by Autumn Sand
“No, I want this house.”
“Why? After what the old woman said, you still want this?” His eyes narrow as he waits for my reply.
“Yes, I do. I know that this house won’t make me sad. Hell, I’m already sad. What more can it do to me?”
“Make you lose your mind?”
“My mind is made on this. I am going forward with the purchase.”
“This is sheer madness, and you know it.”
I clap him on the back and walk back to the woman to finalize the sale.
Chapter 7
I walk into my new home and watch the workmen and movers maneuver around each other like an ant colony. It has been a whirlwind month, from the moment I signed the papers at the auction to the following day, when I met with an architect who specializes in historic homes, and now I’m officially moving in. Most of the house is inhabitable, but Marcus was able to make one bedroom and a makeshift kitchen for me upstairs. The whole renewal process will take at least a year, he said, and that is mostly because I am trying to keep the home as historically accurate as I can, with some modern updates. Luckily, it already had electric and indoor plumbing, though both needed some major updates.
James, of course, has fought me every step of the way, and calls this my descent into madness. He even dragged Agatha into the argument, saying I need to be closer to her offices as I complete Grace’s Choice. They both lost out on the argument, and today is my official move-in day.
“Evan, you made it.” Marcus walks over to me with his hand extended.
I give him a hearty handshake as I take in the work he was able to finish in a short period of time.
“Yes, I see my furniture has arrived.”
“It did, they are starting to move it upstairs to your living quarters. You sure you won’t be more comfortable in a hotel?”
I vehemently shake my head. “No, this is home.”
“As you wish. Come on, let me show you around your home.” We step over some wood pilings on the floor, into the rotunda-style vestibule, with a dark wood staircase with brass leaf molded designed baluster on either side, leading to the second floor.
“I see you were able to save the staircase,” I mention as we walk into the living room.
“Yes, the wood was sturdy. I only had to replace one or two pieces. They don’t build them like they used to anymore. You are lucky; this house has good bones.”
I smile and nod. The light in the room is bright from the sun and lack of shades. I need to hire a decorator eventually, but for now, it is fine for me.
Marcus stops in front of the fireplace, which is tall enough for a man to stand under and wide enough for at least six of us to stand side by side.
I walk over to where he is standing.
“I wanted to show you this. Your bedroom is up there.” He points to the ceiling, and I look up to where he is pointing.
“Yes, correct.”
“Your bedroom has a fireplace as well.”
Not knowing where this is going, I just nod, prompting him to finish.
“It seems this fireplace”—he points—“was built when the house was built. For whatever reason, it has been sealed off, and the fireplace upstairs was built directly over this one.”
My forehead creases as I try to figure out the meaning of what he is trying to tell me. The workmen suddenly begin hammering and breaking up boards and flooring, the noises echoing throughout the room.
“I don’t understand.”
“To the best of what I can tell, without having the proper equipment to investigate this further, it appears that you have a compartment resting on top of the this fireplace.”
“A compartment?”
He nods his head, raising his voice a little as the banging gets louder. “Yes, a compartment. Now, since this house was around during the Civil War, it is a strong possibility the owners of the house hid their valuables in that compartment, from the Union soldiers.”
“Are you telling me there might be gold or something in there?”
“It sure is possible. They could have hidden gold, jewels, antiques, things like that. Matter of fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if there are more compartments like this around the house.”
“What do you need, to know what’s inside the compartment?” I yell out above all the construction noise.
He steps inside the fireplace and knocks his fist on the brick walls. “I’ll need to order a special x-ray machine for this. Or I can just break the wall down. But I think the machine would make better sense, just in case there is something fragile hidden.”
“I agree; let’s do that.” I place my hands in my pockets and walk to the window, squinting against the glare of the sun as I stare out at the land.
“About that. The machine is expensive, and will have to be added to my initial budget quote. It should cost about—”
I turn around and shake my head. “Just order it. I’ll cry about the money later. I’m just as curious as you are.”
“There is a third option.”
“That being?”
“We ignore it. It’s not like you can’t use your fireplace upstairs. I could be wrong about my assumption; perhaps they took whatever might be was hidden out of the compartment already.”
“Perhaps, but let’s just be safe and get the machine.”
He opens his mouth to say something else, but I hold my hand up. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going up to my room. I have some phone calls I need to make, and I also want to set up my office area, so I can start writing at night.”
“Of course. I’ll place the order for the machine today. I told the workmen to stay downstairs and let you get adjusted to your living quarters upstairs. If you need me, I’ll be here till about six; the workmen get off at four.”
“Thanks a lot, Marcus.”
“No problem, Evan.”
Chapter 8
I’m sitting in my makeshift office, trying desperately to pull the words together to complete Grace’s Choice. I’ve been sitting here for exactly three hours, and I’ve got bupkis. The words that used to jump from my head to my fingertips are gone, and I don’t know what the problem is.
I walk over to the window and open the balcony door, stepping out into the night. The dampness from the air coats my skin. The hum of life surrounds the house—animals, birds, and insects alike. The only sound I believe I recognize is an owl, though I can’t seem to locate him. I always heard their eyes glowed in the dark, making them easy to spot. I can hear James and Dawn laughing at me now. Here I am, a city boy, basically uprooting his life to live in the deep country. On a plantation, at that!
I look heavenward and smile, and I can almost imagine Rae chuckling at me.
“Well Evan, what are you going to do now?” I say out loud. For a moment, it sounds as if the nighttime hum has stopped momentarily, perhaps to just listen and wait for that response. But none comes, and the hum resumes.
What looks like hundreds of the tiniest lights I have ever seen sparkle and then disappear just as quickly. Lightning bugs, I guess.
Then, I see it in my mind. My story begins to take hold of me. I run back to my desk and sit, eager to get my thoughts down.
I type out the words quickly, as my heart pounds in my chest with excitement. “Grace walks out into the evening, her lavender dress flowing behind her. She giggles as she stops, turning to see her lover following behind her. She feels light and happy, and quickens her step in the direction of the lightning bugs. He calls her name, but she doesn’t stop. She knows he will follow her; he always will. She closes her eyes and dances in the field, to a tune she can hear from afar. Or is it in her head? Sticking out her tongue, she tastes life on her lips, and she is never letting go.”
I bang out the words on my keyboard as if I were a man possessed by them. Oh, this is going to be a great book, I can feel it.
Bang, bang, bang.
I pop my head up from my keyboard and squint at the brazen sunlight coming through my unshaded
windows. First thing I must do is buy some shades for my room. I feel hungover, though I haven’t had a drink. I stretch and yawn, then look at my cell for the time.
Noon? What the hell? What time did I pass out? I look at my laptop, and swipe at my screensaver, and the words appear on the screen. I smile because I didn’t lose the information when I apparently collapsed on the keyboard.
Bang, bang, bang.
The nighttime sounds have been replaced by the workmen of the daytime. I rise and stretch again, then walk into my makeshift kitchen and power up my Keurig. I wait anxiously for the sixty seconds it takes for the machine to power up and brew.
“Good afternoon, Evan. You look like you had a late night,” Marcus says from the doorway.
I turn and smile, offering him a cup of coffee. He walks in and accepts as I pop in another pod to brew my own.
“Yeah, I was inspired last night, and wrote until it appears I passed out.”
“Ahh, would this be Grace’s Choice?” he asks, as he takes a sip of his brew.
I smile at him, a little shocked that he would be reading my books. “I didn’t know you were a fan.”
He smiles broadly, showing the whites of his teeth. “Sorry, but no. My wife is a huge fan of yours, though. She has been anxiously waiting for Grace’s Choice.”
I laugh. “Her, and what seems half of the women in America. And that’s including my editor.”
“She’s a big fan?”
“Yes and no. She is a fan of making money off me.”
Marcus tilts his head to the side, waiting me to explain.
“She basically threatened to sue me if I didn’t complete Grace’s Choice in six months.”
He whistles and shakes his head. “How much more time you have then?”
“Well, I’m down to five. But I got a good start last night, and the book was halfway written before…” I swallow hard and look away.
The silence lingers between us, and I am thankful that he isn’t trying to fill it with words. I try to catch up with my feelings before continuing to speak.
“Basically, I don’t have much left to finish. I should probably be done within another week or two if I keep this pace up.”
“This one will be made into a movie, like the rest of the series?”
“Yes, it has already been optioned to do so. Part of the other reason my editor wants to sue. I’m costing my publishing house and the movie studio millions the longer I wait.”
He takes the last sip from his cup and places it in the dishwasher. “Well, thank you for the coffee, and good luck with finishing the book. Sorry about the noise; it may keep you up.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I wave him off.
He stops at the door. “I almost forgot. You had a delivery while you were asleep. It’s downstairs; I’ll have someone bring it up for you now.”
I nod my agreement and finish drinking my coffee in a comfortable, noisy silence.
“Where would you like this, Mr. Taylor?” Two men, holding a container taller than them, stand in the hall, a few minutes later.
I rise and look at the container marked “Fragile.” I beckon them to follow me to my office-slash-bedroom. They place their burden in the middle of the room as I stare at it. I walk hesitantly around the container, looking for a sender, but I can’t find none.
“Would you like for us to open it for you?”
I nod as they take their hammers out and begin pry the wood apart. Shredded paper and padded wrapping falls to the floor in a heap. The workmen remove the rest of the wrapping and expose the mystery item. An 18th century, Italian-style, gold floor mirror, with antiqued leaf and scrolls stands before me, and a card is taped to the mirror’s front.
The workmen wait to see if there is anything more I need, but I wave them away with my thanks. I remove the card taped to the mirror and open it. In her hastily-written script, I read my sister in-law’s note.
Dear Evan,
I still think buying the house was a crazy idea, but I will try to support you in your decision. I saw this when I was antique shopping, and thought it would look great in your new home. Please accept this as my peace offering.
Love,
Dawn
I smile at the handwritten note and place it on my desk. I pick up my cell and dial Dawn to thank her.
“Hi, you’ve reached Dawn. (Giggle) I’m either busy shopping or meditating so I’ll catch you later. Byyyee.”
I shake my head at her cheerful voicemail and leave a quick message.
“Dawn, I received the mirror today. Thanks, I think I already found a home for it. Anyway, give me a call when you get a chance.” I toss my cell on my desk and stare at the mirror.
With the sun’s rays hitting the gold leafing and scrolls, it looks like fire. I hold my hand in the ray’s path, letting the warmth flow through me. I close my eyes and take it in, as the heat feels as if it’s intensifying. An overwhelming feeling comes over me, like a burst of energy that is fighting to come out. I don’t know how to explain it, but images flicker through my mind, of what is to be my future. Stumbling backward, my eyes pop open, and I gasp for breath.
My hand is over my pounding heart as I stare at the mirror. What the hell was that?
Chapter 9
I’ve been sitting on my bed, as if in a trance, staring at the mirror, waiting for something to happen. Did I imagine everything? Slowly I rise and walk solemnly to the mirror and, with a hesitant hand, reach out to touch it. As if being pulled by a magnetic field, I’m drawn to the energy from the mirror. My hand begins to tremble, no matter how hard I try to steady it. I take in a deep breath, close my eyes, and…
“Evan, hey.”
My heart lurches in my throat as I stumble backward and turn to see Marcus standing in the arch of the door.
Lowering my hand quickly and wiping my sweaty palm on my jeans, I nod in his direction.
“Sorry if I startled you.” He smiles sheepishly.
I glance at the mirror and clear my throat before turning back to him. “No, no problem. What’s up?”
He walks inside the room; his work boots track a trail of dust in their path. “Just wanted to let you know that the workers are done for the day, and I’ll be cutting out a little early as well. Wanted to check in with you, and see if there was anything you needed before I leave?”
I rub the top of my unkempt hair and shake my head. “No, thanks for checking.”
He smiles and walks toward the door. “No problem. See you tomorrow then.” He waves before he exits.
I stare at his retreating figure before turning back to the mirror. With an outstretched hand, I walk toward it and touch it. Nothing happens. The pull is gone. Was that my imagination before? What happened?
Slowly I inspect the mirror, walking around it, and knocking my fist lightly on it.
Nothing.
I stand in front of it, staring at my reflection.
Rubbing my hands over my day-old beard, I decide I must have imagined it all. I wait for the settlement of relief to wash over me, but nothing comes. Because I know that there was something that happened. It wasn’t my imagination.
My cellphone lights up with an incoming phone call. I grab it and answer abruptly.
“Yeah?”
“Well hello to you too.” My sister-in-law’s voice comes over the line.
“Oh hey. Sorry, Dawn.”
“Am I interrupting?” Her voice sounds unsure, and I feel like shit for making her feel that way.
I clear my throat and take a seat at my desk. “No, not at all.”
She sighs before we fall into an awkward silence.
“Hey, thank you for the gift.” My voice trails a bit at the end, as I still try to figure out what happened moments ago.
“Oh goody, I’m glad you like it.” I can picture her smiling into the phone.
“Y-yeah, I do.”
I hear her clap enthusiastically. “I went antique shopping a few weeks ago with Willa.”
I get up and walk back to the mirror again. “Willa?”
“Yes, Willa. Remember I brought her to your old house, when you and …” She stops herself from saying Rae’s name.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
“I-I-I’m sorry.”
I close my eyes as I remember Rae and how excited she was about this house. The house that she will never get a chance to live in. “Don’t say that. I want to hear her name. Go ahead and finish your story. Who is Willa?”
She pauses for a moment before picking up where she left off. “I brought Willa to your old house. She is the priestess that blessed the house.”
As Dawn prattles on about that day, memories of when Rae and I first bought our house flood me. How we made love in every room of the house on our first day. How she took special care in decorating each room, spending countless hours choosing the right pictures to hang on the walls. How we had so much hope for the future, and we just knew there was always going to be a tomorrow. But tomorrow is now here, and I am alone, standing in a reflection of my past, afraid of what the future might hold.
“So, when we went into that antique shop, Willa said that the mirror spoke to her. She said you were meant to have it.”
I wipe the tears from my cheek as I stare at my reflection. A pulse of energy goes through me, and this time, I know it's not my imagination. It’s coming from this mirror.
An overwhelming urge to be alone hits me. I lower my hand with my cell and stare at it, as if unaware I was still connected. I hold the phone back to my ear. “Dawn—”
“And the shop keeper told us that it held special powers.”
“Huh? What holds special powers?” I’m gut-punched back into reality.
She exhales loudly on the phone, and I can imagine her rolling her eyes at me. “Why, the mirror, of course. Did you forget what I was talking about? Evan, I’m starting to worry about you again. Have you been getting enough sleep? Or maybe you need to—”
“Dawn. I’m getting plenty of sleep. What about the mirror?”
