Authors: Marc Buhmann
When Lilly passed his grief was palpable. He’d barely slept those first few months, exhaustion becoming the only cure for insomnia. Yet even in those fitful nights he’d half-wake crying, sure it was all a dream and that Lilly would be sleeping next to him. He’d reach out to only find cold lonely sheets and reality would tumble back.
It wasn’t until Lilly started visiting him in his dreams that his grief began to subside. He’d try to talk to her but he had no voice, so they would enjoy each other’s company in silence. This went on for weeks, the two of them sitting on a grassy hill watching the sun rise, or beneath the willow tree as the creek trickled by.
It was during one such memory, this one a walk through the woods on an autumn day, that Lilly finally spoke.
When it’s time, return,
she’d said.
Until then go out and enjoy the world.
They’d crested a hill and she’d stopped to look at a cabin below.
Turmoore
, she’d said, and held up her necklace.
You will need this,
and placed it in his hand. He’d woken feeling calm and relieved, knowing Lilly wanted him to move on. He’d sold his house, packed up a few belongings he wanted to keep, and went out into the world.
Over the years one word Lilly had spoken continued to intrigue David:
turmoore.
He knew there was something crucial about the word he was missing but couldn’t remember what, the meaning hidden in shadows. He began to research it, pouring over books and newspapers and searched the web, but he only gleamed tiny bits of information, very little that made sense. What he could gather alluded to something mysterious and terrifying and wonderful. It was a concept, a place, a thing—a convolution of all these and more depending on his source of the day. It made his head spin.
He’d spent several more years traveling Europe hoping to discover the secret that was
turmoore
, hoping he could solve the mystery before his time came. Then dreams of Lilly returned and with her his insomnia. Memories of past events that hadn’t happened, yet seemed so real, swirled around in a cacophony of chaos, forgotten faces materialized.
Claire.
He saw her as the little girl he once knew and as the woman she was now.
Why are you showing her to me, Lilly?
But no answer came. First Lilly and then Claire. David didn’t believe in coincidence and knew it was time to return home.
We’re born, we live, we die, he thought as a sadness crept through him. Sometimes it felt so pointless—it was hard not to—but when he started to feel down all he had to do was think of Lilly and the time they’d spent together. He wasn’t sure if there was an afterlife, but he’d be overjoyed to be reunited with her. He’d felt lost and alone without her, but now he was beginning to feel a warmth within him.
Love.
David smiled to himself. “Thank you,” he said. He took his time standing and made his way to the street. He looked towards the sun feeling it on his skin. Fallen leaves blew across the ground, and he breathed in deeply enjoying the smell of decaying leaves.
* * *
Willem and Justin sat at a booth in Manny’s Diner having their usual, a BLT for Willem and a bacon cheese burger for Justin. Manny’s still made their sodas like in the old days, mixing flavored syrup with cola. Willem favored the cherry. They were halfway through their lunch.
“Something is on your mind, Willem,” Justin was saying. “I can tell.” He tapped the side of his nose with his index finger. “Spill.”
“Just didn’t sleep well is all. It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit. Something is troubling you. I’m always telling you stuff—”
“Voluntarily.”
“Yes, but I share. Something you rarely do. In fact, come to think of it, I don’t know much of anything about you. How long we been working together?”
“Three years.
“Three
glorious
years, and all I know is that you’ve never married and you like old TV shows.”
“I’ve shared more than that.”
“Like?”
“Like…” Willem delayed answering by taking a bite of his BLT. Talking around a mouthful of food he said, “I’m 64.”
“Hurray!” he cheered, holding up his hands in mocking jubilation. “Something I didn’t know!” He put his hands down. “But seriously, what gives? People normally like talking about themselves. Why not you?”
Willem shrugged.
“How very noncommittal.”
“What do you want me to say?”
Justin wiped the corner of his mouth, pushed his plate to the side, and leaned in. “Tell me something. Anything. Has to be about you though. Something I
don’t
know.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
Willem sipped his cherry coke.
“We are not leaving here until you give something,” Justin said, jabbing the table.
“Okay…” He picked up a fry and, right before taking a bite, said, “I’m a very private person.”
“You’re… you…” Justin’s face turned red.
“You said share anything.”
“Share anything I didn’t know! I can put two-and-two together.”
“You may have assumed, but it’s nothing I’ve ever told you.”
Justin leaned back, crossed his arms, almost a pout. “You’re a piece of work. When was the last time you went out?”
“We’re out right now.”
“You know what I mean.”
He leaned back, sighed. When was the last time he’d gone out? He couldn’t remember.
“As long as I’ve known you you’ve never gone on vacation. When was the last one? Where?”
Willem didn’t like vacations, preferred to stay right where he was. He was happy and content with that. “Never been on vacation.”
“Why?”
“Don’t see the point.”
“You don’t get burned out at work?”
“No.”
“You don’t want to see something new?”
“No.”
“When did you last see a movie?”
“When it’s on the TV.”
“A play?”
“No.”
Justin let off a throaty growl. “I give up! You want to live as a mystery? Fine. But know that when you die that’s what you’ll be. A mystery.”
“And I’m content with that. I help people every day, and when I die I’ll know I have made a difference. I did what I was put on this earth to do, and even if people don’t know me by name or remember my face, I’m fine knowing I’ve made a difference.”
Willem finished his BLT and drink, Justin staring at him.
“Ready?” he asked.
Justin grabbed the bill with a sigh. “Whatever. One of these days I’ll get to know the real you.”
“It’ll be a letdown because what you see is what you get.”
“You’re an enigma, Willem.”
“What do I owe you?”
Justin’s color had returned to normal and he smiled as he stood, though he was obviously still annoyed. “My treat.”
Willem watched Justin walk to the register to pay, dug into his wallet and fished out a couple of fives. Least he could do was leave the tip. He dropped the bills on the table.
An enigma? He really didn’t think so—there was no mystery about him. He just didn’t like to talk about himself or his past. What was the big deal?
The past is the past, and it wasn’t worth revisiting.
* * *
“You did good,” DeMarcus said to Paul. “Wise to bring him to me.”
The man in the red hat nodded in appreciation.
DeMarcus turned his attention to the old bruised man who was tied to a straight-back wooden chair. First Melson Waters and now Patrick Deshanal, both part of the Shaw’s security detail.
“Good to see you again,” he said cheerfully enough. “Though I must admit I’m a bit perplexed as to you being here. The last I heard you’d been killed at Joshua Bay. Care to explain?”
No response, just an icy stare.
DeMarcus sighed. “You can make it easy on yourself by cooperating but, really, the choice is yours.” He took a few steps and crouched so he was eye-to-eye with Patrick. “How did you get here? What were you doing at Lilly’s home?”
Patrick eyes blazed.
“I’m giving you the opportunity to survive. I’m really not the monster the Shaw’s made me out to be, but I will do what is necessary to ensure a fair and just existence for us. So, one last time, what were you doing at her home?”
“Do what you must,” Patrick said, staring him down defiantly.
DeMarcus shook his head and sighed. “Let’s start with something simpler. Where did you enter? Was it here? Somewhere else?”
Patrick didn’t answer.
“What are you doing here? What did you hope to gain?”
Nothing.
“How did you know to look here? Did you sense her too? Did you find her?”
Silence.
“How many more have come through?”
When Patrick said nothing DeMarcus sighed, looked at Paul, and nodded. “Okay,” he said, looking back. “Let’s start from the beginning.”
The man in the red trucker cap walked up behind Patrick.
* * *
Claire lay in bed, eyes closed. She’d almost fallen asleep when she heard the knock on the front door. She thought about going downstairs to see who it was, but the medication she’d taken made her drowsy, so she decided to stay put. Distant voices floated to her, though what they said she didn’t know. Probably talking about her.
Sometime later the front door opened and closed again, followed by the creaking of stairs. Her bedroom door opened. Emily peaked in and, seeing Claire awake, her expression flashed disappointment before she smiled sadly. “I thought you’d be asleep.”
“I almost was. Who was at the door?”
Emily hesitated. “Jessica.”
Jessica was a friend of Emily’s. The voice had sounded male, but because of a combination of being drowsy and the voices being muffled she couldn’t be sure.
“Can I get you anything?” Emily asked.
Claire shook her head. “I’m fine.”
“You should get some rest,” she said as she sat on the edge of the bed. She took her hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “What happened, mom? What really happened?”
Claire looked down at her hand enveloped in Emily’s. She’d known it was only a matter of time before Emily would want to have this conversation. “Can this wait? I
am
tired. The pills you know—”
“No, I think we should have it now.”
“Fine. What do you want to know?”
“Why would you try and—”
“I told you I didn’t try to kill myself.”
“What then? Because that sure as hell is what it looked like. The mix of pills and alcohol… Do you know that you almost died?”
“I haven’t been sleeping well lately, so my doctor prescribed me something. I must have forgotten I’d taken them, had a drink, took the pills again… it’s nothing. Just a mistake.”
“Is that what you call it? A mistake? Mom—”
“What else do you want me to say?”
Emily bit her lower lip, a telltale sign she had something to say.
“What?” Claire asked.
“Your job, mom. I know you lost it.”
Claire’s mouth dropped open, shocked Emily knew. “How?”
“I called to let them know you wouldn’t be in and they told me. Why were you fired?”
Claire clenched her teeth. “Didn’t they tell you?”
“They said I should ask you.”
It had been a spiral effect. She’d shown up to work late a couple times smelling of booze, had been warned, and she hadn’t followed through when she said it wouldn’t happen again. When her boss had told her she was being let go she’d broken down and cried.
Please!
she’d begged.
Just one more chance!
He hadn’t been phased. On the way home she’d picked up a fresh bottle of whiskey.
Claire looked down, ashamed. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“I’d like to. Really, I would.” She hesitated a moment. “Was—was it something I did? Was it because of me?”
Claire looked up and saw the hurt in Emily’s eyes, and her anger and annoyance melted to grief. “No sweetie. No. Of course not.” She reached out and hugged her daughter. They sat like that for a while, a slow rhythmic rock, enjoying the comfort of each other. Claire hoped that was enough for Emily, at least for now.
“You’re through, right? No more drinking?” When Claire didn’t respond Emily pulled back. “Say you’re done. For me.”
She nodded, though she knew it was easier said than done. If it meant ending this weighty conversation—one she was too tired to have in any case—she’d agree.
Emily looked satisfied and wiped at her cheek. “Good.”
“What about you?” Claire wanted to know.
“I’ll be okay. Now that you’re home…”
“I’m fine. Really. I don’t need you taking care of me like this. You have school to think about. And college. It’s really not a big deal.”