The Eyes of Midnight

by Mark Holtzclaw

Drew had grieved all week after Karen had left so abruptly. And just like before, she had rejected him again without any explanation or goodbye. A part of him had been ripped out when she left, and a portion of his soul was gone. Grandmother said that Karen had found another job with better pay. But how he wished he could speak with her again, even for one last time. But now his only companions were despair and loneliness.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, Karen took the bus into Maryvale. A patchwork quilt of farmland and countryside flew by the window, as she thought about what to say. She would go and reason with Maude, and explain that what she was doing was not helping her grandson. She would have to find the right words to smooth things over and set things right. He had already suffered one terrible loss when Dalice left. How could a repeat performance make things better? And if worse came to worse, would Karen grovel? She had tasted a day in paradise, walked in a garden like Eden, experienced intimacy and love; but now she wanted it back. Before Karen had met Drew, she was a zombie in the scheme of life. Going through the motions, but never truly participating. And she yearned to live again, to breathe the fresh air of Drew Lamont.

  The bus came to a stop at her destination. Karen got off and found her way to Penfield Lane. She remembered the first time she had arrived here and how difficult it was to find the place. And now that she knew its secret location, she found herself stalling for time, for Karen was afraid. How would Maude react when she saw her? Would she threaten her or call the police?

  Perhaps she should check on Drew first and make sure he was alright. She longed for him, to be held again in the warmth of his skin, with his blood pulsing against hers.

  Karen cautiously stepped through the forest of evergreens, keeping a watchful eye out for the old woman. Here a gathering of willows, there the pond, and finally Drew's cottage. She stepped onto the porch and peered through the window. There he sat by the fireplace, hypnotized with the MP3 player she had brought. Was that a smile upon his face, as he listened to the unique rhythms of her voice?

  She raised her hand to knock, but stopped in midair. Perhaps she should speak with Maude first. So she retraced her steps around the pond to the front of the old Victorian house.

  Karen immediately found Maude in her usual spot sitting in the gazebo. She waved her hand at the old woman, but she did not wave back. She must be still upset with Karen. But as she grew closer to the gazebo, she noticed that Maude was sitting with her back to her, and did not see her coming.

  "Hey, Mrs. Waverly!" she called out.

  The old woman did not stir, maybe she was ignoring her.

  Karen stepped onto the gazebo to greet her.

  The old woman's face had turned a shade of horrible purple with flies swarming about. Karen let out a blood-curdling scream, for death was staring blindly back at her. And there was this stench of grape jelly emanating from dead woman's face. Karen gasped, and then choked on the odor of grape jelly mixed with the perfume of death. And then she remembered:

  Grape jelly - Purple bottle - Poison.

  On that moonlit night, one week ago, when Maude had asked her to leave, a very distraught Karen had set a purple bottle of poison down on the bedside table.

  Looking up at the house now, she had an awful thought. Was the bottle still there? Karen dashed into the house and ran up the stairs to that familiar spare room in the east corner. She checked the bedside table, but there was no sign of the bottle. Karen looked behind, and beneath and all around the room, but each time she came up empty. The bottle was indeed gone!

  She sat on the bed and tried to recall the events of that night. Karen had been looking at the bottle while she fell asleep, and remembered being angry with Maude for having to leave. When she woke up later that evening, she found herself in Maude's bedroom sitting at the vanity table.

  A rush of horror pulsed through Karen. Breathlessly she raced down the hall to the old woman's bedroom and stopped in terror. There it was, resting on the vanity table now, that familiar purple bottle with the word "Poison" emblazoned across it. Then she recalled how Maude had misplaced her reading glasses. Without her glasses she could not read the label, and she would mistake the sweet smell of grape jelly for perfume. Karen picked up the bottle and twisted the sprayer off. It was completely empty now. Maude had been repeatedly spraying herself with this poison all week. Those deadly toxins saturating her face, stinging her eyes, inhaling its fumes with her mouth, breathing it in her nose, absorbing it through all her pores, over and over again. She shuddered and dropped the empty bottle to the floor where it shattered.

  Karen realized that she had brought the poison in here, while walking in her sleep. Her heart was pounding in her throat. She was a murderer! What would she do now? What could she do? She would have to dispose of the body quickly. She could bury it in the lilac garden or better yet, she could tie cement blocks to the arms and legs; then let it sink to the bottom of the pond.

  What do guilty people do when confronted by their sins? And what would she do about Drew Lamont? How could she have an honest relationship with him ever again? She had murdered the only woman who had raised him, loved him, and taken care of him all of her life.

  Karen collapsed on the mahogany bed in tears. It was all over for her now. Either way she was damned and doomed. If she dared to divulge the truth, Drew would never speak to her again. But she must inform him of his grandmother's passing.

  She collected her composure, and examined herself in the vanity mirror. There she observed a disheveled young woman who had just been handed her own death sentence.

  As Karen found her way back to the cottage, she tried to form the words she would say. The door was unlocked, so she went inside. Drew was still listening to the MP3 player and did not hear her enter the room.

  "Drew," she called, "It's me, Karen."

  Flustered by the overlapping sound of her voice, he removed the headphones from his ears.

  "Is that you, Karen?"

  She ran across the room and threw her arms around him.

  "Yes, it's me," she consoled him, "And I regret everything that's happened. Your grandmother saw us in the garden last week and forbid me to see you."

  "What?" Drew exclaimed with astonishment.

  Karen explained everything that Maude had done.

  "And I'm afraid I have some other bad news," she continued.

  "Go on," he prompted.

  "Your grandmother is dead. I just found her in the gazebo."

  Drew turned away in disbelief.

  "I didn't see grandmother at all yesterday," he murmured, "I suspected something since she has a weak heart. So it's true then?" And then began to sob uncontrollably.

  Karen cradled Drew in her arms, trying to hold him together as he fell apart.

  "I'm here for you." she said soothingly.

  Drew squeezed her tightly.

  "Please Karen, don't ever go away." His voice was weak.

  "I promise you," she said solemnly, "that I'll never leave you again."

  But the thought grew in her mind that he would indeed leave her.

  * * *

  Three days had passed since she had discovered Maude's body in the gazebo. Drew had asked Karen to stay with him at the cottage. At night, he slept on the sofa, while she used his bed.

  In the middle of the night, Drew could hear her pacing back and forth. He could sense that something was troubling her, but he had been reluctant to say anything.

  Inside herself, Karen had been riding a rollercoaster of emotions. She would ascend a steep slope of guilt, only to come crashing down the hill of self-loathing.

  That afternoon, when she curled up beside him on the couch; Drew decided it was time for him to say something.

  "What's wrong?" he asked. "Did I do or say anything?"

  Karen felt helpless and miserable that he blamed himself for the crime she committed.

  "Please," he begged her. "You know you can t
ell me anything."

  "Anything?" she repeated. How could she tell him that she had murdered his own grandmother?

  Drew placed a hand on her.

  "I just want things to go back to the way they were before, remember?"

  Yes, she remembered. And she would give anything to turn back the hands of time, and revisit those perfect days with Drew in the garden. But unfortunately, those days like his grandmother, were gone now.

  And Karen knew that if she told Drew the truth, he would send her away.

  But could she call this living? Hiding the truth and living a lie, she would be forever in the dark; the blind leading the blind.

  Leaning forward, Karen began to weep. Drew placed a comforting arm around her, and wished there was something more he could do.

  After the tears stopped, she made up her mind to tell him the truth; even though it would cost her everything. But she must be true to herself and the one she loved.

  Clearing her throat, she stood up slowly and began the story of the purple bottle and missing glasses. Karen did not leave out a single detail, and after she finished there was a short silence.

  Suddenly Drew began to laugh, making her head spin in confusion. Had he listened to a word she said?

  "Why are you laughing?" she exploded.

  Drew motioned for her to sit down.

  "I apologize for laughing, Karen. But your innocence is so charming."

  Innocence, she thought. How could she be innocent of anything?

  "I don't understand what you mean."

  "Do you remember how grandmother asked Roger to get some supplies?"

  "Yes, I did an inventory on them." She recalled.

  "Well, one of the items she needed was perfume. Grandmother only uses a particular one by Christian Dior that comes in a purple bottle. The name of the perfume is "Poison".

  Karen never wore makeup or perfume, and was not familiar with brand names or what the bottles even looked like.

  “That’s one of the many things I cherish about you, Karen." he disclosed, “That you would never consider wearing perfume or try to be something that you’re not.” He stopped for a moment and added, “Grandmother would never allow any kind of poison or insecticide in the house. She always believed in letting things live.”

  Karen felt a wave of emotions descend upon her. The truth began to dawn on her about what he was saying.

  "So, you're telling me, I was spraying insects with designer perfume?"

  Drew chuckled at this.

  "Yeah that too,” he grinned, “And by the way, she found her perfume in your bedroom the day you left."

  Karen took a deep breath. So she had never even placed the bottle on the vanity table to begin with.

  "And you described the fragrance perfectly," Drew continued. "It does smell just like grape jelly."

  Karen heaved a sigh of relief. The weight of the past few days had been magically lifted from her.

  “Do you have a favorite color?” he asked

  “Yes,” she answered, “Sapphire blue, why?”

  Drew reached for her hand and laced his fingers through them.

  “Come on, I have something of my own to share with you."

  * * *

  Shovel in hand; they walked to the enclosed garden where Drew pointed to a specific location.

  "Fifteen years ago," he began, "Grandmother gave me something very precious. And in my heart I knew that when the time was right, it would surface again.” He paused. "Well, that time has finally arrived."

  He tapped the area with the shovel and passed it to Karen.

  "Will you do me the honor?" he asked.

  Karen began to dig, and after a few minutes she saw a brown fabric, it was burlap. Her new found freedom and excitement compelled her to dig further.

  After a while, Karen was able to reach down and pull the sack out of the ground.

  "Can I open it?" She glowed as if it were Christmas.

  "Of course, it's for you." he replied.

  She sat upon the grass, untied the end of the sack and reached her hand inside. When she withdrew her hand, she was holding an ornate silver music box.

  "That once belonged to my mother," he explained, "But now it belongs to you."

  "And you know how much I like music boxes." she remarked.

  Fascinated, Karen turned the key underneath, then unlatched the lid and opened it carefully.

  The lilting theme from the movie "Ice Castles" played.

  "That song," Drew commented, "is 'Through the Eyes of Love'. The poem you wrote me was 'Through the Eyes of Midnight.'"

  "How ironic." she mused.

  "Is it irony or destiny?" he smiled.

  Oh, but it's so elegant," she said, "I just adore it."

  "Have you looked inside yet?" he asked.

  Karen inspected the music box. There was a jewelry tray inside. And on the tray there was an exquisite sapphire ring. She could not believe her eyes.

  "I love sapphire. Is that for me?"

  "It's for the woman of my dreams," he declared, "the one I will marry someday."

  Karen looked at the ring and then back at Drew.

  "But wasn't that supposed to be for Dalice?"

  He seemed amused by this.

  "No, it was waiting all these years underground just for you; for Karen Bishop of Valley Home." Then he smiled. "Or should I say, Karen Bishop of Maryvale, who lives in a cottage with Drew Lamont."

  "But how could you know all this?" she reasoned.

  "Something inside me just knew." he said calmly. "You can call it instinct, a gut feeling, blind faith, or maybe just my heart." He stopped for a moment and tilted his head into the sky. "And I'm confident that I made the right choice, at the right time, with the right person. And that person is you, Karen."

  And so she embraced and kissed the man of her dreams. For Karen was also confident, without a doubt, that she was deeply loved… and in love.

  THE END