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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
The Disclaimer is in the first part and the first 10 parts are found on www.the-pretender.de and I hope you enjoy this part . . . . .Enjoy . . . .
Memories Of Long Ago
part 11
by Trish
I sleep fitfully, my thoughts like colored chips in a kaleidoscope, congealing to form clear images, then drifting apart into meaningless patterns. Most of the dream involves my Uncle Lyle. In between cameos of my uncle, my unconscious presents muscial score sugggestions. The score from 'The Cell' keeps repeating. The music is like a tick burrowing under one's skin. Once in, it's impossible to dislodge.
I awake to pale moonlight gracing the edges of the window shade. Slamming the pillow across my head, I throw an arm over it and pull my knees to my chest. Dreams. At three thirty, I give a startled cry and fling myself upright as if the pane of glass that had been my dream has shattered. I shower and dress donning my usual black; so out of place for the daylight, so very appropriate for night. The color of secrets and stealth. The color of death. I need no mirror to tell how very well it becomes me, how flattering and suitable the hue. Black suited my mother too. Like mother, like daughter. I then arrange myself in the studio. Earlier, I had sorted everything I'd found during my quest for the truth. Photos to the left, letters to the right, and DSA's in the middle and clutched tightly in my hand, Cox's ring. I wrap myself up tightly in mother's quilt, and watch the stars fade overhead and remember evenings with Momma. When I was small, we would identify constellations and christen patterns of our own. I would see a puppy, a bunny, a pair of ballet slippers. Momma always saw a father with his child.
**
The doorbell sounds, telling me that my company has arrived. Easing myself off of the window seat, I walk through the living room and open the heavy wooden door. I find Sydney, Broots and Angelo on my front porch. I gesture for them to enter. Sydney and Broots do so, but Angelo is cautious. His soulful eyes look at mine and he reaches for my hand.
"Almost over," he mutters before walking over to the fireplace to stare into the flames. I take a deep breath, then speak softly as if worried that this is all a dream and that I will awake back home in my own bed.
"He's dead, Syd," I open my hand to reveal the ring that's imprinted itself into my palm. I see Syd's brow wrinkle and could tell that he was waging an internal battle with himself. Anger, fear and then relief had played across his features. I step closer to him, slipping my hand inside of his, the contact reassuring.
"Syd. . . ." I whispered. I watch him nod then sink slowly into the chair located in the corner of the room, his fingers taking holding of the ring that once belonged to Cox.
"So he's with the devil and his underlings. Good! May his soul never find a moment's peace." The words and the curse have come from Broots, and I felt my eyes widen and a small smile turn at the corners of my lips. Timid mouse finally learned to roar---Momma would have been proud.
"My father, Syd, he was willing to give her up. For Thomas. For me. Why?"
"He told me once that from the moment he set eyes upon her, all those years ago, she was his life. They were each other's salvation, redemption from the Centre, the past. Jarod told me once that he understood how easy it was to love her, so much so that no one else filled your heart," Syd's hand came to rest on his left breast, "And that she owned a piece of his soul, always. And as for Thomas, he said that if it made her happy, he could let her go."
I sit on the sofa, next to Broots, with my legs tucked up underneath me, my head slightly bent. Tears swelling in his eyes and then spill over.
"I know that my father and Lyle had a verbal sparring match," I lock eyes with Sydney.
"Danger," Angelo muttered, his hands cupping his face, his eyes mesmerized by the flames," Bad man hurt Jarod. Kill Jarod. Told Jarod go. Bad man in Sim lab."
"Angelo?" Sydney, gaunt by the revelation, looked at the savant, dazed and shocked. Broots looked wretched and helpless. I excuse myself, and retreat into the kitchen to prepare coffee, while the others are allowed to collect themselves. I return, tray in hand, which I set down upon the low wooden table. Then I take a seat next to Angelo on the floor, where he slips his hand into mine.
"Angelo," I whisper," you told my father to go where?"
"Tell him leave. No sim lab. Bad man hurt him," his voice barely audible.
"Where was he to go, Angelo?" I ask him, again. "To momma and me?"
We watch as Angelo nods, his eyes never leaving the dancing flames of the fire.
"Smoke, lots of smoke. Smell awful," he says, his nose scrunching up on his nose.
"The fire?" I ask as a log falls sending sparks up the flue.
"NO!" He replies sharply before he turns to stare at Broots and Sydney. "Building rumbled. Like before. Sydney remembers. Broots remembers too."
"I know. . ." my voice cracks with anger," I know that Lyle was responsible for my father's death. Cox's admission to hiding the truth is on the DSA's that Vivienne brought over. I watched them all." I pull my hand away from Angelo's and press my palms together and wait for either Sydney or Broots to speak. Tears are coursing down their cheeks, only to be wiped away hastily. Both look shocked and relieved at the same time. I am exhausted, but this isn't finished. Not yet.
"I've relived that day over and over in my mind a thousand times," Broots looks at Syd, then down at me. I reach for the cup of coffee, that I had placed on the table, and I watch the tendrils of white steam rise off of the hot liquid, twisting and curling reminding me of the ribbons Momma used to tie my braids with.
"The lab exploded, and there was a fear so deep in me, that I must have stood there for what seemed an eternity. To smell the acrid smoke, to feel the heat from the flames. To know in here, that he was dead, and there I was unable to get to him." Sydney clenched his fist tightly and then pounded his thigh furiously. I quickly placed the mug on the table and scrambled to my knees, coming to kneel before him, my left hand resting on his clenched fist, stilling it.
"It's all right, Syd."
"It was the worst day of my life," Broots murmured, "I'd lost another friend, only this time it was for real. The grim reaper staked his claim and didn't let go. After the flames had been put out, we worked most of the night and into the next day, digging in silence. Sam, Syd, and I removed the rubble from the ceiling that had collapsed. We had more cuts and scrapes on our hands than we could count. My fingers were numb from the effort."
I sit here on the floor listening to the final piece of the puzzle, as it plays out in my mind. I can smell the smoke, the crushing weight of the steel and concrete on my chest, feel the searing heat from the flames. I knew I was in trouble, my hands are shaking, my stomach tightens, and my throat seems to narrow for me to breath. The room is suddenly beginning to blur. Angelo's gently touch with the napkin, from the table, as he blots the cold sweat from my forehead pulls me back. I relived it, father's death. I had become him, if only briefly.
TBC
Feedback please : Ractrish@aol.com
part 11
by Trish
I sleep fitfully, my thoughts like colored chips in a kaleidoscope, congealing to form clear images, then drifting apart into meaningless patterns. Most of the dream involves my Uncle Lyle. In between cameos of my uncle, my unconscious presents muscial score sugggestions. The score from 'The Cell' keeps repeating. The music is like a tick burrowing under one's skin. Once in, it's impossible to dislodge.
I awake to pale moonlight gracing the edges of the window shade. Slamming the pillow across my head, I throw an arm over it and pull my knees to my chest. Dreams. At three thirty, I give a startled cry and fling myself upright as if the pane of glass that had been my dream has shattered. I shower and dress donning my usual black; so out of place for the daylight, so very appropriate for night. The color of secrets and stealth. The color of death. I need no mirror to tell how very well it becomes me, how flattering and suitable the hue. Black suited my mother too. Like mother, like daughter. I then arrange myself in the studio. Earlier, I had sorted everything I'd found during my quest for the truth. Photos to the left, letters to the right, and DSA's in the middle and clutched tightly in my hand, Cox's ring. I wrap myself up tightly in mother's quilt, and watch the stars fade overhead and remember evenings with Momma. When I was small, we would identify constellations and christen patterns of our own. I would see a puppy, a bunny, a pair of ballet slippers. Momma always saw a father with his child.
**
The doorbell sounds, telling me that my company has arrived. Easing myself off of the window seat, I walk through the living room and open the heavy wooden door. I find Sydney, Broots and Angelo on my front porch. I gesture for them to enter. Sydney and Broots do so, but Angelo is cautious. His soulful eyes look at mine and he reaches for my hand.
"Almost over," he mutters before walking over to the fireplace to stare into the flames. I take a deep breath, then speak softly as if worried that this is all a dream and that I will awake back home in my own bed.
"He's dead, Syd," I open my hand to reveal the ring that's imprinted itself into my palm. I see Syd's brow wrinkle and could tell that he was waging an internal battle with himself. Anger, fear and then relief had played across his features. I step closer to him, slipping my hand inside of his, the contact reassuring.
"Syd. . . ." I whispered. I watch him nod then sink slowly into the chair located in the corner of the room, his fingers taking holding of the ring that once belonged to Cox.
"So he's with the devil and his underlings. Good! May his soul never find a moment's peace." The words and the curse have come from Broots, and I felt my eyes widen and a small smile turn at the corners of my lips. Timid mouse finally learned to roar---Momma would have been proud.
"My father, Syd, he was willing to give her up. For Thomas. For me. Why?"
"He told me once that from the moment he set eyes upon her, all those years ago, she was his life. They were each other's salvation, redemption from the Centre, the past. Jarod told me once that he understood how easy it was to love her, so much so that no one else filled your heart," Syd's hand came to rest on his left breast, "And that she owned a piece of his soul, always. And as for Thomas, he said that if it made her happy, he could let her go."
I sit on the sofa, next to Broots, with my legs tucked up underneath me, my head slightly bent. Tears swelling in his eyes and then spill over.
"I know that my father and Lyle had a verbal sparring match," I lock eyes with Sydney.
"Danger," Angelo muttered, his hands cupping his face, his eyes mesmerized by the flames," Bad man hurt Jarod. Kill Jarod. Told Jarod go. Bad man in Sim lab."
"Angelo?" Sydney, gaunt by the revelation, looked at the savant, dazed and shocked. Broots looked wretched and helpless. I excuse myself, and retreat into the kitchen to prepare coffee, while the others are allowed to collect themselves. I return, tray in hand, which I set down upon the low wooden table. Then I take a seat next to Angelo on the floor, where he slips his hand into mine.
"Angelo," I whisper," you told my father to go where?"
"Tell him leave. No sim lab. Bad man hurt him," his voice barely audible.
"Where was he to go, Angelo?" I ask him, again. "To momma and me?"
We watch as Angelo nods, his eyes never leaving the dancing flames of the fire.
"Smoke, lots of smoke. Smell awful," he says, his nose scrunching up on his nose.
"The fire?" I ask as a log falls sending sparks up the flue.
"NO!" He replies sharply before he turns to stare at Broots and Sydney. "Building rumbled. Like before. Sydney remembers. Broots remembers too."
"I know. . ." my voice cracks with anger," I know that Lyle was responsible for my father's death. Cox's admission to hiding the truth is on the DSA's that Vivienne brought over. I watched them all." I pull my hand away from Angelo's and press my palms together and wait for either Sydney or Broots to speak. Tears are coursing down their cheeks, only to be wiped away hastily. Both look shocked and relieved at the same time. I am exhausted, but this isn't finished. Not yet.
"I've relived that day over and over in my mind a thousand times," Broots looks at Syd, then down at me. I reach for the cup of coffee, that I had placed on the table, and I watch the tendrils of white steam rise off of the hot liquid, twisting and curling reminding me of the ribbons Momma used to tie my braids with.
"The lab exploded, and there was a fear so deep in me, that I must have stood there for what seemed an eternity. To smell the acrid smoke, to feel the heat from the flames. To know in here, that he was dead, and there I was unable to get to him." Sydney clenched his fist tightly and then pounded his thigh furiously. I quickly placed the mug on the table and scrambled to my knees, coming to kneel before him, my left hand resting on his clenched fist, stilling it.
"It's all right, Syd."
"It was the worst day of my life," Broots murmured, "I'd lost another friend, only this time it was for real. The grim reaper staked his claim and didn't let go. After the flames had been put out, we worked most of the night and into the next day, digging in silence. Sam, Syd, and I removed the rubble from the ceiling that had collapsed. We had more cuts and scrapes on our hands than we could count. My fingers were numb from the effort."
I sit here on the floor listening to the final piece of the puzzle, as it plays out in my mind. I can smell the smoke, the crushing weight of the steel and concrete on my chest, feel the searing heat from the flames. I knew I was in trouble, my hands are shaking, my stomach tightens, and my throat seems to narrow for me to breath. The room is suddenly beginning to blur. Angelo's gently touch with the napkin, from the table, as he blots the cold sweat from my forehead pulls me back. I relived it, father's death. I had become him, if only briefly.
TBC
Feedback please : Ractrish@aol.com
