by Linda Mooney
"See?” Gracie frowned. “What do you mean? I see a painting of a castle on a lake. Why?"
"Exactly,” Johana said. “You see a painting. I see what lies beyond.” And without hesitating, she took a step forward.
* * * *
* * * *
Her feet splashed into the water at the lake's edge. Quickly, Johana did a little hop onto the embankment and pulled off her shoes to empty them. A glance over her shoulder at the reflection in the water told her exactly where she was. She had entered the painting where the forest met the lake, exactly what she had been facing on the other side. If she continued to follow the shoreline, she knew she would inevitably arrive at the castle depicted in the background.
Johana inhaled the fragrance of the woods. It was real. This was real. All around her the sights and sounds and smells were exactly as she expected. Overhead the sun shone through the rustling leaves. The weather was warm, very spring-like. She could even hear birds chirping in the distance.
Bushes dragged against her pants legs. Small white flowers littered the ground along with dead leaves. Everywhere she looked the place breathed of reality. Whether it was an alternate world or some kind of time portal displacement was no longer important. What mattered now was that she was inside the painting, living within its boundaries as if she had traveled there via plane, car, or on foot, and not through a solid stone wall.
Something rustled to her left. Maybe caused by a creature like a deer or raccoon. It didn't matter. For some strange reason Johana felt perfectly safe. Stranger still, she felt perfectly at home, as though she belonged there. As though she had finally come back to the land where she'd been born, and it had been waiting all this time for her return.
Following the curve in the lake kept the distant castle in view. In the painting the towering structure had sat slightly off-center, but now it filled her horizon like an immense crown of white stone. The closer she approached it, the more breath-taking it became.
The artwork had also displayed a smaller stone building set apart from the castle and partially concealed by the forest. The lake looped near it. As Johana continued walking toward it, she could see jeweled glints of light coming from its windows. It was a church, she realized.
And the double doors stood wide open.
Stopping several yards away, she stared at the entrance. Despite the pleasant weather, she couldn't remember if churches left their doors open in the middle of the day. Open where anyone, including animals, could enter, seeking something to eat or a place to nest.
"Doesn't matter,” she whispered to herself. “Open doors means someone's inside. Either that, or Mr. Castle is pretty damn sure no one is going to be bothering the place."
She walked up to the church building and took the narrow stone steps up to the entrance. The interior was dark but not oppressive. As she slowly entered, an overwhelming sense of peacefulness filled her.
A white banner sewn with golden threads covered the altar. Pure ivory-colored tapers stood on both ends. A basket of white lilies sat on the floor before it. The candles were unlit, but enough sunlight came through the multi-hued stained glass windows to throw artificial rainbows across the pews and aisle.
A man stood before the altar, his back to the doors. Johana stared at the tall figure dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt. Long minutes passed as he remained in contemplation or prayer. Suddenly, he turned to leave and gasped to see her standing mere yards away.
"Who the hell are you? How did you get here?” He took a step toward her, peering intently to see if she was real or imaginary. “I didn't make you up,” he finally announced. “Talk to me, dammit."
He was angry. Surprised and angry. Johana didn't blame him in the least. His perfect paradise had been intruded upon and no longer belonged exclusively to him.
"My name's Johana Reese, Mr. Castle."
Darkness suddenly seemed to descend outside. Clouds gathered to block the sunlight streaming in, and the building grew dimmer. However, either Castle didn't notice the growing darkness, or he didn't care.
"The reporter? You're that reporter that's been hounding me? What in hell are you doing here? Go back!"
"I can't,” she told him, glancing over her shoulder. Was that thunder?
"Why not? Just go back the same way you got in! Stick your hand through the wall and someone'll drag you out. Now go!” His face was so flushed a vein stood out above his right eyebrow. The wind picked up outside, blowing leaves into the sanctuary.
"I can't,” Johana repeated. “I don't think I could find the way out without help.” It was the truth. She could find her way back to the approximate area where she entered the painting, but unless there was a clearly marked exit sign, there was no way she could find the exact place.
He frowned at her, but the anger on his face did little to mar the man's dark good looks. Johana felt her breath catch in her throat. There had been no photos or pictures to prepare her for when she finally met the man. There was no way she would have known what Warren William Castle looked like before now.
The man was too damned good looking. Dark, curly brown hair, blue eyes, boyish good looks that would never fade as he grew older—a lethal combination. He towered over her by a foot. The jeans hugged his thighs and butt, and the shirt stretched across sculpted shoulders. His arms were tanned and muscular, as if he spent hours outside perfecting his golf swing, or his backhand on the tennis courts. There was not a single inch of Mr. Castle that was handicapped, and his perfection frightened her more than his wrath or the storm brewing outside.
"How did you manage to get here in the first place?” he asked again, this time with a little more civility. But not by much.
"The same way you did ... sort of. I walked through the painting."
"How?"
"How?” she echoed. “Well, I picked up one foot and set it down, then I picked up—"
Castle gave a little growl of irritation and advanced toward her. At the same time lightning crackled above them. “I don't have time for any smartass answers. Come on. I'm taking you back."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Six
He strode toward her on perfectly strong legs, not legs weakened by lack of use or infirmity. Johana stood her ground, undaunted by the figure quickly coming toward her. People had tried to intimidate her before. It wasn't a tactic she hadn't expected.
"They're worried about you, you know,” she managed to say just as he reached for her. Too late she realized he was reaching for her left arm, her bad arm. She tried to jerk it away but she wasn't fast enough. His large, warm hand clamped around her upper arm and started to jerk her around. Johana gave a shriek of pain as she grabbed his wrist and tried to pry it off. Her reaction made him freeze.
"What's wrong?"
"What's ... wrong?” she gasped, bent over slightly as she waited for the hot agony in her withered muscles to stop lancing up her arm.
"Dammit, woman! Why do you insist on repeating every fucking thing I say?” he practically roared, reaching for her again. He said more, but the nearly-deafening boom of thunder drowned him out.
Johana flinched. Too late she realized his intent. Castle snagged her arm again, but this time he also grabbed the material at her shoulder with his other hand and jerked downward, ripping the sleeve. Dumbfounded, he stared at her thin, almost skeletal arm. His hesitation gave her just enough time to come around with her other hand and land a full-fisted blow to the side of his face. Castle gave a grunt in surprise, released her arm, and staggered back a couple of steps.
"You hurt me, you son of a bitch!” Johana yelled at him. “Touch me again and I swear I'll kick you in the nuts so hard, you're gonna need that wheelchair over on this side!"
She turned and began to hurry down the center aisle, away from the man rubbing the redness in his cheek. Screw him, she tried to tell herself. Screw him and this wonderful world he created.
She only made it as far as the entrance when fingers touched
her back. The man had moved so swiftly and silently, she'd never heard his approach.
"Wait! Wait up. Let me apologize."
Johana stopped, still breathing heavily but managing to keep herself in check. Slowly, she turned to where she could see Castle standing less than a yard away. Sunlight broke through the departing clouds and bathed him in a nearly pure white light. The effect was both eerie and breath-taking.
She gave him the best pissed-off look she could muster at the moment and waited. Castle started to reach for her again, but thought better of it this time and lowered his arm.
"I'm sorry I hurt you,” he offered. It was a sincere apology. She could see it echo in his eyes.
"I didn't do anything wrong,” Johana retorted.
"That's ... debatable."
"Debatable, hell! You're the one who never came back. Poor Gracie is beside herself with worry,” she chastised him.
Castle frowned again but didn't make the mistake of reaching for her a fourth time. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Gracie can run the company in my absence just fine. Speaking of which, why did she send you in here?"
"She had no say-so over me coming in here. In fact, we didn't know I could walk through the wall until I touched the painting and found out by accident. That's when I decided to see if I could find you.” She cradled her bad arm against her chest. The movement caught his attention.
"Here. Let me look at that,” he asked in a more civil tone. He held out a hand while casting her a veiled look.
Johana fumed. A bitter retort remained on the tip of her tongue but something in his sudden mood shift kept her from letting it go.
"Why?"
"Just ... let me see your arm. I promise not to hurt you ... again.” He wriggled his fingers at her.
Johana stared at the big, strong hand with its manicured nails. Slowly, reluctantly, she lifted her arm and watched as he carefully took it, turned it over, then back. He lifted it and ran a thumb over the wrinkled skin that stubbornly remained dry and chapped looking no matter how often she smeared cocoa butter and aloe lotion on it. His hands felt warm. Gentle. The slight rasp of his thumb sent a little shiver through her but he didn't appear to notice.
"Birth defect?” he finally whispered.
"Yeah."
"Hereditary?"
"Not that I know of,” she admitted.
He sighed loudly, expelling his breath through his mouth. It tickled when it blew across her arm. “You can be rid of it, you know."
The comment was almost too laughable to believe. “Oh, come on! Give me a br—"
And then it dawned on her. He was serious. And he was telling her the truth. After all, he was a medically diagnosed quadriplegic, yet here he stood in front of her mere inches away. Standing on his own two feet, on two strong legs, and using his arms as though the accident that had robbed him of his mobility had never happened.
"How?” The word slipped out before she was aware she'd said it. However, his answer left her as confused and as puzzled as she had been since she first entered this realm.
"Believe it."
Johana opened her mouth to retort, but Castle lifted a finger to stop her.
"Trust me. Believe your arm is whole, and it will happen. Close your eyes. Good. Now imagine your arm looking like your other arm. Imagine the blood shooting through your veins. Think of your skin feeling soft and smooth. Believe your hand is strong, your fingers sensitive to touch."
She tried. Oh, heavens, how she tried. She could feel him giving her bad hand a little squeeze. Whether it was to reassure her, a gentle urge to continue, or as a way to keep their connection going, she couldn't begin to guess. But when his fingers wove between hers and gave them another squeeze, she sighed.
"It's not the same thing,” she tried to protest.
"What makes you think that?
He had moved behind her, closer to her, so that now his voice emanated from over her shoulder. In the next second his other hand clutched her opposite shoulder, and Castle pulled her back against his chest.
Warmth flooded her entire body. His nearness swaddled her so completely, she wished she could turn around and smother herself in him. Or bury her nose in his open-collar shirt where the hint of dark hair tufted above the V.
"Johana?"
No. Not yet. Let me dream like this for another minute. Please!
"Johana, open your eyes."
She did, and immediately blinked when she glanced down at her useless arm. At her...
She cried out in disbelief and shock.
The useless arm was no more. Instead, it was a healthy, perfect twin to her other arm. Even the fingernails were pink with good circulation.
She touched herself to make sure it wasn't a dream, wasn't a mistake. The skin was silky, right down to the tiny hairs on her forearm. No psoriasis or patchy dermatitis blighted its perfection. And making a fist no longer stretched under-developed muscle.
"Whenever you're in my domain, your arm will be as you see it now,” Castle's voice drifted from behind her ear. “But the moment you leave the painting, your arm will go back to the way it was. Just like when I leave, I'm confined back to my wheelchair."
"How ... how is this possible?” As much as she wanted to look up at him to thank him, she couldn't tear her gaze away from that part of her body that had been her bane of existence all her life. Her reason for going solo. For always being alone and hesitant about seeking someone to love. When a slight chuckle brushed his breath over her shoulder, she finally glanced up at him.
"My world, my rules,” he replied with a smile. This close she couldn't help but notice how full his lower lip was, compared to the thinner upper one. His teeth were as straight and as perfect as money could make them, although Johana seriously wondered if Castle hadn't been naturally blessed with good dental health.
Time remained motionless as neither of them moved. Both of his large, comfortable hands were resting on her shoulders. She could feel his thumbs at the base of her neck as if he was about to massage away the tension. As the silence stretched, Johana started to make a comment when Castle beat her to it.
"Why?"
"Huh?"
"It's a simple question,” he repeated, dropping his hands and walking around to face her. “Why?"
"Well, your secretary was worried when you didn't return—"
Castle held up a hand to stop her. “I didn't mean why did you come after me? What do you care whether or not I reappear? After all, you're only here for the story, right? No, I want to know why you walked through the painting. How were you able to do it? Gracie tried. Two of my nurses tried. For them it was like hitting the proverbial rock wall. But you...” He grabbed her by the wrist again. “It had to be your arm. Something about ... about not being whole or healthy."
"My arm had nothing to do with it,” she told him. “It was my state of mind."
This time it was his turn to go, “Huh?"
"The first time I saw the reprint of your painting, I couldn't leave it. Ever since I was a little girl, I've dreamed of being a fairy princess who lived with her handsome prince inside a white castle with a hundred towers. I've nurtured that fantasy all through my childhood because it was my escape from the cruel taunts of the other children. And from the disappointment I faced every day from my parents because I was ... deformed. Imperfect."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Seven
She turned to face him. “In my head I had a vision of that magical place where my castle existed. Then when I saw your painting, I almost cried. Somehow ... somehow you got into my head, Mr. Castle. Either you got into my head, or I sent you my vision, because Castle's Keep is exactly the way I had envisioned my perfect world. My castle and my world the way I had dreamed it would be for years and years.
"When Gracie took me into your office to show me the real painting, it wasn't a painting to me. It wasn't oil and watercolor on stone. It was real. It was my world come to life, and all I needed to do w
as go up to it and walk right in, just as if I could walk through a door. When Gracie told me that's what you had done, that you were able to enter your painting, I knew I could, too. It was my world that you had painted. If you could be part of it, I figured I had just as much right to go there, too.
"That's your ‘why', Mr. Castle. And if you think your anger and venom is going to make me leave a place I never want to leave, then you had better think again because I'm staying. If it's at all possible, I'm staying here in this beautiful, perfect place where I can be a complete person. Whether or not you want me here is not an issue. If I have to, I'll go find a place far enough away from you where you'll never have to be bothered by me again. But it's my world and my rules, too, Mr. Castle. And I've paid a helluva lot more dues to belong here than you ever will."
She continued to face him, breathing heavily as she fought the impulse to lash out with her hands, her two good hands, as well as with her words. Castle stared down at her for another long minute, then he smiled at her again.
"I think, circumstances being as they are, that we need to be on a first name basis. Call me Bill. No, wait.” He paused and rubbed his chin. “No, don't call me Bill. Bill Castle is the quadriplegic who lives without any hope for a happy future on the other side of my painting."
"Why don't I call you Warren, then?” Johana softly asked. “You can continue to call me Johana. I don't have a problem being her either here or there."
"Johana.” Giving her hand a squeeze, Castle then gave it a tug. “Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"To show you around. It's time you saw your world from the other side."
* * * *
* * * *
They left the church to traverse a narrow path lined with flat rocks. Trees canopied over them, keeping the heat from the dazzling sun from beating down over their heads. Johana stared in amazement as certain flowers suddenly bloomed as they passed by greening bushes and shrubs.
Despite what she had declared, she knew it was still his world, his rules. Which meant he controlled the plants, the animals...
