the corner pub, a cabbage-and-sausage casserole was placed between them. Feasting on the food still bubbling in the crockery and gulping down pints of ale, they both sat in quiet reflection. Speaking while looking directly into his eyes, Clark asked about the earlier events. He simply couldn’t answer; the pain was still too great within his being. Sensing this, Clark ordered several more pints.

“I need to ask you a question: why do you drink so much?”

Clark wavered and then said, “To forget that I hate myself.” Thinking that he might have said too much, he hesitated and then said, “Is this too much to hear?” He thought a moment, remembering how much he hated himself every day, and no matter how much he drank, it never allowed him to escape. It never made him numb or drunk; alcohol simply didn’t affect him. His mind wandered back to the day’s events. He had never been affected with this much emotional pain. It made no sense; he was an immortal and generally felt nothing, no love for men, or women. He simply didn’t have the emotions. Then why was he so moved by what Clark experienced when he accidentally accessed his amulet? The vessel was only to house souls taken; he never realized it also stored the event. (Why was Clark able to step over that barrier?)

He was beginning to think that the pain must be payment for all the enjoyment he felt when taking souls, enjoyment in line with the sexual addiction he had in his last physical life (always pushing for the next high), and until he was presented with this new way of existing, he knew nothing of his effect on others. Maybe this was a lesson for his ignorance of cause and effect. It might not be in his best interest to continue down this path—collecting souls just to trade them for his own freedom.

Looking back at his friend, he replied, “We both have problems with self-loathing, and when I look at you, all I can see is a kind and wonderful soul trying to make it through each day.” (From the front of the pub, the local news was reporting the daily drama just unfolding, released onto a willing public.) They both finished their meals and what was left of their drinks. Clark had decided to return to his flat when they got home; however, when trying to get up, he had trouble getting steady, as he fell over slightly. Thom held on and provided support for the walk home. It took longer for the two to arrive back at their flats, and after first stopping in front of Clark’s door, Thom could see the panic in his friend’s eyes. Without words, the two continued onto the second door. Clark stayed with his friend for two additional days when, finally, it was time to see what was waiting for him at home. Slowly opening the door, he surveyed the skeletons from the last week’s party. Sighing, he started the cleanup. There was a note pasted to his refrigerator from his sister saying, “Since you are not returning to send off your guests, I took care of business. The food is in the fridge. It’s up to you to clean up the rest.” Setting the note down, he felt warm and alive having finally connected with the outside world; he would call her later as soon as he could get back into his routine.