―Benjamin Franklin
My mid-week meeting with Elias, my shrink, left me with more questions than answers.
He didn't outrightly dismiss the possibility I was accessing someone else's memories, but he suggested it might be more a 'hint' from my unconscious than a communication from the dead.
I suppose the fact I'm memory impaired didn't help but all in all, the session left me with the conclusion that it was up to me to figure out what was going on.
As Elias said, he was no Delphic oracle and I couldn't expect him to supply all the answers, so I figured I'd have to do that on my own and I knew just the person who could help me.
The next day at four I was patiently waiting in the library for Nat Cohen to finish up some paper work so he could give me a guided tour of Smokey Hollow.
I was eager to see the Grindstone Falls and particularly The Boulders, if only to prove that my flashbacks or visions were real.
But to tell the truth, nothing about this entire experience of being in West Harbour seemed real at all―it seemed more a case of brain fog where my own personal memories were mixed up with someone else's.
Finally Nat was ready and we hiked to the Falls, stopping momentarily to pick up take-out coffees from Time Horton's and a twenty pack of Tim Bits which were assorted doughnut holes that Nat just had to have.
How he managed to stay trim and fit consuming all this food was beyond me.
"Maybe I have a tapeworm," he quipped.
More likely a fast metabolism, I mused, since everything about Nat was vigorous and intense.
We walked down the winding road below The American House pub where I had previously experienced a deep feeling of familiarity and then left the road for a dirt path that wound through a wooded section.
I could hear the roar of the waterfall as we approached.
"This part of the Niagara Escarpment has dozens of waterfalls like this," Nat said between bites of Tim Bits, "but this one was connected with the lumber mill that was here until the 1970's."
"The mill was in operation until the 1970's?" I croaked, astonished at the fact. "The creek doesn't seem strong enough to power a mill."
"You're right," Nat agreed, "but most of the early mills converted to steam power, hence the pall of smog that hung over the valley and gave it the name, Smokey Hollow.
"And I thought the name was so romantic, reminding me of the mist that cloaks Niagara Falls."
But then I recalled my flashback of carving Lillian and my initials in stone and realized why it might possess that aura for me.
"Where are The Boulders you mentioned?" I asked Nat who was staring in awe at the cascading waters pouring over the limestone rocks.
Nat eyed me critically, "Well guy, I don't know if you're up to risking life and limb crawling down the ravine to find out."
I almost burst out laughing at the bespectacled, skinny librarian wondering if I were strong enough to navigate a mere fifty foot drop,
"I'm up to the task if you are, " I smiled.
"Let's do it," he chirped, eyes gleaming with excitement.
We mostly slipped and crawled down the tangled cliff until we reached the banks of the creek below.
I spotted two huge, moss-covered boulders and felt my heart stop inside my chest.
It was all exactly as in my vision and I even knew which boulder contained the initials.
Nat was scrambling over some river rocks about to approach The Boulders when I stopped him.
"I need to tell you something, " I whispered hoarsely, as though imparting some dread secret, "and I don't want you to freak out."
His eyes grew wide but he stopped and nodded solemnly.
I surprised myself at that instant. I hadn't planned ahead how I would handle the situation.
It was a watershed moment. I was about to entrust Nat with the secret of my life and had absolutely no idea how it would all turn out.
I only knew two things―the initials of the girl I loved were carved there and I wanted to share that moment with the only person in West Harbour I truly trusted.