Where Oblivion Dwells

by Lorena Franco

  She had believed it was Tom back then, but she was actually looking at this demon for the first time. James had been toying with her for so long. He had turned her life into hell since he had murdered Tom. He had tricked her, and now he would kill her.

  James separated himself from Amy as he heard steps once again. A flickering light appeared in one of the tight halls of the cave. Someone was holding a flashlight, and approached them slowly. Amy stared in horror at Derek Harrison, who had pulled a gun from his pocket and held it high with a shaking hand.

  “Have you come here to make sure I’m okay?” asked Amy weakly, smiling sadly.

  “It’s okay, girl, it’s okay...” whispered Derek, approaching her slowly and looking around him.

  Derek ran towards Amy. He couldn’t see James behind him, who in that moment pulled out another knife and shoved it into his back. Mister Harrison fell on the ground with a thud, staring at Amy. The knife had pierced his heart. Derek Harrison, whose conscience had finally made him go back for miss Campbell, died instantly on the cold floor of the cave, unable even to see his murderer. James had overcomed the lawyer’s mind, making him unable to see him.

  “The perks of being invisible,” said James, winking at Amy. “You’re strong, Amy. Very strong. Tom was killed by the first stab. What are you waiting for? I’ve told you everything. You’ll die just like everyone else with all of your life mysteries solved, what more do you want?

  “To live, James. I want to live.”

  “Darling... that’s just impossible...”

  James began to walk towards Amy with the intention of stabbing her one last time when four invisible hands stopped him. James opened his eyes wide. And, even if he was laughing, he seemed terrified. He screamed. He couldn’t move.

  “The perks of being invisible...” murmured Amy with a forced half-smile.

  For just a second Amy, balancing between life and the stupor of death, could see Tom’s angelical face as well as a woman’s. She was smiling with friendliness, but Amy could not recognize her. Her hair was black, her eyes bright, almost transparent blue... the fragility of her ghostly body did not match her soul’s strength. Amy did not know then that she was the ghost of Abbey, Paul’s great love. She did not know either that she was the author of the steps in her house and the hand on her shoulder that occurred so often back in the Butterfly. She didn’t mean to frighten Amy. Her mission had been to prevent and to protect the living from the other side of the plane that the living can’t see, even if destiny is often written in stone and there’s nothing no one can do to stop it. Not even a luminous ghost, watching from the other side.

  James kept screaming, unable to free himself from the spirits he still could not see; despite having incredible powers, he seemed to be weakened in that moment. These kind spirits would take James to the hellfire. There, where oblivion dwells... and where it is impossible to return from.

  The rope that tied Amy to the rock released itself as if by magic. Amy stared at mister Harrison’s dead body. No, she could not meet the same fate. She finally managed to stand up after four attempts. Glancing quickly behind, she looked at the spirits that had saved her from the monster from the other plane, and ran towards the cave’s exit. For reasons still unknown to her, she had seen for the first time that hidden plane. That world, parallel to the living’s, where the souls of the dead protect us... watch over us... and, in occasions, save us. They try. They remain there, never leaving completely, only changing their location. Yes, Amy had finally been able to see...

  Minutes. Eternal minutes. Amy managed to find a way out. She sat on the cold floor of the cave’s entrance, grabbing her wounds and looking up at the sky. It was the first time Dingle’s sky was free of clouds, and it offered a beautiful sunset that made her realized the had spent over twenty-four hours captive by the monster.

  Amy heard James scream. It was a terrifying shriek, and Amy knew in that moment that the spirits had finally dragged him to the place where he belonged. James was now in hell. She also knew then that she had managed to see the other side, hidden to the living, because she had been about to cross to it, because of her deep and painful wounds. And it hurt... it hurt that she had not been able to say goodbye to Paul. Of that new opportunity that could have been wonderful.

  Blood kept pouring out from her terrible wounds... life had begun to abandon her; death, patient as always, approached her slowly. She began to faint... she glanced for one last time at the sea. It was calm, and on it floated Paul’s colorful paintings. Amy smiled one last time and saw Paul, smiling back. He was coming to get her, to take her with him to an unknown plane, in which she would remain hidden forever, right next to the love of her life.

  James Levy’s body was found inside the dark cave, hours later. No one knew his name. No one knew who he was, his story, or about the powerful gift that had tormented him his entire life, just as it had happened with his twin. The expression on his face, still with his eyes opened, showed the terror he had experienced right before he died. People were surprised when they also found Paul and Samuel’s lawyer with a knife sticking out of his back. And that quiet and strange woman, Amy Campbell, right outside the cave. She had a smile on her face that seemed eternal, that spoke of the peace she had died in, despite the stabs that had ended her life. Paul Geller’s paintings had been found in the calm waters of the sea, reflecting the magical glow of the moon.

  The police agents that went into the cave were disturbed by what they found there, a place where no one had been in for many years. And, even if they didn’t find evidence of any supernatural event, they determined that James Levy was the murderer they had been haunting.

  The story told itself: James had stabbed Amy Campbell, who had managed to escape to the exit of the cave, where she died. Derek Harrison was the hero who had tried to save her, and even if he himself had been stabbed in the back, he had managed to end the murderer’s life. The end.

  Paul and Samuel were free. The case had been solved and closed. Samuel did more research on it and, even if he was also unable to discover who that man had been, he was absolutely certain he was responsible for the murders. And in the end he had targeted Amy, even if she didn’t fit the pattern. It had been a strange and sad case.

  It had been even sadder to tell Paul that Amy had died.

  “It can’t be. It just can’t be, I...” repeated Paul, disturbed by the news.

  “I’m sorry, Paul. The murderer got her.”

  “She didn’t recognize me the last time she saw me,” explained Paul, shaken.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “That’s what I asked her.”

  “Last time she was seen it was at Murphy’s, she was a little tipsy. Karl told me she had tried to introduce him to some guy named Tom, who she said was her boyfriend, but that there was no one with her.”

  “Tom?” asked Paul, suddenly attentive.

  Paul picked up his car and drove all the way to the Butterfly. He pictured Amy with a cigarette, sitting on the porch and enjoying the view. That day, clouds had covered Dingle’s sky and, for some strange reason, it felt right for him to be there. It felt safe.

  The door was open. Paul looked around, hoping still that it had all been a nightmare, or a joke. Hoping somehow that he would see Amy climbing down the stairs, or coming out of her studio, as usual. As if nothing had ever happened... as if death hadn’t taken away his second chance at happiness, ever since Abbey had died all those years ago.

  The house smelled good. It was clean and tidy. Tears rolled down Paul’s face as he dwelled on the memories that being there brought him and again, he heard steps. Slow. Calm. A hand laid down on his shoulder, and he heard the whisper of a female voice.

  “She’s okay... she’s okay...”

  “Abbey...” he recognized concerned.

  Paul opened his eyes wide. Instinctively, he walked towards the studio. The laptop was on. He sat down and read the last page of Amy’s novel. She had finished it before she died. She had
managed to write her novel.

  Paul spent the whole night reading what he thought was a masterpiece, one that had the happy ending that Amy did not have. With a heavy heart, he climbed the stairs and lied down on the bed in the guest’s room. In her room... he could still smell Amy’s perfume. Feel her. But the emptiness on the other side of the wall reminded him that she was not there anymore. He closed his eyes. Before falling into a deep sleep, he heard nine clicks of the light switch coming from Amy’s bedroom.

  “Amy...” he whispered with a smile on his face.

  She was there. She was still there, even if he couldn’t see her. Suddenly, he found himself in a beautiful sleep, standing on a luminous beach with a calm and glowing sea. Amy was there. She was dressed in a vaporous white dress, and her hair was not short anymore, it was long and silky instead. Her eyes were sparkling and her lips formed a big smile.

  “You’re here,” said Paul.

  “Just today. Only tonight. I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye, Paul.”

  “What happened?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m okay. I’m peaceful.”

  “With Tom?” asked Paul, a little heartbroken.

  “Yes, with Tom. But I will never forget you, Paul. What we had was wonderful, and it made me realize that life does give you second chances. And we could’ve been happy but... it just wasn’t meant to be. Destiny is written and now, you must be happy on your own. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you the last time I saw you. Believe me, it wasn’t my fault...”

  “I will never understand what really happened, will I?”

  “It’s better that way, Paul. That way no one will know the truth, but... Does anyone know the actual truth of things? There are secrets that are better kept hidden, locked away... where oblivion dwells,” answered Amy peacefully, caressing Paul’s chest with tenderness. “Remember me with love, Paul. Remember Abbey with love... But live. Give yourself a third, a fourth, a fifth chance... as many as you need. We will be waiting for you here; we’ll save for you a bit of heaven. But don’t be in a rush, Paul.

  “I loved you, Amy.”

  “I know. I loved you, Paul. Now I have to go.”

  “Will I ever see you again?”

  Amy smiled and nodded, walking away slowly, still looking at Paul. She vanished by walking into the sea, where Paul could see a smiling man joining her. Paul sat down on the beach until it began to rain... but even rain could not turn that dream into an awkward nightmare. Paul enjoyed the rain falling on her face, and contemplated the dark sky. Sometimes we can get something good even from the tougher situations...

  “The secret is not to chase the butterflies...

  but to take care of your garden, so they come to you instead.”

  (Mario Quintana)

  LONDON, ONE YEAR LATER

  Take me with you, the novel from the deceased journalist and writer Amy Campbell, had turned into the acclaimed Best Seller of the moment. Paul did the best he could to make sure that Amy’s novel got picked up by the best London editorial. And it was. With Steve’s help, who was terribly sad about the death of his favorite writer, they managed to make the mysterious novel Take me with you very successful, and it even got translated to several different languages.

  Ever since that night, Paul had never dreamt of Amy again. He had also stopped feeling her in the Butterfly. He assumed she had better things to do in paradise with Tom, rather than visiting him, or scaring him by moving around the house, from the hidden plane of the death. Paul had managed to keep the Butterfly. It gave him the peace and inspiration he required to dedicate himself to his increasingly acclaimed paintings. During the afternoons, even if Dingle’s clouded sky made it hard to see the colors of the sunset, Paul would sit on the beach, sometimes with ephemeral company, sometimes on his own. Remembering Amy... forever. And Abbey, often.

  March 12, 2016 would be a very special day. Paul traveled to London to attend an important presentation of the novel Take me with you in the prestigious library Waterstone’s, in Piccadilly Street. He had agreed to meet Steve and some of the writers from the newspaper where Amy used to work, who didn’t want to miss the event. Those who still had not read the Best Seller were anxious to know more about the gift of the story’s leading man. And about the death of the writer, something that apparently benefited greatly the sales of the book, which earnings were donated to several different charities.

  Even though Paul had read Take me with you a thousand times, he hadn’t obtained answers to his multiple questions. Why Amy? Who was that man that they had found and blamed for the murders? Luckily, Dingle had gone back to normal after the discovery of the corpses in the cave.

  At least Paul, through the book, did get to know Tom deeply. Without a doubt, the leading man of the story was based on him. And Paul lived through the suffering of his visions word by word in the perfect descriptions Amy managed to create in her novel.

  “Paul, I’m so glad to see you again,” greeted him an excited Steve. “Despite everything, we appreciated Amy, we really did.”

  “I know, Steve. She was a very quiet woman...” smiled Paul sadly.

  “I just know that, if things had been different, we would’ve been great friends,” said a beautiful brunette woman with honey colored eyes and tanned skin that was standing right next to Steve. “My name is Mel, I’m a receptionist at the newspaper,” she told Paul, flirting.

  “Nice to meet you, Mel. I’m Paul Geller.”

  “I know...” Mel couldn’t help but smiling nervously, and Steve looked at her surprised. “I really admire your work, Paul. In fact, I was wondering if after the presentation you... you would like to have dinner with me.”

  “Mel! I didn’t know you were so bold!” laughed Steve.

  “It will be great to have dinner together, Mel,” agreed Paul, winking at her and giving himself a new chance, just as he had promised Amy in his dreams.

  The room was suddenly full with people. All of them were holding Amy Campbell’s novel in their hands, waiting to hear Paul speak. He sat by a large rectangular table next to Steve and men from the important editorial house, glancing at Amy’s picture in the back of his copy of the book. She seemed to be smiling at him. She was staring at him as usual... and he just wanted to caress her beautiful short hair, and to kiss her lips... just once... just once more... but it was only a dream. A wish, a utopia... and all he had left were his memories. And the hope of being able to adapt to new lips, new women, a new life. Without her.

  “Mister Geller, you may begin,” said one of the editors with a warm smile.

  Paul rose from his chair and smiled shyly. He had never felt comfortable in front of an audience. He, who had always avoided protagonism by hiding behind his paintings, now was forced to face the crowd for someone else’s work. But for this person, it was worth it...

  “Thank you all for coming. Today, I would like to talk to you about Take me with you, a novel that has reached millions of readers all around the world. But, most important of all...” he exhaled bitterly. “I want to talk to you about the author. Amy Campbell. One of the most special persons I was lucky enough to meet.

  So Paul spoke about Amy. About second chances and lost time. About the pain of absence and the emptiness of memory. About life and about death. About people and loneliness. About the horror of night and the beauty of twilight.

  Those who were there ended up crying with emotion, unaware of Amy, who from the plane of the dead, was smiling and happy next to Tom, who held her hand to walk with her while she moved on.

  Sometimes, destiny can surprise us... all we have to do is let go and follow its path. To know how to wait. To trust. Magic exists... not just in special beings who visit this earth only for a while, like Tom. Magic lives in each of the people who believe in it. Magic turns us into powerful beings that, just like a butterfly’s flutter, can make anything happen. At the end, it’s magic that keeps us from crossing to that place where oblivion dwells...

  “What the caterp
illar

  calls the end, the rest of the world calls a

  BUTTERFLY”.

  (Lao-Tse)

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