"Mindy. Leave the poor girl alone."
"That's all right." Carole rubbed the wriggling pup's head. "She's a beauty."
"Mindy was Hal's idea. He didn't like the thought of me being alone in a big empty house, so now I've been saddled with this bundle of energy."
A maid walked by.
"I know," Margaret said, seeing Carole's expression. "According to Hal, hired help are not the same as real friends."
Mrs. Wilson led Carole, with Mindy in tow, to the parlor, where she rang a silver bell that was sitting on an end table. A different maid from the one Carole had just seen came through a set of French doors. She curtsied, "Ma'am?"
"This is the young woman of whom I spoke, earlier."
"Right away ma'am." The maid hurried off.
Mrs. Wilson seated herself on a love seat with ornately carved mahogany legs and trim, and motioned for Carole to do the same. The pup settled at their feet. They sat in silence until the maid returned with a tray. On it was two steaming cups of hot chocolate, a photograph of Hal and Carole in a simple silver frame, a letter addressed to Carole in Hal's handwriting, and a giant strawberry.
--33--
Carole landed amidst a clutter of boxes. The school tower? What was she doing here? She had meant to land at the Devilles'. Sighing heavily, she placed her hand in her pocket and felt for Hal's letter. It was still there, unopened.
She was about to leap back to the Devilles' when she realized that Professor Philamount was probably still in his office. Without really thinking about it, she headed towards the stairs. She was nearing the first floor when she heard a man call out in a harsh tone, "Philamount. We know you're here. We want to talk. Philamount!" There was a muffled crash, followed by a loud bang and a cry.
"Professor?" Carole stepped into the hallway. "Professor Philamount, are you okay?" She sprinted for his office. The room was dark, the door ajar.
"Professor?" Carole pushed on the door. A window had been smashed out. She flicked on the light and stepped inside. Glass and paper was strewn across the floor, and lying in the middle of the mess was Professor Philamount, a pool of blood spreading out from his head.
"Professor." Carole shook his shoulder. His eyes remained closed. "Professor Philamount?" She grabbed his wrist and felt for a pulse. There wasn't one. She placed her head against his chest. There was no heartbeat.
Professor Melodious Philamount was dead.
"Not you too," she cried, aware of a sick emptiness spreading throughout her belly.
Why hadn't she leaped? She could have easily been in time to help. She could have got here before it happened. Why did she take the stairs? Why didn't she get to him first?
Carole stared as the thick red liquid began to stain his thin white hair. Her stomach roiled. She had to get away.
She had to escape this madness.
She leapt, thinking only that she had failed Professor Philamount. She should've been in time to save him. She should've been here to help. She landed badly, falling to all fours with her head pounding and her belly lurching. She struggled to keep from vomiting.
"Miss Sylphwood?"
"Professor Philamount? But you're dead!"
Why was she still in his office? Why was he sitting alive at his desk? Where was all the blood? The paper? The glass? She looked at the window. It wasn't even broken.
The professor came towards her. "Are you all right?"
"I was too late. I heard shouting and when I got here you were dead."
"What are you talking--"
"Philamount!" It was that same harsh voice she'd heard while in the stairwell.
"Quick!" Carole jumped up, locked the door and switched off the light. "We've got to get out of here."
Someone tried the doorknob. "We know you're in there. We want to talk."
Carole pushed the professor aside, picked up his chair and threw it at the window. The glass exploded, scattering shards everywhere.
"Philamount!" The doorknob rattled again.
Carole grabbed the professor's arm and tried to pull him towards the window.
He resisted. "What are you doing?"
"Shhh. They want to kill you. We have to--"
Carole yanked the professor under the desk just as the door flew open with a bang.
Two people rushed in. A man yelped loudly. "I've cut my foot--"
"Gone. He must have known. Confound the incompetence!"
"Professor?" Carole heard her own voice coming from down the hall. "Professor Philamount, are you okay?"
The one with the cut foot said in a loud whisper, "Someone's coming."
The other man hissed. "Quick! Out the window,"
"But my foot. It's bleeding everywhere."
"We mustn't be seen. Jump!"
A moment later the door swung inwards and the overhead light turned on. "Professor? Professor Philamount? Not you too."
Carole peered out from the desk in time to see herself vanish. A wave of vertigo swept over her as she did so.
"I just saw myself," she said, resting her head against the floor.
"As did I." Professor Philamount moved out from behind the desk and dragged the remaining office chair over.
She climbed into it, head in hand.
"As soon as you are able," he said, while staring at a small puddle of blood amongst the broken glass, "we'd best get you home."
"Wherever that is," she said wearily.
--34--
The next morning Carole, the twins, Runt, the three boars, Professor Philamount and Professor Talarit all crowded into the Devilles' living room. Carole was exhausted. She hadn't slept much, and what sleep she'd managed had been filled with nightmares of blood, shattered glass, and pale, dead bodies.
That she'd leapt backwards in time was no longer in doubt. It was the only explanation that fit, the only explanation that explained everything except how. And now they were all in agreement about her achievement, and all of them were arguing against her doing it again.
"But I saved your life," she said to Professor Philamount. "Why can't I go back and save Hal's?"
"His death was a natural event, Carole," Professor Talarit said evenly. "You cannot...could not prevent it."
"What if I went back earlier. Got him better medicines."
"Did he not say that he was old and worn out?"
"Then I could go back to spend a little more time with him."
"How could you enjoy yourself knowing when he was going to die... Knowing he was already dead?" Zack said.
"Carole," Lilly spoke quietly. "You and Hal said your goodbyes. He was ready, like our grandpa was ready."
"But--" Carole shoved her hands into her pockets in frustration, crushing Hal's letter. She'd forgotten it was there. She pulled it out and smoothed it on her knee.
"What's that?" Zack said.
"A letter."
"From Hal?" Lilly guessed.
Carole looked at her sharply. "I haven't read it yet."
"Maybe you should."
Carole looked at their tired, concerned faces. She stood silently and climbed the stairs to the loft. Slowly, deliberately, she opened the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of paper.
My dearest, dearest Carole.
I guess I've finally chucked this body of mine and moved on to bigger and better things. And it's about time, too. There's nothing at all pleasant about wearing an ill-fitting, ratty old suit. Now don't you be sad. We've had a wonderful life together, and your last visit was most definitely the icing on the cake.
As I sit here wracking my brains for some parting words of wisdom, some gem of inspired thought, I realize that I have none. There really is nothing more to say. You are prepared for life, and I am at peace.
So raise a glass in toast to me, my Carole of the Sylph, and wish me well on my new journey.
Until we meet again, and bursting with love and pride,
Your father, Hal.
The tears flowed freely but gently down her cheeks, and Carole did nothing t
o stop them. When they finally stopped flowing, she climbed down to the main floor and went into the kitchen, ignoring the inquisitive looks. Minutes later she returned with a tray of glasses and bowls filled with juice. She passed them out to people and hogs alike, before she held her own aloft. "To my father Hal. The wisest and most loving man I ever knew. Happy journeys."
"Happy journeys, Hal," Lilly and Zack repeated.
"Reet," grunted the boars.
Professors Philamount and Talarit hesitated a moment before also raising their glasses.
Carole finished her drink in one slow gulp and sat cross-legged on the floor. Everyone was watching her. "Okay, you're right. I won't go back. But what good is this ability, if I can't use it. There must be a reason, a purpose for it."
"When two were as one," Zack said.
"Pardon?"
"Maybe you are the two in the prophecy, Carole. Maybe you're meant to go back, way back, to figure it all out: the mural, Udiken, everything."
No one contradicted Zack. No one said anything at all.
Carole stared at her empty glass, thinking about how far she'd traveled in just a few short months. How far was she was about to go?
To be Continued....
About the Author
David has taken many paths during his life, including, biological science, humanities, prehospital emergency medicine, search and rescue, film and media, springboard and tower diving, and chiropractic. Currently he lives in a small village atop the Niagara escarpment, and divides his time between writing, chiropractic and enjoying life with his family.
* * * *
Uncial Press brings you extraordinary fiction, non-fiction and poetry. Put a world of reading in your pocket.
www.uncialpress.com
The Missing Link Page 19
