Tehom: The Tehom Legacy Book One

by S. Abel de Valcourt

  When Sandra regained consciousness the water had filled the tub and overflowed throughout the rest of the apartment. The cold water had wrinkled her skin and the convulsive shivering was painful. She cried out in pain as she lifted herself out of the bathtub and dried her face with a dirty towel that she had hung the night before. The blood on the towel she expected, the blood tinged water in the tub shocked her.

  Sandra took off her soaked clothes in an effort to get warm, the thinness of her skin due to the water made the effort difficult and painful. Her pants and shirt rolled off and she dried herself.

  She had met Isaac at school, a love at first sight relationship, they had been serious long before they really ever knew each other. Isaac had slowly over the years twisted into someone totally unrecognizable, the seeds of imperfection she had seen early but ignored had grown and dominated every portion of their lives.

  Sandra and Isaac had gone from driven success minded college students into vagabonds and drifters forced to move place to place each time Isaac’s actions got her fired at work, or he injured her to the point where she couldn’t work.

  Calling the police didn’t work, they would take a report and take him for a day. Then he would be back, to take his revenge on her. Atlanta was a long way from Austin, and people were far less mobile in this new society of the remnants of America. Even in the Republic of Texas, you had to have paperwork and filed forms to move from state to state. Sandra knew no one in Atlanta, they had moved for work. That was four jobs and two years ago.

  Feeling brave, she stood and made her way to look in the mirror, her broken nose was obvious and was still bleeding. Her left eye blackened and swollen nearly shut.

  I can’t go to work looking like this.

  Her naked body in the mirror disgusted her, the years of poverty and abuse had taken away her youth. Inside Sandra was strong, she both loved and hated Isaac and knew that after this three days from now everything would be fine, until the next time. A never ending cycle of ups and downs.

  You are smarter than this, why do you stay with him? Go back to Texas!

  Her brave words to herself had little time to saturate before doubt crept in. There was nothing left in Texas for her, no brothers or sisters, both of her parents passed. College debt kept her from attending school. She had allowed life to get away from her and she knew it. Every time she reached down to grasp the reins, Isaac would steal them away again forcing her down his path that she knew would lead to one, or both of them dying.

  All Sandra had left of herself was her music, even emaciated and abused her guitar folded itself between her arms and sang to her heart, and the heart of anyone blessed enough to listen. Her music could even soften Isaac’s rage and anger in the worst of his outbursts.

  So often she had been asked, “What are you doing out here? You should be playing on a stage somewhere!” meaningless words that faded as soon as the person tossed a few pennies into her guitar case and walked away.

  Once. Once I could have been great, not anymore. It’s too late.

  Sandra longed for her guitar and turned to pick it up, her shock and anger welled up when she found it in pieces, crumpled against the wall next to the door.

  Shock and anger soon gave way to sadness and regret as the last remnant of her life seemed to have been taken from her. The broken and beaten young woman cried and screamed as she lay on the floor. Her skeletal frame looked like that of an old woman despite her being only twenty seven.

  For a moment Sandra thought herself broken, beaten and destroyed. She remembered the years of guitar lessons and the smile on her father’s face when she played for him. She remembered the same smile on Isaac’s face the night they had met.

  Within her something twisted, something grew. Sandra didn’t know if it was anger, rage or pity she felt toward Isaac. In taking away her music he had done something far worse to her than mangle her face, bruised her arms, or shout hatred in her face. He had betrayed the life she should have had; he had gone to battle with the memory of her father. Sandra stopped crying and rose to her feet, a newfound strength found itself filling empty eyes.

  Most of her clothes had been in a bag on the floor and were soaked from the flooded apartment. Thankfully a pair of jeans and her phone were tossed on the extra bed in the room, undamaged. As she reached for it, the phone rang, an unfamiliar number.

  “Hello?” She answered, unsure and expecting a bill collector.

  “Miss Wright? My name is Simon Tehom, we met in Austin quite a few years ago, you were a street musician paying for an overpriced tuition.” Simon laughed slightly, unaware of the situation on the other end of the line.

  “Yes, I remember. What can I do for you Mr. Tehom?”

  “As you probably know we are working out the passenger lists for the Tehom One Generational Spacecraft, and I would like to offer you a slot if you are interested.”

  “This has to be a joke, why me?”

  “I don’t know what your life is like now, but I remember a beautiful young woman, talented and smart with a good heart and a love for children.” Simon could hear the tears on the other side of the line, “…my records show that you are unmarried, and have no children? I might be able to secure another…”

  Sandra interrupted, “No. It’s just me.”

  “So are you interested? It is a one way flight and would be a lifelong commitment; I like to compare it to the homesteaders of the great American west. An adventure.” Simon echoed the talking points of the recruiters hired to push the lottery advertisements.

  “Mr. Tehom, are you sure you want me? I… my life hasn’t been…”

  “Sandra, life has a way of running away with us. Even if our life is roses right now, this journey we are going to take is a fresh start. Nothing will be the same, for any of us.” The long pause that answered his words made Simon wonder if he had talked her out of it.

  “I’ll go. I’ll do it.” Sandra finally replied.

  “You will? Great! You will need to come to Texas, is a week enough time for you to prepare?” Simon worried about the short notice he was giving the people on his list.

  “Can it be today? I am… well, I am in need of rescue. Things are pretty bad for me right now. I need to get out of here.”

  “Miss. Wright I can have someone pick you up in less than an hour.”

  Formalities were exchanged and the phone finally went quiet, a car would be there to pick her up soon. Sandra looked around the small rented space; there were more empty beer bottles than food. The walls were stained with filth and the ceiling showed evidence of many years of tenants smoking cigarettes inside. Her own scattered belongings consisted of sopping wet clothes, most nearly a decade old, a pair of cowboy boots, her cell phone and a photo album. She walked over and picked up her broken guitar, unwinding the strings from the neck and breaking away the sharp pieces of the body. When she turned around and looked in the mirror she no longer recognized the girl that looked back at her, a photo album under her arm, a phone in her pocket and half a broken guitar in her hand. So much time had been lost, wasted and invested in a life given to someone else to lead for her. Sandra refused to let Isaac take away the pieces of herself she had managed to hide away.

  A new start.

  Simon’s words echoed back at her, the rich man from Texas had for some reason reached out to her not once, but twice and tried to save her life. Sandra aimed to meet him halfway this time.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” Isaac peered at her from the open door with a case of beer in his hands.

  Sandra turned and met his gaze but said nothing, looking at him in the eyes for the first time in years.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you. Or did I knock you deaf and dumb you stupid bitch?” He entered and set the fresh case of beer on the dresser knocking a few empty bottles on the floor.

  The steps and stride he took towards her were quick and solid, his body had sobered but his mind still clouded with misplaced hate and jealousy of her and her ta
lents. His hands wrapped around her throat and his eyes dug into hers as she tried to fight back.

  Behind Isaac a large man in a suit entered with two slightly smaller but still capable co-workers. The largest of the three rested his hand on Isaac’s shoulder.

  “That will be enough of that.” The man said in a deep voice that rang well into the range of bass.

  Sandra collapsed on the floor gasping for air, but alive and conscious. Isaac turned and met the man, pulling a knife from his belt.

  “Get outta my house, this ain’t none of your business!” Isaac shouted holding the knife aloft.

  The larger of the men simply smiled, “Miss Wright, I am here to collect you. Is there anything you need to bring with you? Belongings? Personal items? You are allowed a few; there is a box downstairs in the car.”

  “No, nothing. I have nothing of value left here. Just what I can carry myself.” She bent down and picked up her photo album and broken guitar.

  “Then we should be going, your flight to Texas leaves in less than an hour.”

  “Texas? You aren’t going anywhere!” Isaac shouted as Sandra walked out the door.

  “Miss Wright, would you like us to take out the trash?” The larger man said looking straight at Isaac.

  “Let it rot.” She replied walking with the two others who started asking her questions and briefing her on policy and procedures while having her sign forms.

  Isaac lashed out, misjudging a turned back as weakness as the troupe walked away to leave him alone in the apartment. Before Isaac had enough time to realize he had made a serious miscalculation, the knife was out of his hand and against his neck; the massive man pushed him into the wall and glared into him.

  “Didn’t your mother teach you manners? Right from wrong? You should be opening doors for your lady, not closing your fist you piece of shit.”

  The point was illustrated by a sharp jab to the stomach which made Isaac collapse to the floor, breathless and stunned.

  He crawled to the outside balcony just in time to see Sandra and the three men leave in a black SUV, written across the driver side door under the company logo, ‘Tehom Consortium’. Sandra never looked back.

  Chapter Fifteen: Sebastian Bohun

  Dust covered every surface within the curiosity shoppe called ‘Curiosum Reliquiae’ in old town Chickasha Oklahoma. In the long evenings of summer the western sunset shown brightly through the antique windows; the dust filled rays of light fragmented and spider-webbed across the interior as they encountered the treasures within. Items of modest monetary value stood displayed next to priceless items of historical interest. The flowing dust twirled and twisted each time the door opened and the jingle of the antique bell sounded. The ringing announcing the latest treasure hunter to the obscure, lost and misplaced items that somehow found themselves in the out of the way quiet town in what was once America’s heartland.

  A wide path lined with a sun faded red carpet runner allowed a clear corridor from door to desk where a sharp but eccentric man with a vintage flair to his dress sat among his treasures and collections, surrounded by the belongings of the departed, the relict and the long forgotten. It was among these curious relics and forgotten pieces of lives that Simon Tehom first met Sebastian Bohun.

  An interstate closure had forced a reroute of the Tehom family on a roadtrip turned caravan. Liberty had taken Eleanor into a multi-generational jewelry store that had sat on the same corner across from a book store for the better part of a century. Though Simon’s eyes had been drawn across and down the street to the Curiosum Reliquiae, the front of which seemed to not at all fit within the traditional Main Street surroundings, he entered with as much curiosity and wonderment as most who wrapped their hand around the twisted snake of a door handle.

  “Every item has a story, a memory… and if it doesn’t, I will happily make one up for you.” A voice with just a hint of laughter came from behind the desk deep in the untouched darkness of the shop where the rays of sunlight failed to reach.

  “Just taking a look.” Simon replied to the unseen voice.

  “Not from around here, what brings you to Chickasha?”

  “Family trip, had to reroute around the interstate… what, what exactly is this?” Simon asked, running his fingers over the cheek of a face of bronze.

  The squeak of a chair brought a man quite a bit younger than Simon had expected into view, a close ginger beard with a light twist at the chin and grey eyes as if both men were an odd sort of paradoxical mirror of one another. Their mode of dress quite different, Simon moving toward the casual much more than the store owner who’s vintage flair bordered on formal. The man walked with a cane though not overly slowly.

  “That, well…” the man stood shoulder to shoulder with Simon. “…before I tell you that I’d like you to look into the face a moment, imagine for a brief moment the features, imagine the lips that may have kissed it, or the battles it saw. Realize that each of us in the end is just a memory, until we aren’t.” the man said as their pair looked into the bronze mask.

  “This is based off a person?” Simon asked.

  “It’s a death mask, ancient tradition of casting the face of a relative or famous person in death, a literal memorial of their face… as it were. I believe the tradition started with a sort of bandage, casting in a plaster or papier-mâché sort of medium. Some of importance later found themselves recast into bronze such as this. This one is Napoleon Bonaparte, there were several hundred made and copies made after that. Still, you are looking at the face of an Emperor.” The man smiled slightly. “One Emperor looking into the face of another.”

  “Not an Emperor, certainly not a King, but you recognize me?” Simon turned and asked.

  “Not big on celebrity, nor do I keep up or live vicariously through the lives of the rich and famous, but I do know who you are Mr. Tehom. My name is Sebastian Bohun, pleasure to meet you.” He said extending a hand to shake.

  The two men spent the better part of two hours chatting as if they were old friends once aquainted. Stories and histories flowed from Sebastian, ancient epics inspired by a relic was half told before turning into a memory of a local history from the reminder of a simple trinket that sat next to it. The store had no rhyme or reason to its organization, as if items were organized only by where there had been room and opportunity, rather than any sort of forethought or planning.

  “This isn’t really a store is it?” Simon asked after quite a while. “I can’t see much of a market for this place in this little town… no offence.”

  “Oh for sure, I do sell something every so often of course… couldn’t really keep the doors open if I didn’t, but I suppose it is a bit more of a museum, or a collectors showroom than a store.”

  “When is the last time you sold something?” Simon looked to Sebastian with a bit of a wry smile.

  “Been a while… lessee, June now… must have been April, woman bought a Victorian era hand fan in a frame to hang next to her tea table. Beautiful thing, bone and silk, hand painted of course, flowers and ribbons. She even invited me over for tea once it was hung.”

  “You haven’t sold anything in two months?” Simon furrowed his brow and looked at the other man in disbelief.

  “Not here for the money, never been about the money. I don’t see myself as a merchant, or a shopkeeper… I am more of a curator, or a caretaker. The items in here, they have a home, before they were scattered and unappreciated, their histories forgotten or at least unremembered. I even turn away customers every so often, if I don’t get the right feeling about them or don’t like their plans for the item. Like our friend Napoleon over there, I wouldn’t let someone buy something like that as a gag gift or for a haunted house or something asinine like that. Memories should be respected, histories should be remembered.” Sebastian said sitting back a bit into the chesterfield couch the two men had settled into for conversation.

  “I cannot imagine a life more different than my own, than yours Sebastian.” Simon sm
iled and crossed his arms. “Still this place is a wonder.”

  “See the flag?” Sebastian asked, pointing up to a glass case and a massive triangle folded American Flag. “That’s the one that was flying over the White House the day they signed it, when they broke it all up. I think it is probably the most tragic item in here. But if I didn’t have it, someone would have just tossed it.”

  “I think there was a lot of that. Things lose their meaning after a generation or two, become worthless or forgotten, then all of a sudden become valuable antiques then later antiquities. It’s good to have people like you looking over things, caretakers with a passion for the space between.”

  “I do much better with memories and histories than I do with living people…” Sebastian nodded as he began to speak, then was interrupted by Simon’s cell phone.

  “Oh wow, we have been at it quite a while, I need to go… I should buy something.” Simon looked over the shop seeking an item to reward the other man for his time.

  “No need, I have no want of your money Simon. But I do want you to have something. I have a bit of an obsession for returning items to their rightful place when I can.” Sebastian stood and moved behind a curtain and was out of sight for several moments, when he returned he held out a leather envelope with a zipper.

  “What is it?” Simon asked rhetorically as he unzipped the side and allowed the contents to spill into his waiting palm. A beautiful gold watch with a pearl face slid into his hand, even cold it felt like butter. Smooth and well worn, he looked it over curiously. On the reverse was an inscription, ‘To Daniel, I love you to the stars and back. Always, Rachel.’ Simon read aloud nearly dumbfounded. “Oh wow, where… how?”

  “Abandoned property sale in Dallas quite a few years ago, it was part of a repair group… not many people can afford a watch like that, I did the research, found the receipts… it’s your grandfathers. He sent it out for repairs shortly after she died, there was an insurance claim and it was presumed lost.” Sebastian shrugged, “As I said, I really enjoy returning items to where they belong. A gift, I won’t say no.”