by David Brian
Molly greeted our return, though in all likelihood her focus remained worrying over the safety of her spouse. It occurred to me that, despite their willingness to aide my cause, George’s own wellbeing may not have been as guaranteed as I first imagined. This sent further chills through me.
Molly reacted warmly, although her face betrayed the unease. The woman’s features creased as she spied our crestfallen expressions. She ushered us inside, then through to the parlor, making a point of only asking after our own welfare. I stressed that all danger was now passed, and that George had performed magnificently. I assured her that he had proven more than capable, and was in all likelihood safe and well. This clearly lifted some of the concern weighing on her. She let out a deep exhalation, and when next she took a breath she seemed almost to inflate with vigor. She puffed out her chest, standing taller, and with shoulders no longer slouching to any noticeable degree. A modicum of color returned to her cheeks, and a relief of tears appeared at the corners of her eyes.
“And what about you, are you okay, love?” Molly asked, embracing Roz.
“I think so… but more to the point, what about you? I can see you’ve been worrying.”
“I’ll be fine, dear. It’s been a stressful night, that’s all.”
Roz nodded. “You’re not wrong. It’s been a stressful several days.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
This was when I discovered why, to a man and woman the prisoners all looked so damned wretched. It was yet another quirk of this whole insane experience. George previously explained how time was little more than a concept by which we seek to categorize the order of our existence. He said that to understand the true nature of things, you needed to accept that time is fluid, and can only ever be viewed as relative to any given situation. I hadn’t really understood a lot of what he was saying, or even given it much credence. But, as it turned out, time in that dreadful realm, and inside that awful building, moved at a different pace to events in the elsewhere.
Earlier in the afternoon George had wound back time, and thus, when later I entered the mansion, I was only minutes behind Roz. But in those hours it had taken for me to track and release her, my wife had endured several days of fear, starvation and brutality. To further confound things, Molly confirmed that little more than an hour had passed between George and me setting off on our rescue mission, and my subsequent return. I was astounded!
“You must be famished, love,” said Molly, offering Roz’s quivering hand a reassuring squeeze.
“I am, quite literally!” admitted Roz. She was still shaking, but I’d previously assumed this was a remnant of earlier fears. It was also malnutrition.
“Then you two young uns’ take a seat, and I’ll see if I can rustle something up, real quick.”
“Do you think I might use the bathroom? I feel real grubby. I could do with splashing some water on my face.”
“Nonsense, girl, we can do better than that. We’ve got plenty of hot water, so why don’t you nip upstairs and run yourself a nice tub full, why I get some food sorted. I’ll sort you some towels from the airing cupboard.
I noticed concern on Roz’s face, but before I could react Molly spoke first.
“It’s fine, love. You’re in a strange house, and with all that you’ve been through, it’s only natural you’d be nervous. Take this good looking young fella upstairs with you. Set him on to washing your back and massaging your feet, that’s what I do with George. A nice massage will help get rid of all that stress.”
The old woman’s words seemed to settle Roz’s worries, at least in part. And so, once Molly provided clean towels and a fresh bathrobe, we headed up the stairs.
Chapter 43
I closed the lid on the toilet and sat down, watching Roz as she submerged herself beneath soothingly warm waters. The bathroom was compact, and as I filled the bath we had both remained quiet, pensive even, the enforced closeness presenting an unaccounted-for nervousness. I worried at this point, fearing the events of the previous hours might forever have drained us of something personal. Now, as I watched this woman I loved, floating beneath soapy waters, once again safe in my presence…I finally surrendered to the well of my emotions.
I wept freely.
I did not blubber, but tears welled in my eyes and then traced rivers down my face. What had happened since our arrival bordered on insanity itself; it couldn’t be real, could it? And yet I knew it was real. And I feared the knowledge of these actions might forever taint our future. I realized too that I was worrying about George. Before our return to the cottage I was convinced the man was all but invulnerable. Now, though, I found myself disconcerted by Molly’s concerns. Was hers just the natural anxiety of a wife whose husband has placed himself in harm’s way, or was there some other danger, some crisis still to face, and as yet unnamed?
Roz started suddenly, her actions creating a splash and a whoosh, water tiding against the sides of the bath as my wife re-emerged from the depths. To my absolute delight there was a smile on her face. I quickly rubbed the back of my hand across my cheeks, swiping away tears.
“Are you alright, Frank?” Her smile evaporated as concern grew.
“I’m fine, honey,” I reassured. I wasn’t lying, either. Seeing her smiling face wiped away the darkness eating my soul. I knew she would be okay. I knew we would be okay.
“You’ve been crying.”
“Yes. I guess it was just all the emotions coming to the surface. Do you think I’m a wimp?”
“A wimp? You silly ass. You’re my hero. You’ve always been my hero. But after all of this… this crazy, insane madness… you literally saved my life, Frank.”
“But I failed.”
“What do you mean?”
“So many people died today, so many people I tried to save. I failed them all.”
“That’s not on you, Hub. None of this is on you.”
“I know that, at least on one level I do…still though, when I think of all the slaughter.”
“Stop! It’s not your fault. You saved Joseph and his family, and the others too…and you saved me. We’d all be dead if not for you.”
“I’ll never let anything hurt you, ever again.”
“I believe you.”
“You should.”
“This whole trip has been insane.”
“Literally. Insane.”
“I know none of this makes sense, but about George Smoke?”
“George?”
“That man… those men, who rescued us. They were all George Smoke… how is such a thing even possible?”
“How is any of this possible?”
“That too.”
“There’s a whole lot I need to tell you.”
“Go on then,” she said, swiping a drip of water from her face.
“You’re going to find it difficult to believe.”
She gave an exaggerated laugh. “I doubt that.”
“Nevertheless…”
“Nevertheless,” she said, handing me soap and a sponge. “You might as well pamper me a little, while we talk.” Roz gave a cheeky wink and pouted shapely lips at me. I leaned closer and kissed her, tenderly.
“I’m glad to have you back,” I said, stroking fingers through her wet hair.
“I’m glad you have me back.” We kissed again.
I soaped my wife’s arms, legs and back. I washed her feet, then shampooed and rinsed her hair. We both took pleasure from the closeness, the intimacy; maybe it helped remove some of the unease imprinted on our souls by these bizarre occurrences. It certainly felt as though it allowed us to reconnect. It felt good.
As I sponged Roz’s shoulders I started talking, explaining – as best I could – everything George had told me regarding the nature of reality. Roz allowed me to talk freely, only interrupting occasionally. She listened intently, and with wide eyes. At the point when I tried to explain that Molly had, in a different reality, been the woman we knew as Mary, her jaw quite literally fell open.
“So there is life beyond the things we know,” she whispered.
“Yes. Many lives, apparently,” I said. I was, at this moment, puzzled by how readily she seemed able to accept my explanation of things. However, looking back now, I guess it would have been difficult for either of us to deny any of it. We had both seen far too much to resist the truth.
Chapter 44
When finally we returned downstairs, Rosalind was wrapped in the thick, comfy robe which Molly had supplied along with the fresh towels. Roz and Molly were of similar height, although there was considerably more meat on Molly’s bones, and so the gown was a loose fit. Still though, I couldn’t stop smiling as I appreciated how fine my wife looked; wearing her wave of brunette hair tied back, her face was refreshed and carrying a glow from the heat within the bathroom. Roz’s fine contours remained obvious despite being encompassed in the ill-fitting robe. I could almost sense her mind working overtime. My wife, barely able to stay still, an excitable ball of white fluffiness, her face flushed by the warm waters, was exhilarated by the prospect of interrogating Molly on the subject of previous lives.
Molly heard us descending the stairs and called out to us that we should join her in the parlor. On the far wall an open fire crackled in the grate, while in the middle of the room a dark-grained wooden table was set with lemon placemats. A pot of steaming tea rested in the center of the table, surrounded by a rack of scones, a tub of cream, butter, marmalade, and an assortment of other condiments awaiting our attention. Cutlery and fine china had been placed for four. The smell of bacon wafted in from the kitchen. It was an aroma which instantly sent pangs of hunger rumbling through my belly.
Molly embraced us both and then invited us to take a seat at the table.
It struck me again that there were four places set.
“George shouldn’t be long,” I said, with as positive a manner as I could muster.
“What? Oh, don’t worry about George,” said Molly, a broad smile further creasing her lined face. “He’s in the kitchen sorting the bacon.”
“What? Really? That’s great,” I said, springing from my seat. I’m sure Molly recognized the level of relief lined with disbelief evident in my voice. It was a tone fired by anxiety for George’s welfare, rather than any doubt I had concerning the validity of her words. I excused myself with haste, heading for the kitchen as the two women continued their own interaction.
George was standing by the oven, toasting bread under the grill while on the hob a pan sizzled with the smoky aroma of bacon and mushrooms. My face creased into a smile as George turned to greet my arrival, and I realized how absurd he looked; this exceptionally tall man wearing a too short white pinafore, patterned to make it look as though the wearer was wearing a red and black basque, with matching black stockings, edged with red braid – but at least he was the correct age.
“You are ridiculous,” I offered, a wide smile wrinkling my face.
“This? Oh, it’s one of Molly’s. She knows I’m liable to splash fat down my shirt.”
“Nevertheless, you look absurd.”
George smiled, ignoring my derision. “You’ve cheered up.”
He wasn’t wrong. I was only now beginning to realize a great weight had lifted from my shoulders.
“Thank you,” I said, with a degree of sincerity almost beyond explanation.
“You don’t need to thank me.”
“Yes. I really do.”
He gave a slight nod of acceptance, understanding I needed to express this gratitude. “You hungry, son?” he asked, opting a shift towards lighter conversation.
“I’m bloody starving, although I honestly don’t know why I’m so hungry.”
“It’s the magic – if magic is what we’re still opting to call it. Being around certain energies always makes people hungry.”
“Really?”
“Either that or you’re just a gluttonous pig.” He winked, and I realized this was the first time George had come close to revealing a sense of humor.
“What happened to the people at the house?” I asked. “The people I left with you… the other you.”
“All sorted,” he said. “At least, best as it could be.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means I did as I said. I’ve sent home those I could.”
“And the others, the ones the archons killed. Are they just removed from ever having been, as though they’d never existed in the first place?”
“I’ve done what I can to put things right. But there were a few situations beyond fixing within that place.”
“What sort of situations?”
He shrugged. “Everything carries a cost.”
“You…the other you, he said pretty much the same thing. What happened back there George? What caused such a huge explosion capable of wiping out an army of archons?”
“I happened. We happened. The laws of reality are far more flexible than can be imagined. Nevertheless, as I previously explained, each and every object exists at numerous different points across reality. The laws of creation don’t favor identical objects occupying the same moment in space and time.”
“What would happen?”
“A very big bang happens.”
“Like back at the house?”
“Yes, Frank, exactly like at the house.”
“So that’s why the archons got so twitchy about all of you being there.”
“That’s exactly why. They didn’t much care for the idea of us all getting together – you know big bang!”
“And those Georges, the ones caught up in the explosion?”
“Some of us were lucky. I was anchored to this reality by the sigils I previously marked. A few more were displaced to other regions within the space and time of this creation – and they’ll do fine wherever they end up.”
“And the rest?”
“It was a big explosion, Frank.”
“Damn.”
“There was always going to be some cost, son.”
“All of those people… so many lives ruined.”
George nodded. He could sense my pain just as I knew his, but he offered no more words on the subject. What comfort could words have provided us, anyway?
“George?”
“Frank?”
“Back at the house… in the gardens, I asked you… the other you –”
“I remember.”
“You remember?”
“You asked me who I was. What I was.”
“Yes. You remember that?”
“It was me that you asked.”
“I don’t understand any of this.”
George smiled, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I’m just a friend. That is all you really need to understand.”
I nodded, although my own smile was forced. At this moment I kept wondering how Roz and I would ever be able to return to normal lives, given the things we’d seen, knowing the things we knew.
“Anything I can do to help?” I offered, deciding it best to steer my thoughts from the horrors within that house. I needed to try and normalize this situation, for my own sake.
“For sure,” said George, removing the grill from its shelf. “You can slice the toast. The toast rack is in the cupboard over there,” he said pointing to a wall unit. “I’ll get the eggs in the pan. And you can tell the ladies that food will be on the table in less than ten minutes.”
“George…” I said, as I began halving slices of toast.
“Frank?”
“What would I have done if you’d not been here…? I’d have lost her.”
“But you didn’t, son.”
“I don’t think I could live without her.”
“You won’t have to. You’re soul mates.”
“You said that same thing back at the house, too.”
“And I meant it.”
“Yet, earlier, you said you couldn’t be sure we were meant to be together.”
“I couldn’t, then.”
“So what changed?”
“I took a peek.”
“You took a peek?”
“Yes, I took a little look along the line. Well, down a few of your lifelines, actually.”
“Really? You can do that…? Besides, I thought you said that even soul mates aren’t guaranteed being together; it isn’t definitive they’ll even find each other.”
“This is true. They are no guarantees. But I saw enough to know that Rosalind and you should be together.”
“Then how does it work? Is there a way to ascertain that I’ll find Roz again, in a later life?”
“To do that… you’d need help.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, you should be together; but even if you were only living a couple of streets apart, the slightest wrong decision might keep you from ever meeting. Missing a bus, deciding not to drink in a particular bar, not going into town on any given night, turning down a job in a certain factory, any and all of these things and more, each and every one can – and often does – keep true love apart. One wrong decision and you will live a life separate; never meeting, never falling in love. And even when you are lucky enough to meet, it still doesn’t guarantee things will work out for the best.”
“Why not?”
“Even the most ideal of relationships only prospers and grows with the benefit of time. To truly be sure of sharing eternity together, you would need to rediscover each other at some point after your love had already flourished in a previous connection. Imagine, if you will, love being like a magnetic flower, and it is only through these continuing reconnections, this allows a universal bud to flourish, one that will forever draw certain petals together. I can help with this.”
“How? And regardless of how; you’d honestly consider doing such a thing?”
“After what you’ve both been through, I think it’s the least I should do.”
