Luminary (Expanded Edition)

 　　

  Luminary

  P.S. Meraux

  Text copyright © 2015 by P.S. Meraux

  All rights reserved. Except for the use in reviews, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented including xerography, photocopying, digitally copying or recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and resemblance to the actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Books by P.S. Meraux

  Luminary

  Beacon

  Candlelight

  Spotlight

  Blackout

  Beam

  "The Lord God said: It is not good for the man to be alone. I will take a suitable partner for him....So the Lord God cast a deep sleep on the man, and while he was asleep, he took out one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh."

  　

  Genesis 2:19, 21

  Chapter 1: The Secret

  Emily Wren grabbed the large plastic tumbler from her brother’s hands, quickly raising it to her curious lips to take a sip.

  “NO!” Sam bellowed in a reproachful tone. “That’s not for you!”

  Big brothers could be such a pain, she thought, ignoring the censure.

  Sam reached quite violently for the container, tugging it back from her mouth just before she got a taste. It was obvious to Emily that he was trying to snatch it away from her clinging hands without wasting the contents inside. The dark, fizzy liquid sloshed against the interior, splashing over the top.

  Her stumpy fingers held the green plastic with the death grip of a pint-sized badger as she drew it closer to her mouth.

  “How can a twelve-year-old be so damn strong?” Sam hissed. Temporarily losing his grasp as the liquid doused his hands, making them slick.

  “Aha!” she said relishing her success, tilting the glass upward with the momentum of its release. Greedily gulping mouthfuls of the carbonated liquid without really tasting it just for the satisfaction of seeing the dismay in her brother’s eyes.

  Dismay turned to shock followed by resignation in his baby blues. A shade of cobalt so similar to her own. “Dad’s gonna kill me if you get drunk,” he muttered.

  Satisfaction turned to disgust in Emily’s.

  “Ewww!” she half-coughed, half-gagged as the strong flavor caught up with her taste buds. Sticking out her tongue with an ugly expression, doubling over spitting out what was left in her mouth. The move did nothing for the burning sensation in the back of her throat. She gagged again, her face growing warm with the effort.

  Sam hastily grabbed the tumbler out of her now unresisting fingers before any more spilled. “Give me that.”

  “That’s positively awful! What’s in it?” she pointed a finger back at the offensive, plastic, former ‘Big Gulp’ cup.

  “It’s Captain Morgan...you pest,” Sam retorted, clearly aggravated.“It’s bad enough you tagged along with me and my buddies all the way out here in the woods. Nobody invited you to get drunk in the process.”

  She scowled at him.

  This area was the teens private hang-out. Crudely made as it was. It consisted of several discarded, mismatched, patios chairs -- many missing cushions, most had seen better days -- placed around a small hand-dug, earthen fire-pit at the side of a clearing.

  It’s where they secretly drank beer or rum, sampled cigarettes, the occasional cigar or organic substance that happened their way -- clearly by accident -- since none of the boys did anything illegal, at least not technically. Not that Emily had ever seen.

  It was the center of spirited debates or grunts -- depending on who held the floor sorta speak -- as they discussed how they were going to change the world, that is, when the subject of girls or cars or pick-up trucks wasn’t the forefront of conversation. At the moment the focus was again on members of the opposite sex, the teenage variety.

  He looked at her expectantly.

  Emily’s mind was blank, she had no idea who Captain Morgan was. Her eyes darted to the other teens nearby, none looked old enough to be in the military.

  “It’s rum and coke...you know...liquor? I said it wasn’t for you...dumb ass!” he added more sternly than needed.

  The words hurt. Feeling dejected her gaze focused on the ground. Her cheeks grew very hot, partly from the rum, more so from her big brother’s insult.

  Sam apparently noticed.

  Raising her head, she glared at him.

  He shook his head ruefully, “Look I didn’t mean that…but this isn’t the time or place for you to pester me.”

  “Yuck, that’s nasty,” she complained before spitting again. Raising a hand, wiping it across her lips and tongue briskly -- as if the action itself could rid her mouth of the taste. She grimaced. It didn’t help much.

  “Go home,” Sam ordered, pointing his long muscular arm back toward the woods, away from the clustered chairs.

  Emily glanced at the lonely-looking stretch of trees before stubbornly looking back at her brother. “I don’t wanna go...” she drew a tremendous breath before blowing it out. “Micheal’s at band practice, Daddy’s not home yet and Momma’s still at the hospital…filling in for some nurse who had to leave the pediatrics unit early.”

  Her gaze turned back down toward the leaf littered ground, she idly kicked at a tuft of grass and pine straw with her shoe, scattering pieces of it into a brief puff about two feet in the air.

  “There’s nothing to do.”

  A laugh, followed by a chorus of baritone cheers on the other side of the clearing caught her attention, she looked back up. Some of the other boys, all friends of her brother, had improvised a soccer-ball from a derelict, empty, milk jug and were kicking it around. A game was starting in earnest.

  Several of the teens had risen from their chairs, a couple unsteady on their feet, no doubt more the influence of their new acquaintance, Captain Morgan, than a lack of actual physical coordination. Most were athletes.

  Names began to be called out, sides were obviously being drawn. A mumbled discussion about the latest one -- neither side particularly eager to draft him -- was cause to think that the debate was more about the lad’s lack of skill rather than the presence of the Captain at least in his case.

  One of the young men looked pointedly at Sam avoiding her eyes. “Come on Wren...we need ya!”

  “Be right there,” he answered.

  Glancing back at Emily, he said more quietly, “Go home now.”

  Her thoughts turned stormy. Nope, she thought. Bottom lip curling up-- telegraphing her intent to argue. Emily had often been told that she was blessed or cursed -- depending upon your perspective -- with a glass face. Everything she was thinking was visible on her features.

  Sam didn’t have to be so bossy, she huffed, just because he was the oldest, he wasn’t in charge! Hands coming to rest on her hips, exhibiting a chief characteristic of her personality: stubbornness

  She could tell from Sam’s more conciliatory expression that he didn’t want to fight in front of his friends. He blinked as if trying to focus, giving her a loopy smile, making her wonder if he was slightly inebriated.

  “Look if you go home now...”

  She opened her mouth, on the verge of a protest.

  “Without a fuss...”

  Sam sharply tilted his head meaningfully at her, eyes wide, the gesture heading off her tirade.

  Slowly she shut her jaw, wondering w
hat carrot he was going to dangle. Her brother was a good negotiator.

  “uh...err...then come Saturday...during the festival...I’ll let you sit up front with me when I’m driving the hay wagon.”

  The horse-drawn wagon would be used to ferry passengers, usually couples, around the Jenkins’ farm, ending at the nearby corn maze.

  Her thoughts relaxed in juvenile reflection. The proverbial wheels and cogs were churning in her brain as she considered the proposal.

  Her brother’s smug expression said-- That’s the right bait.

  Emily let out a breath, accepting defeat and the approaching boredom that would accompany it.

  Sam brushed his free hand across his jaw, doing his best to hide a smile.

  She noticed, eyeing him with distrust but said nothing.

  Her mind focused on the coming weekend. She really wanted to ride in the hay wagon, not in the back but up front near the horses. Her practical musings already planning on cutting up real carrots and bits of apple to put in a plastic baggie as a treat for them. She could get a head start on that now, she thought. That was something to do at least for a little while.

  “Oh, alright,” she agreed. Nodding obediently.

  “Good, go now...and go straight home,” Sam admonished, giving her a light cuff on the shoulder. Plainly making sure she was heading in the right direction.

  He placed the tumbler on his chair, running across the clearing to join the game.

  Emily walked back to the woods thinking about what else was in the fridge that might make a good snack for horses. Did they like cheese?

  Preoccupied with her own thoughts, Emily didn’t pay much attention to her surroundings as the tall trees of the forest closed in on her. Nor did she pay much attention to the scents of the pine, hemlock, or the red and white cedars as she dodged the roots or trunks that crossed her path.

  Naturally brave, her feet walked with determination while her mind was lost in her own abstraction, aided in no small part by the effects of guzzling rum. Unfortunately, neither were heading in the right direction.

  About a half hour later -- it occurred to her that she should be staring at the backyard by now or at the very least her mother’s garden. She realized that a wrong turn must have been taken along the way. She was lost.

  Suddenly the details of the forest seemed to demand her attention. Where had that stand of birch and hickory trees come from? And what about the maples? Those didn’t grow near their house, Dad said the soil was too rough for the roots.

  Appraising her immediate area, she felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck. It was an odd sensation like someone’s eyes were on her. The birds were silent as if something had startled them. Birds don’t sing when there’s trouble, she thought. Dad had taught her that too.

  The odd sensation traveled down her spine, causing her to twitch. Moving her gaze right and left for a long moment, she didn’t see anyone else around. Looking at her arm, she noticed a fresh crop of goosebumps erupting on her skin.

  Did rum make one psychic or paranoid? she pondered feebly, her thoughts fuddled.

  The brush, foliage and wild shrubbery retained much of their greenery creating screens in almost every direction her head swiveled, although the ground was covered with dead leaves. Anyone could be hiding behind them and she wouldn’t know it.

  Emily did a u-turn, retracing her steps in hopes that it would lead back to familiar territory. It was getting late enough in the year that it got dark fairly early. The sky was already pretty dim under the trees.

  As she headed back on what she hoped was the right route, every little sound seemed to echo around the forest. Muffled shapes seemed to linger in the gloominess behind her, causing her feet to pick up speed while losing accuracy. Glancing over her shoulder one too many times, she stumbled on unseen yet highly exposed tree roots not once but twice. Fortunately she landed without hurting herself, much.

  Not the same could be said for the fuzzy feeling in her head, with each jarring trip accelerating her uneasiness and the queasy feeling in her stomach. Getting up yet again, she squinted into the gathering shadows. Were those footsteps? she wondered.

  Being lost in the woods, slightly drunk and a little scared, her inventiveness jumped into overdrive. Was someone or something stalking her? Were there wild animals out here? Pausing to listen. The noise suddenly stopped. Had she imagined it?

  She was too young to be logical, yet practical she certainly was. Maybe her brother wanted to apologize and was looking for her. Listening to see if the footsteps repeated themselves, she heard nothing. So much for it being Sam.

  It briefly occurred to her that she was being stupid and was actually all alone out here. What if she had to spend the night? Not without a coat, she thought. Growing upset at the prospect she pressed on.

  It couldn’t be that much farther, she pondered, facing what she hoped was the right path. Plodding forward her bleary thoughts were suddenly interrupted by something spotted in the corner of her eye. Was that a dark figure emerging from the trees. She turned to look, too late.

  One moment her feet were moving over the ground, the next they were swinging in the air -- as a long arm encircled her body from one side, lifting her up. A leathery, muscular hand clamped down roughly over her mouth from the other.

  The grab from behind frightened her senseless. Her heart leapfrogging convulsively in her chest. Still, she remained immobile only a few seconds.

  Instinctively hunching forward away from the warm body behind her. She struggled against her unknown attacker, flinging her feet and hands backwards trying to break his grip. The hold was too strong.

  One of her extremities made contact with some part of him though. She had sense enough to realize that it was a him. A very big him.

  There was a grunt, followed by a sharp hiss as the stranger clearly drew in a breath through clenched teeth.

  Kick him again, she thought with frightened fury. Driving the heel of her shoe against him repeatedly not caring what particular appendage below his waist it was hitting.

  At the very least he was going to be walking funny.

  Emboldened. Emily squirmed and thrashed around wildly trying to dislodge his hold as well as see her captor’s face. The next instant she almost did, as his hand released her mouth, at first she sputtered in fear, “Let go of me!” Then screamed with all her might, “LET GO! LET GO! LET...”

  A large fist smashed into the side of her head near her ear with such force that she was stunned into silence, barely conscious, eyes drooping half closed. Her body sagged on the remaining arm which held her aloft like a rumpled rag doll. Head spinning in part from the rum, more so from the blow.

  Relieved of its job of keeping her quiet, she felt the attacker’s free hand slowly travel down her body, testing the firmness of her shoulder, stopping at delicate places on her torso leaving her with a vague if not fully realized sense of alarm. Her blood froze.

  No stranger should be touching that, her confused mind mused.

  A sudden noise permeated her semi-alert state, followed by a bright flash as the forest erupted into light. It was everywhere all at once. As if the tree canopy opened up and the sun shown from high noon overhead, clear and glaring.

  Whatever it was -- it startled the stranger into speech.

  “Bloody hell?” the hoarse words came from overhead. His hand stilled its exploration. The man spoke with an accent.

  Seconds later she heard: “Oh God, No!”

  It was the hoarse voice again, this time laced with fear.

  Some movement was evident beside them.

  Emily wasn’t alert enough to see it. Lifting her head wasn’t an option at the moment.

  All hell broke loose around her.

  The light was too bright, the action too fast, it was all a blur. She tried to make out shapes. Little could be seen with any distinction. Something like a face glowed at her. Or was it a pair of eyes? Her own half-opened ones squinted autom
atically against the brightness prior to closing fully.

  Help. It was help, she thought. How did they get here so fast?

  A word or sound echoed through the trees. Recognition was on the tip of her tongue. What was it? her jumbled thoughts inquired.

  Eyes tightly shut, the bright light visible beyond her closed lids. The breeze picked up and a rustling sound came to her ears. Was it leaves?

  An image swirled behind her eyelids.

  It was as if the sunlight and decaying foliage had conspired to create a form or at least the outline of one in black ink...someone not real, she supposed. Someone who looked faintly human but only faintly, swimming across a deep blue expanse. Was it the sky or the ocean? She couldn’t be sure. What was that whooshing noise -- the air or the surf?

  The stranger’s arm abruptly released its hold. There was a sensation of falling, not far, and landing on something incredibly soft. The solid body that had sprung behind her in assault, instantly gone. A cool impression of air now held that space. Was she floating on a cloud? Her hair blowing loose behind her.

  All was peaceful now in the forest save the rushing noise of the insistent wind.

  Thus conveyed, it felt like the breeze pushed her along unimpeded by bushes or tree trunks, roots or limbs.

  The odd sensation that someone was close by returned, her heart hammering away in her ears for a moment before something intuitive told her that the person was benign. Her heart eased into a steadier rhythm. Calm.

  “Is she alright?” asked an unfamiliar voice.

  “I think so...there’s a nasty goose egg on the side of her head. She’s breathing normal,” answered another, more detached.

  Lost as she was in her near senseless state, head pounding, part of her wondered if she ought to speak? It occurred to her that she should thank her glowing faced, leaf-shrouded savior or saviors, remembering that there were two voices -- with as much grace as might be achieved while buoyant on a cloud.

  She struggled again to open her eyes. Lashes raising a few millimeters before closing. The task became moot moments later as she finally lapsed into unconsciousness.

  Max’s persistent barking woke Emily, startling her out of the dream.

  Sitting straight up in bed, she held on to the remnants of it like a woman does a jacket against a brisk wind. Remembering the details so vividly. Her mind spiraling back more than a decade to when she was twelve.

  Gosh, it’s been years since she’d thought of that. What brought it up this time? she considered.

  Emily had never spoken of that day -- when she’d been lost in the woods, half drunk, knocked in the head by the stranger and rescued by the luminous beings -- to anyone. Mainly due to the fact that she wasn’t entirely positive that it had happened.

  The last concrete memory that she’d been absolutely sure about was the rum.

  On that point there could be no debate. Quite certain that she’d gulped down the Captain Morgan concoction, taking in more of the nasty brew than any 12-year-old should have had.

  Coming to her senses that day, she’d awoken in the papasan chair on the screened-in back porch of her family home-- where she’d apparently been sleeping for a while.

  “So...you’re finally awake sleepyhead?” her mother had purred from the doorway in the kitchen, a pleasant smile on her face.

  Mom had clearly been home a considerable amount of time, long enough to have shucked off her scrubs and slipped into comfy jeans, a Badger’s sweatshirt and her well-worn moccasins.

  “If you sleep any longer you’re gonna miss dinner. Come in...wash up. Your dad’s already changing out of his suit.”

  Dad’s home? She’d been asleep that long?

  Emily had stared numbly at her just then.

  A fresh vision of leaf people, still swimming like an afterimage on her retinas and the sensation of the cool cloud of air beneath her felt real enough -- she patted the chair cushion with her hand enjoying the tactile feel of the worn fabric. Was it just this?

  No longer groggy from alcohol, sleep or head trauma, her reasoning returned. Had she dreamt it?

  Her inertia caused her mother to clap her hands together a little too cheerfully. “All right, up and Adam.”

  Emily sat up straight, too quickly. “Ouch,” she grimaced, hands reaching for her cranium. Her head was pounding and not just the area behind her ear. Although she could feel a sizable knot in that vicinity as well.

  That was real.

  Had the rest been real too? The stranger who grabbed her, the glowing face of her rescuers, riding on air? It seemed impossible yet the lump was unmistakable. Had someone hit her or had it been acquired by accident during one of her many falls when her drunken feet had stumbled over roots?

  Too much to process with a hangover. For surely that’s what she had.

  A throbbing ache covered all of her brain, pulsating, like it had suddenly grown too big for the confines of her skull. Her mouth was unusually dry. She needed to get some water. A lot of water.

  The utterance had passed through her lips without thought of her mother, who was a licensed pediatric nurse.

  Wearing a concerned expression, Mom walked over to more closely examine her. Leaning down she looked into Emily’s eyes and drew in a sharp breath. Wrinkling her nose, her own lighter cobalt eyes grew wide with definite unease as she obviously recognized the odor.

  “Emily! Why are your eyes bloodshot? Have. You. Been. Drinking?”

  Emily’s bloodshot peepers went wide.

  Not wishing to toss Sam under the bus, after all she still wanted to ride in the hay wagon, that wouldn’t happen if he got grounded. She held her tongue if unable to avoid the guilty flush that crept across her young, pale features.

  “You have.” Accusation and disapproval were clear in her mother’s tone.

  Admitting that she’d sampled the rum without implicating her brother, Emily received a lecture first from her mother then her father about the dangers of liquor at her age. They need not have worried.

  Whether the events in the forest had been real or a Captain Morgan induced nightmare, the apprehension and confusion the day produced was enough to keep her away from alcohol until she was legally allowed to drink it.

  Her first sip of beer didn’t happen until she was 21, even then she hadn’t immediately developed a fondness for the malted beverage.

  Wine on the other hand she used for cooking, one of her other passions in life, next to writing. Her finicky taste for it had sharpened on par with her skills in the kitchen. Luckily her parents’ anxiety had slackened over the past decade and they no longer worried about her becoming a lush.

  Of course by the time their initial lectures about the degenerative effects of alcohol were done, her conscious mind had forgotten about the stranger and her rescuers.

  But not her subconscious.

  Each had come back to her dreams, several times. Events played out consistently; she’d been tipsy, lost, grabbed, punched, groped and saved.

  Bright sunlight streamed around the edges of the mini-blinds covering the front windows of her apartment, sending reassuring beams through the space as she wondered what triggered the reappearance of her childhood mystery.

  The bridge it had created to that hazy, distant memory left her feeling unsettled. She didn’t like the feeling, preferring to have control over her life and surroundings.

  In the past a conscious decision had been made, choosing to let those impressions drift away, over the years becoming more detached. There they had remained...until now.

  An obscure feeling persisted in the back of her mind, making her feel that she should grab this chance to re-examine the recollections that she’d allowed herself to forget. So she did.

  Concentrating on the dream, frame by frame. Each image flickering through her thoughts then floating away like a leaf on the wind as it falls from a tree in the autumn. Kinda like her rescuers, she mused sarcastically, not without humor.

  The more s
he thought about it, replaying the dazzling images, the more it all blurred together losing coherence in the process, not making any sense in the repetition.

  A nagging suspicion bothered her like she needed to prepare for something in anticipation of events to come. Was the bad dream a warning? Of what?

  She frowned at the prospect.

  No matter how logically she examined the dream or her memory, there was no rational explanation for being able to travel on a puff of air. People didn’t do that.

  Max whined.

  Resigned, she shook her head ruefully as if trying to dislodge the tangled snapshots in her mind. More pressing matters needed attention at the moment, like letting Max outside to do his business before he had an accident on the hardwood floor.

  Cleaning up a puddle or a pile of poo was absolutely not the way she wanted to start her weekend.

  “Come on Max,” she called, rising from the bed and heading to the back door. She paused before opening it, rubbing her forearm. The skin was clammy. A glaring notion accompanied the sensation that the world felt wrong. She could sense it, clinging to her almost like something icy had seeped into her pores.

  Solemn brown eyes looked up at her, Max was waiting.

  “Something’s wrong,” she told him reaching for the latch, as if that explained her delay. “What is it?” she mumbled to herself. Distracted.

  Max gave a small whimper indicating the increasing urgency of his need to go.

  She opened the door to let him run in the back yard. He took off like a rocket, propelling himself off the deck in his haste. Rushing over to a boxwood shrub, he paused long enough to sniff the base suspiciously before deciding it was okay to do his business.

  Standing just inside the threshold, Emily peered out. Edging forwarding slightly, she leaned against the door frame glancing right and left. There was nothing unusual in the yard. Still, she couldn’t shake the unsettling mixture of emotions the old nightmare had spawned. Trying to calm herself she took a deep breath and exhaled. The morning air was fresh and cool. It helped. Surely she wasn’t the only person dealing with disturbing dreams.