the fact that because he was on prescription, most of what he was saying remained barely audible.
Returning to room I picked up the phone and dialed Sharon and found that only her voice recorder was on. I was suddenly frustrated and feeling locked out of being able to acquire more knowledge. Looking to the time, I decided it was now my turn again to join into the dream to find out what the others were up to. To aid me into getting there, I resorted to Frank’s sleeping pills and readied myself with the deep breathing practices, all the while concentrating on Frank’s house occupied by him and the other players within the unfolding game of truth and lies.
The room was in almost total darkness except for that of the faint glow that emanated from outside of the window. Peering out beyond the yard, across the street to the far lamppost, stood two individuals, one that I assumed to be that of Annie and the other remained a mystery. Both silhouetted figures stood motionless and appeared to be in the waiting. The shorter of the two, that being Annie, stood upright while the taller appearing male figure, leaned his weight against the pole and looked to have his arms folded over his chest.
Suddenly, like a blast of day light, the interior of the house lit up having me to momentarily shield my eyes for protection. Caught off guard by the presence of another person in close proximity, I recoiled back to the bed as I waited for the young woman to acknowledge my presence. In the all-encompassing silence, I continued to observe the now familiar attractive lady of no more than the age of twenty, dressed lightly in summertime attire, pacing back and forth in an indecisive manner, searching her mind for an answer.
Appearing very distressed over her very important matter, she momentarily threw her hands towards the heavens as if asking for some reprieve from an issue she was dealing with. Biting at her thumbnail while her eyes closed down with prayer, the beautiful brunet was distraught and seemed just short of panic.
Perking her head up and casting her sight of concern out beyond the doorway, her feet hesitated to move but soon carried her nimble frame down the hall. Still fascinated with the reality of not being noticed, I paced slowly behind her until I also was well within the living room. Looking on as she attended to her child who lay in safety at the corner of the room, she leaned down, elevated the new born then settled the infant within her loving embrace. Gently rocking the crying infant to calm, the young mother’s nerves seemed to melt within the connecting gaze.
Becoming startled at a new arrival, the mother and I both simultaneously turned as another individual suddenly stepped into view. Settling slightly back, I watched on in partial disbelief as a young version of Frank stood close to the mother and infant and intervened with an attempt at additional comfort. Breaking away suddenly with a look of utmost concern, he took his attention to the window then briskly moved beyond the door to the out side.
Without discernment of being noticed any longer, I placed my perspective to the window and viewed out into the day light as the young Frank was now street side interacting with the post man. Passing a brief wave goodbye and holding a handful of letters, Frank than disappeared into his upstairs unit while the young woman remained beside me, bathing her child with those big beautiful eyes of love.
Moving up through the narrow corridor divide, Frank’s lone voice suddenly came to life and echoed a dominant rant over the entire space. The origin of his pleading tone of high concern remained concealed until I moved my perspective though the shadows of the passageway, where I then looked on and marveled as the young Frank of twenty some years, was being dictated to by the much older version I had come to know.
Stepping within to the confines to get a closer look, I watched on as the younger Frank swiftly sorted through the paper mail then paused momentarily, extracting one particular piece from the few letters held in his hand. Studying the letter head closely, he purposefully separated it from the rest and placed it within a nearby desk drawer. Witnessing the act, Frank senior, tried with continuous attempts to grab at the letter from its new hiding place.
“You don’t know what this is leading to, just listen to me damn it and let her have the letters… I’ll do it then, just move out of my way”.
With a building frustration, Frank senior began reaching out and around the desktop and attempted to take hold of the contents within the full hands of his former self. But it was all to no avail. Disappointed, he reasserted his focus and charged to the window. Leering out across the way, he began to beat his fist down onto the window sill seemingly ready to explode.
“I am going to change things around you know. You just keep standing out there and watching; you’ll see”.
Witnessing closely the ongoing actions of a human being experiencing two separate time lines of oneself, it was during this observation that I realized, as observers of this given time line, both Frank Sr. and I, we were just that, observers. While we remained free to look on to that which was all around us, the ability to interact, manipulate or challenge any detail while being of witness to this other time in his history, was impossible. What had been done was done for good.
Marveling at the newly accepted reality to have the conscious ability to inspect so vividly one’s own single life being played out on an entirely different point in history was frighteningly amazing. While Frank seemed so determined in somehow forcing an interaction with his younger self, my ongoing observations begged to know why it was that Frank was so interested in recreating what he had previously acted out. What was it about these letters? And then suddenly it struck me as I ventured my mind back to the word content written on the letters left by Grace.
While soaking in this one moment of revelation, another reality was pressed upon me one that had me knowing I was being watched.
While it was now evidently true that time travel to one’s own history was possible, it became instantly known at that moment that while the younger version of Frank could not be of witness to the presence of his future self, Frank Sr. could indeed and was in fact able to view another individual who had also chosen to view that very same time in history. That other individual was me.
Meeting his startled eyes from across the room, he then suddenly vanished, living me scanning out into the empty living space of his upstairs unit. Taking his place at the window, I looked out onto the bright sunny day to see Frank from yester year, pulling away from curbside in his vintage dull green Ford pickup truck.
Now, within in the familiar downstairs unit, I looked on as the dismayed young mother in distress, directed her voice of concern onto the kitchen phone that evidently, by the way she reluctantly and slowly released it to the floor, was unable to connect though to her intended destination.
Following the distraught mother back to the guest bedroom, I looked on in question as she relinquished several folded pieces of paper from inside the cut of her dress. Within an arm’s reach away, I watched as she carefully removed the antique mirror off the wall and neatly concealed her secret within its frame. In doing so, her actions made it quickly apparent that she had lost all trust, as she had discovered Frank meddling in her personal affairs.
Dislocating from what was and transitioning over through the thin membrane of the separated realities, I suddenly found my being in a state of paralysis, seemingly awake but without abilities to either see or move. Being pinned down to my horizontal position, I remained at the mercy of a heavy physical force laying a tremendous pressure down on my chest. A momentary prisoner with the grips of an unknown assailant, I suddenly burst into the waking of another reality. Remaining perfectly still while slowly roaming my eyes about the room, I gradually adjusted to the dim of light that settled its faint glow upon the lifeless features of Franks face. With eyes wide and an even breath, I anticipated he was in the waiting for my return.
“Frank… how are we doing”?
Without an initial change of expression or a response to my presence, the silence was deafening but soon ended when he suddenly jerked forward into motion and wheeled himself around the corner. Gathering myself slowly, I was now well aware and certain that Frank was also cognoscente about the shared abilities of traversing between the two time lines. Our shared space was divulging truths that had now cornered our relationship into a reality of no hidden secrets.
Pulling the curtains open and letting in the light of day, I gradually drifted my eyes around the room, first stopping for a moment at The Reminder whose eyes and face was now of a perfect match to that of the distressed mother I viewed moments ago.
Quickly moving my intentions onto the hanging mirror, I momentarily spied around the corner and down the hall and noted that Franks frame was enshrouded within the blue light emanating from the computer screen. With my attention back within the room, I lifting the mirror off the wall exposing its backside and to my subtle surprise, found no contents hidden within it. Breaking the buildup of tension, the tone of my cell phone was a welcoming distraction from the over bearing silence. I had a quick exchange with Sharon and agreed to meet with her within the hour to compare and connect all the converging events.
Pulling the car to a stop, Sharon was already sitting to her self on an out side table with a coffee in one hand while speaking into here cell phone with the other. Shuffling through the sparsely crowded coffee shop, I returned out side with my drink and found she was off the phone and waiting.
“Never a dull moment, I got word this morning that our Mr. Tucker has obviously come out of his coma, he escaped from the hospital sometime last night and is apparently at large. The authorities are not treating this one lightly I can tell you that much”.
Sitting back in silence, I began to revisit where my relationship with Mr. T had started and how it was now that the only way to reach him was now solely through dream scenes. He obviously had something more to share but it remained up to him as to when that was going to play out.
“Here’s the written transcript from Annie Blackwood’s two previous sessions. I might add that she has changed up her desired sleep time starting just after sun up and remaining spotty through out the day. It is also evident that she has had a lot more to say as of late”.
Handing me the sheet of paper, my mind began to just absorb the words on the page when a memory sent me mentally scouring back trying to locate and connect the reference to the name Sharon just dropped.
“What did you just say? Annie’s last name…did you say Blackwood”?
Nodding in agreement with some trepidation, Sharon’s eyes played caution to what underlying next potential lay waiting to be discovered.
“Why Peter what is it”?
“I was left with missing persons information…I would have to check to be sure, but I am positive that the name was also Blackwood”.
Pressing for time and resorting back to the transcript, I was surprised by the extent of dialogue and its straightforward message towards personal growth. It read more like a long guide of spiritual teachings than her normal short, random display of seemingly disconnected words. Gliding my eyes down the page, it wasn’t until I reached the end that I again seemed to be an integral part of why this was all being exposed.
“Forgiveness towards self and others will be your ultimate success – digest, accept, and let go of your past – confront and embrace who you are today – Peter has no use for your self pity”.
Straightening up in my seat, I repeated the last line, reading it out loud. Sharon sat forwards and looked at me with increased interest as she anticipated I had my own side of the analysis to share.
“Sharon, I have been led into something here, thanks to Grace, and it’s now easy to believe that Mrs. Blackwood is in fact acting as an intermediary between this present world and a world from some years back. I am now seeing her in every dream and not just her but Frank, Mr. T, and a distressed young mother as well. We are being brought together…she is showing us the past, she is willing us to face the past on hopes of setting the stage for a better future”.
“What are you experiencing Peter, what are you being shown”?
“It’s all so real. So vivid… and I am witnessing past experiences of all these individuals but the amazing part to this all is, it is now evident that Frank and Mr. T are able to access and have chosen to view their past selves at a particular times in history. I on the other hand…it’s as if I am being taken on a guided tour by Annie, exposed to important moments of their past… and I am sure, we who are having these dreams, are all aware of each other’s existence in these various dream settings, most of which is occurring at 21 Sheer Oaks Dr.”.
Pausing and mentally analyzing over all the sequential details being laid out before me, I was finding that fascination had now bypassed all fear.
“Mr. T, he was talking to me just as I am talking with you now…he shared his brutal time at war…that poor tormented man. And Frank…he did not talk to me, I would say he even ignored me…but I know we caught eyes just before he disappeared during our last dream together...I am positive he sensed me. And well, Annie, she is just there…as a guardian figure, as a balance, and a guide”.
“And this mother you mentioned?”
“Yes, going off my initial and ongoing reaction towards the eyes of The Reminder, a few pictures, letters, and…, and the dreams…now these last dream time observations…I can’t help but not think that am I seeing my mother. Is this who this individual is and if so, what does Frank have to say about this. What happened in that house? Am I being given the opportunity to find out what I has always been hidden from me”?
“Well going off what I have shared with you before regarding re-incarnation, why this is all taking place seems to be evidently adding up to something big. There now appears to be two ways in which you can become certain of this, one, you ask one of them and Frank is your best bet, and really the only option at this point. And two…”
“I can’t ask him…or I don’t want to ask him. Look, if this is all in fact possibly true, and it’s evident to me that it is because of what I have witnessed, that he is hiding historical events that occurred within his house that directly pertain to me. That has become evidently clear. Annie is playing an integral part in revealing something significant that happened years ago at 21 Sheer Oaks Drive. I think the best and only way forward is to continue with what has been working already”.
Looking to Sharon, I now knew all I needed to know but more importantly, I knew I had the tool and was close to uncovering the one long buried painful incident of my past. The cause of the wounds inflicted years ago were about to be revealed and with that I was about to be released forever.
“Sharon we need to again coordinate the next dream time session. I think we are right on the edge of something major revealing itself”.
“What are you imagining Peter?”
“Look, I need to be right there when they both decide to go back in. The group of us needs to meet and to come clean about what ultimately went on in that house so many years ago. It can’t be accessed any other way because Frank is not willing to come clean as he would have already, Annie…does not have the ability to coherently communicate outside of dreams, and Mr. Tucker is gone”.
“Peter. I must admit this is scaring me. Do you think Frank is stable enough to be trusted if in fact what you have said about him being able to have an over view of the past as well? Do you think it wise to place yourself in a vulnerable position with him knowing you are now aware and close to revealing something he does not want to be revealed”?
Looking to my watch, I reasoned that Frank had another hour of time before he headed for another sleep but I wanted to be back before it happened. Dismissing her concern, my mind was already gearing up for the next eventual experience beyond the veil.
“Can you do me one more favor Sharon”?
“I will try”.
“Try again to get me more information on the domestic assault charges filed against Mr. T. I want to know the exact details of where and what he was involved with. Also, I am very curious as to know more about the past of Annie. What is her family back ground and does she have any siblings, surviving or otherwise”?
Along the drive back to the house, I was in the mental throws of trying to discern just what reality really was. I found myself trying to slide back to the belief that dreams where just that; dreams. My rational mind spoke against the possibilities of Frank or anyone else really having a conscious part of these dreams. But the more I tried to build statements against what was being shown right in front of me; the futility of trying to prove it otherwise, was winning out the argument.
By the time I pulled curbside at 21 Sheer Oaks, I had made up my mind and was ready to confront Frank on multiple issues. The time for guarded subtle is was over.
Stepping through to the lower unit, the entire dwelling remained cloaked in dark as all lights remained off and all curtains where still pulled to a close. Within the concealed stillness, the sobbing sounds of Frank, gave indication of his location within the kitchen.
Starting in the kitchen, I immediately opened up the surrounding curtains and began to get as much of the days waning light back into the room as possible. With out saying a word, I moved swiftly through the other rooms until the whole of the downstairs was filled with a warm glow of illumination. Returning back to the kitchen and turning on the overhead light, I settled just to the other side of the table and faced Frank. Throwing the aged black and white picture that depicted the two couples posing in front yard to the top of the table, I watched as the broken man continued to ball like a child.
“Does this picture look familiar to you Frank”?
Still not willing to acknowledge my presence, he remained separated with his face covered over by his trembling hands. With no surprise, the guest room door slammed shut, helping to accentuate my inquiry. A slow but steady dimming of the overhead light followed. Within a few short moments, only by the aid evening’s filtered orange sunlight, could Frank face still be seen.
“There are a few mysteries we need to discuss Frank and I am ready when you are”.
As the daylight within the room began fade and all the discernible features were becoming consumed by shadows, I patiently waited for him to come to calm and when he finally did, he suddenly turned from that broken man, to the man of the house. Straitening up with a sure expression as he brushed his eyes passed the photograph on the table, he then met my eyes with as much vindictiveness as was witnessed within the last dream. Re-positioning his wheel chair without unlocking his gaze, he pulled hard at his chairs wheels and left through the entry way in an instant.
Standing abruptly, I followed out to the entryway and watched on as Frank grunted and groaned himself into a place of comfort on the couch. Grabbing at his newspaper and flashlight, he buried himself deep and away without looking up to meet my concerns. I knew then, as mentioned to Sharon prior, that the only way to get any further answers, was going to be though dream state. It would not be long before he escaped back beyond the divide, but I still hesitated and waited to see if he was going to break from the awkward silence, but the buzz of my phone disengaged the opportunity.
Stepping back into the kitchen, I emptied the bottle of sleep pills on the table and readied a strong dosage for myself while answering the incoming call.
“Peter here”.
“Hi Peter, just wanted to mention that Mrs. Blakewood has just drifted off to sleep. It usually is an hour or so before she really gets active though like I mention as of late, things seem to be out side of pattern. Ahh… the files for Mr. T have become hard to come by being that we are dealing with an escapee. I will keep trying and let you know if I get a hold of anything on that front…but Peter…I did do some digging around about Mrs. Annie Blackwood…A long time staff member here at the hospital, informed me that the one surviving family member, a lady who years ago, used to come by frequently to help out, recently died. Peter, her name was Grace Oalmstead”.
Standing idle, I closed my eyes in partial disbelief as the next revealing exposed itself. The knowledge of the family circle was stringing itself complete, and truth about its broken past was just about to be uncovered.
“Peter are you o.k.”?
“Fine, fine… I am just here at the house…waiting. I will give you call at around midnight and thanks for the update”.
Returning back out to the living room, Frank was now just falling back into nap mode. Seeing that, I gathered the curtains to a close once again and quickly chased the four pills down with a glass of cool water and headed back to the spare room. Taming my questioning mind, the many lines of visual distractions began to meld and blur until all faded adrift towards the dream.
Finding myself standing at the beginning of the elongated dark hallway of the down stairs unit, my attention was momentarily captured by a dominant energy signature radiating off an outside influence being that of Annie Blackwood. Like an angelic guardian, she remained again illuminated under of the far lamppost overseeing the final revelation. With my attention back to that which was before me, all immediate sensations remained dark, but soon expanded out into the distance where scant traces of light that escaped out from around and behind two closed doors.
A third door, which was that of the guest bedroom, remained off by its self-appearing darker and void of any apparent light. Approaching the first door of light without hesitation, the divide quickly dissolved and I found I was caught momentarily breathless at the sight of such a stunningly beautiful day. The vivid hues of nature’s green and blue seemed to envelope and enhance everything within the surrounding area. From my perspective, I stood looking on to Twenty-One Sheer Oaks Drive and watched as the classic Ford green pickup pulled in close to curb where a young couple hopped out and into the radiant sun and skipped off arm in arm towards the front of the house.
Within the day’s pristine stillness, Mr. T and his partner were then greeted by another couple who appeared suddenly from the house, playfully pushing at each another, till all four stood gathered together out in the empty yard. Pouncing out behind them, young Frank who was wielding camera in his hand quickly positioned himself in attempt to capture the moments of fun.
Stepping close, I looked on with intrigue as the familiar poses taken by the two couples began to play themselves out. Young Grace danced about circling her lover Ben while the other couple followed suit, all taking turns posing with care free fun expression. Frank the photographer and director seemed caught in continues laughter at the hysterical follies being played out before him.
Now among and within them all, I began to take in the details of the faces of those hidden within the worn old photograph. Moving in unison with the attractive couples every turn, I was able to inspect at close range, every detail of both their happy faces. It was with out a doubt that I was looking at a much younger, clean cut and fit, Mr. Tucker. His beautiful lover I recognized as the distressed mother from the most recent dream.
Drifting then back into the darkened hallway and with the initial vision fading to the void, I turned my attention to the second door and proceeded from the darkness and was again enveloped by the glow of the late afternoon light, spreading its warmth upon the gathering of twenty or so people. A large banner draped over the backdrop that read “proud of our troops / make it home safe”. All age groups remained present and seemed to be helping the clean up of what looked to be the sendoff celebration for those heading out for a tour of duty.
My attention shifted and was now gravitated to a group of woman who collected them selves to the side of the house. Standing in a tight circle, they took turns comforting one another as all seemed to be sharing a similar burden of having to say goodbye to loved ones. I looked on to watch as Grace held hands with the familiar brunet named Monica, both had little control over their emotions as streams of tears trailed down across their sad faces. Joining the group and trying to soften the impact of the moment, both Ben and Robert Tucker embraced their ladies and through soft words spoken, tried to add some tender reassurance.
With a blinding flash came a change of scenes and as my eyes readjusted and looked out to where the crowd had once been gathered, all were now gone, that is except for the lovely Monica. Under the protective shade of the overarching branch of the front yards Oak tree, the young beauty swayed freely alone within Franks tree swing. Seemingly comfortable and very much at ease, she rested one open hand upon her very pregnant self while in the other she held a letter.
After a time in the waiting, she forced herself from the comforts of the swing and reluctantly re-positioned herself over to the mailbox. Shading her eyes with the letter in hand, Monica peered down the empty road in hopeful expectation of the arrival of postal service. Seemingly restless and hot under the mid-morning sun, she subtly kissed at the letter before placing it within the mail box.
In the next instant, I had an over the shoulder view of young Frank who had a handful of letters within his loose grip. Flipping through them slowly, I could just steal a glimpse of the few posted names on the letter heads. Monica was written in large handwriting while the next was presented in formal typing with the name of Robert “Bobby” Tucker printed over the letter head.
With a face covered over in deep contemplation, Frank continued to tap the letters in the palm of his hands as if debating his next move. With a clear break away from previous thought and a decision made, he turned his attention to the low burning flames within his outdoor barbecue. Tossing all the letters to the grill, he utilized a short metal prod to stir at the burning bits of paper till only ash remained.
Back outside and now observing over to the distance of the far roadside, I noticed still standing in the dark was Annie Blackwood. No longer standing in an idle calm, she waved one arm in a repetitive motion, signaling me to be near her. In the next instant, I was by her side where her focus was directed down at our feet and into a pool of still water. With close observation, I caught view of myself from an above perspective appearing fast asleep in the bed of the spare room.
With a sudden expanding observation, my vision now encompassed the living room where I watched as old Frank dropped himself into the tight confines of his wheel chair. Appearing in pain, he wheeled himself to the kitchen, made his way to the closet door and retrieved his rifle. Laying the fire arm across is lap; he redirected himself down the hall towards my sleeping body in the spare room.
At the dismay of Annie Blackwood, I looked up from the puddle and redirected my perspective to the point of view of standing just to the outside of the homes entry way. I looked on with eager eyes as the younger much wilder looking Robert Bobby Tucker stormed the house with an apparent rage of aggression. Stepping just into my line of perception, he was abruptly met to the outside by young Frank, who quickly closed the door behind him. While both exchanged heated words, Robert Bobby Tucker, the more aggressive and aggravated of the two, seemed at wits end and readied himself for a physical altercation.
As the apparent argument carried on, the familiar voice of Annie Blackwood came to me with the stern warning that my life was now in danger. Not knowing at which reality to put my full attention too, I decided against pulling back and remained transfixed with the time line that was taking place between both the two younger men.
The pace of everything went suddenly into a blur as to the surprise of all, Monica opened the door and while holding her infant boy with one hand, covering over her mouth in disbelief with other, Robert Bobby Tucker, while keeping his eyes of accusation fixed on Monica, forced himself indoors and soon lost his patience with all that he was seeing. At this point all turned to pandemonium as Monica set her child down and tried to calm her Bobby while Frank disappeared briefly only to return with his rifle in hand. While Monica backed away briefly in disbelief, Bobby charged at Frank and a wild wrestling match ensued.
It’s at that point when my minds passed regressions began to merge together with what it was I seeing in front of me now. All the hysteria breaking loose from the tall clay like figures moving violently in front of me, it was all so familiar when suddenly I found my focus move to a vantage point just behind the young boy and watched on with eager eyes as everything slowed towards the unveiling.
With the realization that I was witnessing my childhood trauma playing out in front of me is when the sudden flash and crack of the gun firing sent both my selves into a jolt of fear and panic. These sensations were soon overcome by the gruesome visual impact of the now motionless body of my mother who laid bloodied and staring out at me with those big beautiful hollow eyes of fear. As I reached out from the confines of my pen, trying to touch her lifeless body, both men continued to roll violently through the room.
Suddenly breaking free, Frank fired off another shot that sent my father falling away and down but not before striking his head violently against the sharp corner edge of a wooden table.
With two people laying unconscious at his feet and my younger self-crying hysterically, Clarence ‘Frank’ Henderson, hoisted me out of the pen and held me close trying to calm my shattered nerves. Now at the window, he peered out with me screaming in his arms, breathing hard and stunned at the reality of how everything just played out.
Numb, I watched on as Frank feverishly went about wrapping Monica’s body within bed sheets while taking time to intermittently leer out of window, on so doing, making sure no one was approaching the home.
With shovel in hand and the corps lying over his large right shoulder, I watched on as Frank lumbered through the carport and onto the outside, under the waning light of dusk. Now up the hill for the purpose of burying the body, I watched on as Frank worked at a ferocious pace preparing the shallow grave, where he then laid the body of Monica just next to and practically under the large gray boulder.
Back in the house and in a new pair of cloth, Frank, appearing past the stage of shock, instead conducted himself in a premeditated manner as he then resorted to the rifle again. Settling to the floor and pointed the barrel in towards the thigh of his left leg, Frank fired off another shot and instantly began reeling from pain. Gathering his energy to reach the kitchen phone, he evidently reported the incident then sat in waiting just across the room and looking on to his onetime best friend’s unconscious body of Bobby Tucker.
With a faint call that soon echoed out into a holler; I turned my perspective onto a now much older Frank. Sitting just next to my sleeping self while resting the rifle high on the arm of his wheel chair, I watched on as he suddenly then raised the butt end of his weapon and released it down hard to the side of my head. With the blunt force of the blow, all visual vertices slipped away and faded to black.
With a wondering mind circling over the incoming sensations, Franks familiar slow and out of sync humming over the top of Etta James song was followed by darting surges of pain emanating from my forehead. A warm paste of liquid continued to slowly move itself down across my face as my mental mind began to scurry for explanation.
My upper body was limp and hung in forward suspension with my shoulders and arms aching due to being pulled taught and bound hard around behind me. Below that, my legs and feet remained lifeless and in feeble disarray. As the mental searching for understanding my predicament began to break clear of the momentary amnesia, a slow and timid opening of my eyes revealed a concrete stairwell that led up to the shadows of a partially concealed doorway. It was now evident that I had become a prisoner within Frank’s downstairs basement.
Peering through the stable vision of one eye and slowly lifting my head, my gaze crawled up from the feet upwards to his firearm companion, and onto Frank’s full body that remained parked atop an undersized chair. Sheltered within the weak light emitted from the stationary single bulb that hung from a thin cord off the rough cement ceiling, Frank remained with his eyes closed; swaying gently back and forth to the sound of his beloved Etta James hit song. With the smoldering rhythmic sound of At Last filtering down over the enclosed room from above, Frank passionately telegraphed the longing of his lost love with the parading and waving of letters, those confiscated letters that were destined for another heart so long ago. Adjusting my vision beyond him and on to the wall which supported The Reminder, the beautiful self portrait of the lady we both once knew continued staring out with her all-knowing eyes, almost appearing grateful that the long awaited reunion was now over. The union of reconciliation was potentially at hand.
With the first round of the song at its end, we both sat for a time in the momentary silence under an ever increasing slow rotation of the dull flickering light above. Our dark human shadows now rolled and roamed from one side of the room to the other, melding within the duplicity found within the facial features of both Frank and of The Reminder.
