Box Set

by Kim Petersen

  Arella’s face contorted as she struggled to process the information that dripped into her consciousness from the outer recesses of her soul. Her eyes turned murky as disturbing images flashed before her in a tale that served only to make her more puzzled. Her tiny body began to tremble against the old chair she sat on, as her hands flew up to conceal her face from their prying eyes. She curled up her knees under her chin as she started to cry.

  “Mummy,” she whimpered as her hands became wet with her tears.

  Glen and Ace watched bewildered.

  “She wouldn’t leave us! Mum!” she screamed. “Mum! Mummy … please … please don’t leave me.” She wept as if she were a prisoner to a trance that had captured her. “Mummy! Mummy... No!” she cried.

  “Arella? Arella?” Glen shook her shoulders gently. “Baby girl. What’s wrong?” He glanced back at Ace for support as he felt his tongue lose all moisture and cling to the roof of his mouth. What is she doing? What is wrong with her? He noticed all colour had drained from his son’s face and the wiry blonde hairs on his arms were standing up as if he had put his finger into an electrical socket. What is going on here? All he could do was to be the observer of a phenomenon to which he had no control. Nevertheless, he knew that whatever was playing out before him, it was very significant.

  Silence hung like a heavy blanket over the room after Arella had stopped sobbing and crying out. She stared at Ace with a startled expression as she had no recollection of the stirring that had overwhelmed her. She was only aware that something powerfully symbolic had transpired. The smallest of smiles crept across her face as she recognised her uncle’s astonishment.

  It was at that precise moment that the loud bangs of coloured balloons bursting broke the silence. Neither Arella nor Ace reacted as their eyes remained fixed on one another while bits of latex fell to the surface of the table.

  Arella broke the stare and examined the shrivelled bunch of fallen balloons before addressing Ace. “Your inner peace awaits you, uncle. And so does she. You will find her up north in a Rosebud Retreat.”

  ***

  After her tongue uttered those profound words, it had taken a moment for Glen to catch on. One by one, each word spoken in his granddaughter’s whispered tone hit him like lightning. And as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place, his stare hardened.

  Lilly? Glen was seized with a sinister elation. His relentless search for his missing wife had got him so far, that at times he could almost smell her musky perfume. He had thought his search had finally come to an end a couple of years earlier when he had tracked Lilly and Scott down to Cairns. Thanks to the loose lips of an old school friend of theirs, Cindy Churchill, a few glasses of Chardonnay and a few shots of charm, she had been very accommodating to his needs. He had systematically contacted as many of Lilly’s old school colleagues that he could find, and Cindy had been most helpful. He was so chuffed when she recalled her brief brush with Lilly and Scott in Cairns that he had taken her back to his hotel room and given her a night she wouldn’t forget easily. How his veins had throbbed that night with the taste of vengeance so close. However, his victory was short lived. When he flew up to Cairns shortly afterwards, he found no sign of his wife nor that of the alias he knew she had assumed since she had left him, despite combing through every inch of that town with meticulous precision. He had returned home empty-handed but he wasn’t about to give up. After all, he had waited this long; what difference did it make in the end? He had enjoyed playing the game of the hunter. It gave him the perfect antidote for filling the spare time he found as Millie and Ace grew older. He had devoted a whole room in his home solely for the investigation. The room was kept locked, and when anyone asked, he told them it was full of his boring old work gear. He never wavered from his search, and he knew that one day all his efforts spent tracking her down and imagining her slender neck beneath his hands would eventually arrive.

  He had no doubt about that happening as he had paid attention when Millie told him about her beliefs one day. “We are what we think,” she told him when he complained to her about working at the milk factory. “Our lives reflect our thoughts and beliefs … and that’s that.” Then her green eyes sparkled at him. “Knowing that kinda makes you feel good, doesn’t it?” she laughed. “The keys to the kingdom of heaven really is within our reach … if only we will grasp and hold firmly to our desires.”

  Glen had considered his daughter’s words about the kingdom of heaven being within our reach. He knew his daughter had been speaking in terms of a divine, higher nature, but what if the same principles could be used for a darker good? Images in his mind ran rampant when he was alone, allowing him to cultivate his fantasies until he knew it was only a matter of time that they would manifest into his experience.

  Finally, here she was, Mrs Lilly Anderson, handed to him on the shiniest silver platter he could have ever imagined. His heart pumped hard against his ribs as he felt the familiar black serpent uncoil its ugly head and hiss with satisfaction. He gripped the prickly whiskers of his face as a twinge of pain shot through his mind with the release of the serpent. The monstrous presence seethed within him as he felt euphoric as this newest revelation.

  “Grandpa?”

  Arella’s voice interrupted Glen’s private thoughts while he used all the strength he could summon to tame down the beast within him. Not around my grandbaby … not around my Rella-Bella, he remonstrated.

  “Let’s get you home, shall we?” Glen rose to his feet and reached for the car keys, ushering Arella out of the kitchen.

  Forgotten in the rush, Ace continued to stare in shock as his insides twisted with the little boy’s cries for his lost mother, and the realisation that now he could finally go to her.

  Arella glanced up at her uncle while Glen led her away, and for a second, she shuddered.

  “Have I done something wrong, uncle Ace?” she said, as she noticed the dark haze brewing around him.

  His eyes pierced down to her like daggers. “Not at all, buttercup,” he grinned.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  T he crisp morning air evaporated into the warming breeze of the dawning day as Millie bounced down the street towards the gallery. After leaving Arella with Glen, she decided the morning was too glorious to drive her car the short distance to the gallery. Besides, a stroll might help her sort out her mixed emotions. There seemed to be so much going on lately that she could barely organise her thoughts, and that was something she hated, especially since she was well aware of the power of thought. Thank goodness for her daily meditation! The habitual practice over the last few months had trained her to enter a deeper centre of her own consciousness and make contact with her infinite self. How deliciously exhilarating is the spiritual centre of gravity! She knew she had discovered the portal through which an ascension could be achieved. The key to the kingdom of heaven dwelled within her, as she believed it did in every person.

  It was only recently that Millie completely understood the words of Mrs Bartlett when she had told Millie that “every piece of art is an expression of God”. Millie finally comprehended the truth in those words – it was she who was an expression of God. And it was God who held her paint brushes. He manipulated every stroke against the canvas. She had determined that the mighty current of God flowed within us all, but it was how we chose to colour that pure spark of divine energy that determined the way we saw and created our lives – as individuals, and together as a collective consciousness.

  Sometimes Millie found it difficult to grasp the enormity of the revelations that drifted into her awareness. She was also aware that she stood only at the threshold of all to be revealed on her ascending path.

  All those years spent trying to understand the power of thought-faith and creating had culminated in this simple truth that can only be learned through experiencing it. The vital fact that the consciousness that lingered within her was the same consciousness as the creator therefore made her a creator. If she nurtured and aligned herself w
ith this divine consciousness, and anchored deep within this knowledge, she was certain anything is possible.

  She knew it would take some practice, discipline and self-correction, and she recognised that there would be times when outer conditions would penetrate through her resolve. However, she was aware that the path had chosen her, and it would be worth every effort she made to stay true to her inner divine presence. If she were to hold steadfast to these convictions, together with an unwavering belief, eventually she was sure to hold dominion over her life and create exactly what she desired.

  Oh, the love and the tranquil peace I perceive beyond the physical world here on earth! The hallowed meetings she had experienced with Samantha in the past and still to this day was all she could compare with the absolute serenity she found within the pure light of God. Her thoughts trailed back to her surprise at the previous week’s phone call from Lilly, the woman she still thought of as her mother.

  When she had casually answered the telephone that evening, the familiar notes of the voice that greeted her had delivered an overwhelming jolt to the core of her being.

  “Millie? Is that you?” Lilly said.

  It took all her effort to steady herself from the shock. She became aware of Craig’s comforting presence at her side as she attempted to process the reality of her caller. She rested her head into Craig’s downy chest. “Mum? It’s you.”

  “Yes Millie, it’s me,” came the hesitant reply.

  They spent more than an hour on the phone that night. Their conversation was guarded and stiff at first as they caught up on a decade of silence. Millie could hear the nervous banter that her mother tried to conceal between bouts of rushed questions. And she had many questions, as did Millie. After a while, the talk between them became more relaxed and easy, giving Craig the cue to leave them to their privacy.

  Lilly told her of the years she had spent travelling and running on a never-ending road. She also confided her love for a man she had known since she was a teenager in school. “You will adore Scott,” Lilly assured her. Then Lilly revealed her addiction to alcohol – “Can you imagine,” she whispered, “Me? An alcoholic.” Lilly gave a bittersweet laugh. “I never did what I told you I would do in the letter I left. I didn’t create my life purposely! Just the opposite, in fact! I’ve made so many mistakes. Can you ever forgive me, Millie? Can Ace ever forgive me?”

  “Oh mum,” she cried, “there really is nothing to forgive. I know you did what you thought best to survive.” The relief was overwhelming. “I love you mum,” she said, her voice breaking.

  The strain of 10 years of guilt and self-punishment in her mother’s speech was obvious. How could she prolong the suffering this woman had created for herself? However, she wasn’t so sure Ace would feel the same way, as the distance that had grown between them over recent years had reached a new pinnacle recently, and she had no idea why or how their relationship had become so estranged. She knew he harboured a deep resentment towards their mother. Thank goodness Arella could talk to him as she was the only family member he had shown any kind of affection or interest towards for a long time.

  Lilly told her that she had been living at a rehabilitation clinic in the Numinbah Valley called The Rosebud Retreat. She described the beauty of the rainforest and mountains that surrounded the retreat and how lovely the support she had found in the people there. Then her tone became sombre. “The last few weeks have been tough but well worth it. It is time to reclaim my life again, Millie, and I would love for you, Arella and Ace to be part of it.” She uttered the last words with a mixture of apprehension and hope. Lilly did not have to wait long for Millie’s reply. Millie agreed to fly up the following fortnight to visit her at the retreat, eager to see her mother in person. She had many questions for her mother concerning Samantha and her father; questions that had needed answers for the longest time.

  Millie decided not to mention to Arella her impending trip to Queensland, as she could not take the chance of her father and Ace discovering her plans to visit Lilly just yet. However, she did share her news with Craig who had fallen asleep by the time the phone call ended.

  Craig stumbled out of bed and made them tea while he listened to Millie’s banter. Two hours later, he gazed at her with a sly smile. “Come here my pussy-pie,” he teased and pulled her gently into his arms and kissed her.

  Millie’s kitten heels turned the corner to the main road where the gallery sat amid other shopfronts. Clear windows displayed strings of glittering fairy lights highlighting the paintings on the walls. Canvases stood on black iron-cast easels, their frames curled in smooth spirals against handcrafted sculptures, encrusted jewels and wood-carved pieces of contemporary furniture. All this was displayed against a backdrop of rustic, dusk-pink walls and a ceiling dappled with white sheer fabric that weaved throughout the candle-scented gallery. It was Millie’s pride, her joy, and a whole lot of her heart. It was a place where she easily found tranquillity and peace in her life; a home away from home, and as she reached the glass door that read “Holly’s Art Studio” in bold black lettering, her smile affirmed as much.

  Today the New York art buyer would be coming in to meet with her and, she hoped, purchase the canvas she had recently finished and put up in her little corner of the gallery. She had sold many of her paintings over the years, and was steadily carving out a name for herself amid the art world here in Australia, but this guy from New York could take her paintings to new international heights. The excitement that danced around in her tummy confirmed that something good was making its way into her life. It had been a very long time since she had felt the soft wings of her little butterfly friends. She had not felt their tiny tickles since she had first started dating Damon. She frowned. Why on earth am I thinking of him now? It had taken her many years to push Damon from her mind, and she wasn’t about to backtrack now.

  The long rope of tiny brassed bells tingled in announcement as Mrs Bartlett breezed through the entrance, relieving Millie of further struggle with the haunting reflections that had been drifting through her mind. She threw her handbag behind the counter, and broke into a wide smile as Mrs Bartlett came towards her.

  “Good morning, Amelia,” Mrs Bartlett said.

  “Good morning, Mrs Bartlett.”

  Mrs Bartlett stopped and looked at Millie. “For goodness sake child, how many times do we have to discuss this?”

  Green and pink feathers swayed with the tilt of her head in an elaborately decorative fascinator, while the thin lines of her pencilled-in eyebrows lifted as she awaited Millie’s reply.

  “Oh, but I am in gallery mode,” Millie grinned. “Surely you remember?”

  “Hmmf. Gallery mode is Holly mode Amelia, it’s about time you remember that, surely.” She didn’t understand Millie’s insistence on maintaining formalities between them at the gallery, as their relationship had grown beyond the need for formal courtesies.

  Her silk blouse swirled around her gaunt ageing body gracefully as she moved to place her handbag behind the counter. Millie pecked her on the cheek, and her eyes gleamed at her young protégé.

  “So, is my little angel excited about our sleepover Monday night?”

  Holly was looking forward to babysitting Arella who was unlike any other child she had known. She felt calm in Arella’s company; the usual background noise that raced around her mind always graduated to a serene, welcoming halt. There was just something about that child.

  Millie’s eyes fogged over for a moment as she began to busy herself around the gallery. “Well, I haven’t exactly told her just yet. I can’t tell her the truth, yet I can’t lie either. You know Rella, she always spots a lie.”

  Her voice trailed off as she fiddled absently with a shelf that displayed a small collection of sleek crested swirled glass supported on tapered steel arcs. “I’m really unsure how to handle this actually. Any suggestions?”

  Holly sat on a stool behind the counter. “Hmmmm.” Faded freckles crinkled under the face powder as she co
nsulted an A4 business diary and flicked through a few pages before looking back at Millie. “You know dear, I do have some business for you to take care of at an art gallery on the Gold Coast. Those people are driving me nuts. All these negotiations over the phone just don’t work for me. Please be a dear and fly up there and take care of it for me?”

  “Thank you, Holly,” Millie said, relieved. She did want her daughter to eventually meet and know her grandmother, but it would be for another time. Millie had plans to explain to her daughter everything she needed to know after she went to see her mother. First, she had to see Lilly and find out for herself, as she had to be sure of Lilly’s intentions.

  “You’re welcome, sweetness.” Holly’s husky tone betrayed her affection. “All set for your buyer this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “He should be here soon. Did I mention how darkly handsome he was?”

  “I don’t think I heard you mention that between all the gushing,” Millie teased.

  “Oh, if only I were thirty years younger,” Holly said.

  The tingle of brass bells jangled, interrupting the hearty laughter. Both heads turned towards the door to catch sight of Emily struggling to push the pram carrying her twins through the door.

  “Emily! Hi.” Millie rushed to the door and held it open for the pram to wheel through easily. The two women embraced, and Millie surveyed her friend. Emily appears much more settled … and perhaps even happy? Millie thought, knowing that Emily’s sudden happiness now would be odd. What’s going on? she mulled as she leaned towards the babies to coo them a greeting.

  “Hello Mrs Bartlett.” Emily smiled at Holly, who returned the greeting from behind the marbled counter with a quirky grin and a waving hand at the twins.

  Emily’s expression grew sombre as she faced Millie. “I have come to say goodbye, Pussy-cat.”

  “What? Where are you going? What do mean, Em?”