Thirteen Crucifixions, 80

He couldn’t sleep.  Not that he could tell what time it was, since there weren’t any clocks in the house.  But Stefan could tell that it was very late.  He could smell the ocean in the cool breeze blowing in through the open window and didn’t have to strain his ears for the trickling splash of the fountain.  He wondered where Leticia was sleeping.  She hadn’t told him and he wasn’t about to find out.   Beautiful as she was, she was not there for sex or romance, and Stefan certainly was not in the mood.  How she had got here, and how she had lost her memory were questions he couldn’t begin to find answers to.  Perhaps he was already sleeping and this was a bizarre and prolonged dream he had yet to wake out of.  Perhaps he wouldn’t be waking at all.  Was this the afterlife?  And was this really Leticia?  But who else could it be?  He had known her instantaneously.  Maybe she was faking amnesia, but he was pretty sure that she wasn’t.  And this old couple running the place. Who were they?  What were they?  How could he get out of here?  He must somehow find a way out.  Find his way back.  Back where?  Outside of Melissa he had no one to return to.  Both his parents had disowned him. There was nothing left for him.  But here. This place.  Here he was, an allegedly expected, and he hoped, welcome guest in this extraordinary sumptuous house on a sprawling estate in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do but walk around and read books he wasn’t interested in and baby sit his former verification officer who was suffering from amnesia.  What could there possibly be left for him?  Maybe tomorrow he could cut his way through the bush back down to the beach.  He needed a machete.  There must be a tool shed somewhere on the grounds.

 

            The library, to his surprise, was much bigger than he’d expected, occupying three large rooms on the main floor of the house with stairs descending to an even larger basement section.  Some of the titles and authors he recognized.  Many of the books looked old, ancient, many written in Latin, or Greek, or French or German, Spanish, Italian. Some he recognized as texts on alchemy and magic.  Some seemed too strange to comprehend.  He came to a curved black iron banister and stairwell curving down to yet another level.  He took the dozen or so steps down.  There was an open door.  He stepped out into a slightly dimmed amphitheatre, a huge round room of terraced bleachers surrounding a rectangular platform.  But for the burgundy cloth that upholstered the bleachers the chamber was white and void of ornamentation. He sat down on one of the top bleachers.  He was beginning to feel tired, but lacked the energy or resolve to return to his bed.  He began to nod off, started awake, then noticed on his left a teenage boy sitting next to him, with dark golden hair and green eyes.  He was wearing a white collarless shirt and faded blue jeans.

            “Who are you?” Stefan asked.

            “Who would you like me to be?” the youth replied smiling.

            “How about the brother I never had?”

            “I am that for many.”

            “Is this your house?”

            “I am the guardian.”

            “Are you now?”

            “What would you like to know?”

            “I’d like you to tell me what I’m doing here.”

            “You were summoned.”

            “By who?”

            “By my master.  I am a servant of God.”

            “What is this place?”

            “This is a portal between dimensions.  You have just been prevented from destroying your own life and the lives of many others.”

            “Whose?”

            “You have already committed extortion.  Soon you were going to commit murder.”

            “That child molester?”

            “He’s coming here tomorrow.  Like Leticia he will have no memory.  He will be to you as a dependent child.  See that you do him no harm, but make good the money you have taken from him.  Take care of his needs.”

            “I’d sooner hold his head under in the fountain of forgetfulness until he breathes his last miserable breath.  He doesn’t deserve to live.”

            “No less than you.  They shall do no hurt anywhere in my Holy Mountain.”

            “So what are they doing here?”

            “They are being healed.  This is why they must forget.  Everything about their lives.  Only this way can they begin again as little children.  And only the truly childlike can truly remember.”

            “So they will get their memory back eventually?”

            “Once they have truly forgotten.  Then they can truly remember.”

            “What about me?  I haven’t forgotten.”

            “You haven’t become evil.  They have.  Therefore they must forget.”

            “But, by forgetting , won’t they just commit the same evil again?”

            “The evil has been taken from their natures, creating a great void.  This is why they lose their memory.”

            “So, what am I here for?”

            “You are being prepared for new work.  Soon you will be released into another part of the world with a new identity.  You will be one of our agents, and you will regularly report back to us everything that you see and hear.”

            With two fingers of his right hand he reached across and closed Stefan’s eyes.  “You will awake in your own bed”, he said, “And you will not remember this conversation until the appointed time.”

 

 

            The house was listed for sale.  She didn’t know how she had done it.  It was easier than she thought it would be.  Michael’s resistance to the idea had simply confirmed to Sheila that this was something that must be done.  She had long ceased from feeling safe in this house.  She was its hostage.  Now she was breaking free.  Michael and Glen had just left again for that religious community, leaving the young Lazarus sharing with her the kitchen table.  He asked if he could stay for a while, citing problems of theft and discord from his house-mates.  She didn’t see why not, rather liking the boy, even if she did find him difficult to reach. Sheila didn’t much care.  He was nice, quiet.  He seemed very considerate of others. Yes, she rather liked him indeed.

            “What are your plans today?” she asked him.

            “I have today off.  Okay if I hang here for a while?”

            “I don’t see why not. But I have to be out of here in ten minutes, so I hope you don’t mind being alone here.”

            “No.  Not at all.”

            “Well, I have to get dressed now.”

            “I’ll do the washing up.”

            “Thank you.”

            She had no idea where she was going.  Likely she would get an apartment somewhere.  Until yesterday, living anywhere else would have been inconceivable to Sheila.  Now she couldn’t understand how she could have consented to permitting this house, the spirit of his house, to hold her in its thrall for all these years.  This could only be a new life opening up for Sheila, which she greeted with a curious absence of emotion.  She looked out the dormer at the apple tree down below, that now seemed creepy, sinister.  Her keeper and her owner.  She did want to be out of here.  Even though she expected a handsome sum for the house she imagined she’d stay on at the West Wind for a while longer.  She needed to have something to do with her time.

            She had never seen her son, Michael, so happy.  At peace with himself.  Though this community seemed something too good to be true she earnestly, anxiously wanted it to work out for him.  She wasn’t sure exactly what she thought of Matthew being there as well.  She did feel quite over her resentment of him, especially after having decided that it was her son’s way of blithely exploiting him that had particularly set her teeth on edge.  And now?  She had to admit to herself that she was very curious about this place, and anticipated paying them a visit soon.  The thought of this community simultaneously warmed and frightened Sheila.  She left through the front door, then realized once she’d left the property that she’d forgotten to say goodbye to Lazarus.