The Chair - Lucas

The Chair

  Lucas

  By

  Dawn Stone

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this story are either fictitious or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The Chair - Lucas copyright 2016 by Dawn Stone

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any print or electronic form without permission.

  Edited by Jessica A. Cowan

  On this day, every year for the last eighteen years, Lucas comes here hoping to find answers.  And every year he is left feeling more helpless. More hopeless. More confused.  How could no one know what actually happened that night?  Or did someone know and just didn’t know how to tell him?

  He knew the names of every headstone between his car and where his parents were buried.  He had walked this path so often it had become second nature to him.  He could tell you the names with his eyes closed.  Sometimes he would talk to them as he passed.  He even made up life stories for each of them.  Somehow, it comforted him.

  The ones closest to his parents had the better backstories.  To the right of his mother was Elizabeth “Betty” Donahue.  She died in 2002 at the age of ninety-three.  In his mind she was a small woman barely five feet tall.  Maybe a little plump, but not more than her small frame could handle.  She died her hair until she was around seventy.  After that she just didn’t care anymore.  She had four children; three boys and one girl.  Once her grandchildren reached double digits, she stopped counting.  And we can’t forget the handful of great-grandchildren.  Her husband of more than sixty-five years is laid next to her.  To Lucas, she was what he always envisioned a grandmother to be.

  To the left of his father was Benjamin “Benny” Moore.  Loving son, father and husband.  He was only thirty-two when he joined the afterlife.  It took Lucas a while to pin down what happened to Benny. Drunk driver. On a late night run to the corner store for medicine for a young child that had a cold.  Only he never made it home.  In his mind, it was quick and painless.  He always said a prayer for the child who lost their daddy.  No child should go through that kind of pain.  

  Next to Benny was the saddest headstone.  Bryce and Royce Cavanaugh left this world the same day they entered it.  His heart ached thinking of what the parents went through.  What they might still be going through.  He never created a backstory for them. He just prayed.  For their souls. FOr the souls of their parents. He would occasionally bring them flowers.

  These people didn’t make judgements.  They didn’t stare or whisper behind his back.  They knew what happened.  But they didn’t care.  They had departed.  He wasn’t the guy whose parents killed themselves.  He was just a lost kid, who was missing his parents, and that was permitted here.

  Today was going to be a short visit.  A storm was coming in and he wanted to get home before it hit.  He talked to his parents for about an hour.  As he was leaving, he said his goodbyes to the others.  Told them he would see them again soon.  Then, he got in his car and just started driving.

  He wasn’t sure how long he had been driving.  The storm hadn’t hit yet, but it was close.  He could smell it.  He could feel it.  So he pulled over to try to gather his thoughts.  That’s when he realized he was in a part of the city he had never been in before.  How did he get here?  Did he really zone out that long?

  He looked around and saw a little antique store.  Although he couldn’t quite grasp how he got here, he turned the car off and headed to the store.  He looked around and was in awe of how majestic the trees looked that surrounded this place.

  As he got closer to the door, he couldn’t help noticing he had butterflies in his stomach. Why?  He opened the door and was hit in the face with with such a sweet aroma.  It took a moment to place it.  Gardenia.  That’s what his mother always wore.  He didn’t realize he was smiling.  

  He walked around the store absentmindedly.  He only looked at items here and there.  He dared not touch anything.  When he rounded the corner, he stopped, as if he hit a glass wall.  He slowly and gently inched his way to it.  The winged back was so powerful. So ornate. So majestic. There was that word again.  But it seemed so fitting. The seat was a cushion wrapped in black crushed velvet. While it appeared uncomfortable, when he sat down he seemed to sink down in it.

  It was dark when he opened his eyes.  Did he fall asleep?  Why didn’t anyone wake him?  He rubbed his eyes then stretched.  That’s when he realized he wasn’t in the shop anymore.  So where was he?  He looked around trying to figure something, anything, out.  Then it hit him.  He was in his old bedroom.  The bedroom he had when he was a kid.  The bedroom he had when the events of that night took place.  But why was he here?

  He slowly looked around the room.  Off to his right was his dresser.  Two wall shelves hung over it.  Trophies for t-ball and soccer games adorned them.  Pictures of him with his mom and dad.  A medal for a gymnastics meet he had won one summer.

  He sat up and swung his feet off the side of the bed.  He sat there for a few more minutes, listening to the silence.  A crash snapped him out of his trance.  What the hell?  He slowly got up and headed out of the room.  Off to the left were two more bedrooms.  Straight ahead was the upstairs landing.  And just past the top of the stairs was the door to his parents room.

  He strained to listen for something to fill him in as to what was going on.  He heard mumbling.  He slowly made his way to his parents door.  He put his ear to the door.  Somewhere inside he got the go ahead to enter.  He opened the door as slowly and quietly as he could. Then he saw them.

  His mom was as beautiful as he remembered.  She had long light brown hair that hung straight to the middle of her back.  Her slender five-foot-five frame highlighted by the light from the bathroom.  She had on her shorts that looked like men’s boxers and a t-shirt.  What she wore every night for bed.  Her bare feet looked so tiny.

  His father’s six-foot-three frame towered over his mom.  While he looked thin, it was all solid muscle.  But he was not a scary man.  He was the kindest, gentlest man he had ever known.  His father made his way to his mother.  He gently wrapped his arms around her and started kissing her neck.

  The young man realized his parents were about to make love.  How gross.  He didn’t need to see this.  He didn’t want to see this.  He looked around and noticed the door was closed. How was that?  Did he do it?  That’s not possible.  How is he seeing this, yet no one sees him?  Was this real?

  The sound of shattering glass broke up the loving couple.  The young man snapped his head around at the same time as his father.  There was a moment of silence before the door bursts open.  A man stood in the doorway with a small handgun in his right hand.

  Both the man and the woman froze.  They didn’t make a sound.  As the man slowly stepped into the room, the young man let out a loud gasp.  But no one heard it.  He was shocked to see his uncle standing there.

  “What the…?”  the woman manages to utter.

  “Shut up, Christine!” the man yelled.

  “Bobby?” the man asks.

  “You too Jesse,” the man tells him. “Shut up.”

  The three of them stood there in silence for what felt like an eternity.  At least to the young man, it did.  The young man couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing.  Was this real? It had to be. But how?

  Uncle Bobby slithered his way to Christine.  Jesse made a slight movement and Bobby was quick to point the gun at him.

  “No you don’t!” Bobby told him.

  “Bobby, what are you doing?” Christine pleaded.

  Bobby turns the gun back to Christine.  He stops inche
s in front of her.  He caresses her face in his left hand.  The young man can see the fear in her eyes.  The tears start flowing. It was at the moment the young man realized what was happening.  This was the night his parents died.  Was he finally getting his answers?

  “Do you know how long I have loved you Christine?” Bobby asked.

  “What are you talking about?” Jesse inquires.

  Bobby looks at him sharply.  These two men were brothers, but Jesse looked at Bobby like he had never seen him before.  Jesse and Christine were both so confused by what was happening.

  “I still remember the first time I saw you.” Bobby tells Christine. “You had on a green sweater and black jeans.  We were at the roller rink. It was New Year’s Eve.  You were so beautiful.”

  “That was 20 years ago, Bobby.” Christine reminded him.

  “Christine and I hadn’t met yet.” Jesse interrupted.

  “That is why I was so angry the day you brought her home!” Bobby yelled.  “I saw her first! She was mine!”

  “Bobby, I never knew.” Christine said softly.

  Bobby turned back to her.  He watched her with an unabashed love in her eyes.  She slowly inched her way towards him, but he knew it wasn’t for him.  She was trying to save Jesse.

  In one quick motion he raised the gun, put it to Christine’s head and pulled the trigger.  Her tiny body collapsed to the floor.  The young man tried to move but realized he was paralyzed.  Why? Fear? He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  His father tried to go to his mother, but his uncle stopped him dead in his tracks.

  The young man saw the pain in his father’s eyes. His sadness. His desire to hold his wife as she slipped out of his world.  The young man could also see the intensity in his uncle’s eyes. Why was this happening?  He watched as his uncle walked over to his dad.

  “You took her from me then, so I take her from you now.” Bobby informs Jesse.

  Bobby raises the gun, puts it to Jesse’s temple and pulls the trigger.  The young man watches as his father crumples to the floor. This couldn’t be real.  There had to be a mistake.  He was always told it was a murder-suicide. Of course that never made sense. But neither does this.  This can’t be right.

  In the blink of an eye, the young man is back in the chair.  Wait, he thought.  I need to go back.  But it was over.  His vision or memory or whatever it was was over.  He slowly raised up out of the chair.  He saw a little, elderly woman walk by out of the corner of his eye.  He followed her for just a minute.

  “Excuse me,” he finally says.

  When she turns around he could see the years on her face.  But they weren’t rough. Not at all.  She had smiled and laughed a lot in her lifetime.  She had such a sweet disposition about her.  Very trusting.  Her eyes smiled at him. She knew.  She always knew.  

  “Yes?” she answered.  

  “Was that..?” he stammered out but couldn’t finish.

  “Yes.” She told him.

  In that moment his entire life ceased to make sense and made more sense than it ever had.  His questions had been answered.  But those answers scared the hell out of him.  Somewhere inside however he knew what he saw was real.  But what now?

  The little lady reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out a card.

  “You call him.” she told the young man.

  He looks at the card.  While standing there with her he pulls out his phone and dials the number.  After talking for a few minutes, the young man hangs up the phone and looks for the lady.  He searches but she appears to have vanished.

  Feeling stronger than he ever had before the young man leaves the store.  As he heads out to his car he looks at the trees again. This time they seem brighter. Happier. He gets in his car and heads back to the cemetery. He can’t wait to talk to  his parents again.