Timeless (ForNever)

by Rosaline Saul

  Shannon gives a long sigh. “I hope it never happens to us. Do you think Dermot loves me?”

  “Do you want him to love you?”

  “I suppose.”

  “I actually do think he loves you. So, he hasn’t said it yet?”

  “No.” She moans sulkily.

  “He will, just give him time.” I do not want to sound like my mother, but I have to say it. “You know, of course, you shouldn’t go all the way, even if he does say it?”

  I know her so well and I know she is rolling her eyes as she says, “I know. No sex until I’m married.”

  I laugh. “Actually, it should be no sex, ever. These days people get married, sleep together, make babies and then they break up anyway. I cannot get my head around it. I swear it is so ridiculous.”

  “Last year, Carol’s mom and dad got divorced, and you never said then that love is lost.”

  “Yeah, but now it has happened right here in my own house and I see it more clearly now. They loved each other enough to want to spend the rest of their days with each other, so why don’t they love each other anymore?”

  “I don’t know, Heather. People don’t take love serious anymore.”

  I sigh, just as she yawns. “I better go. I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”

  “Not tomorrow. You will see me in a few hours.”

  “I am sorry I woke you.”

  “No worries.” I hear her smile. “You’re okay and everything will work out fine, you’ll see.”

  “Goodnight Shannon.”

  “Night, night Heather.”

  She ends the call and I sit staring vacantly at the wall across from me, eating my sandwich. Dark shadows loom in the corners of my eyes, pressing down on me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  When I step onto the train the next morning, Jayden is standing across the standing area. He smiles widely when he sees me, and I walk across to him.

  “Good morning.”

  “Morning. Nice day, isn’t it?” I say feeling a little awkward.

  His arm is pushed up against the wall of the carriage above my head to steady himself as the train pulls away. He ducks his head slightly under his arm as he looks out the window. “It is a nice day.” He brings his face up again and he is very close to me. It feels as if the intensity in his dark eyes burns me, so I look away.

  Instead of standing aside, he stays standing that way, his hand pressed against the carriage wall behind my head. My shoulder brushes against him every now and again.

  I look around me, searching, and I ask, “Where’s Kieran?”

  “He found something useful on Google last night and he has gone to find out if it’s true. I am on my way to Dublin on the same secret mission.” He emphasises the word ‘secret’, so I decide not to ask for the details. Besides, it is not as if Kieran and I are a couple, he can go on a search for whatever truth he is looking for without having to let me know.

  I glance in Jayden’s direction. “I googled Salem. That story Kieran told me intrigued me.”

  “What did you find out?” He asks amused.

  “Well, did you know from the year fourteen fifty to the year seventeen fifty it was estimated that as many as two million people were killed because they were believed to be witches, but it was mostly because of religious beliefs, intolerance, greed of property, personal malice, boredom and psychological disturbances.”

  He raises his eyebrows interested, and I am quite excited to share my new-found information. Although I have performed small acts of enchantment before, like making scented charms or peppermint tea with a little chant attached, I have never explored witchcraft as such. Most of the spells I did were to uplift my spirit, almost like meditation.

  I continue, “In America, especially, it was believed witches met at what was called Sabbaths. They were held four times a year. On Candlemas. The first of February. On May Eve, the thirtieth of April. On Lamas Eve, which is on the thirty-first of July and then on All Hallows Eve, the famous thirty-first of October. People said on those nights the witches smeared themselves with an ointment made of the blood and flesh of murdered babies.” I shiver disgusted. “They then flew away on their broomsticks to where the Sabbath was to be held.”

  I glance past his arm out of the window to my side and I say rushed, “I better hurry, we’re almost there. So, then after the Sabbath, they had a feast and were supposed to have eaten murdered children. After that, the witches danced, often back to back in a circle moving to the left.” I look up at him miserably. “But it is so sad though, because none of this was supposed to be true. These people were practising their pagan beliefs, which were in place long before the church came along. Did you know the back to back dance, is actually also a dance for fertility?”

  The train unexpectedly slows down and then comes to a stop. Everybody on the train groans as one. I am sure someone in the next galaxy could hear this cry of sheer annoyance.

  I sigh. “Must be a signal fault or something, and it doesn’t usually take too long. Not nice when you have to stand, though.”

  He looks down at me thoughtfully. His finger brushes against my skin explosively and I take a deep breath from the sudden shock, as he lifts my Celtic cross from off my chest where it peeks out from under my shirt. I usually only button my last two buttons and pull my tie straight when the train pulls into the station, just before I step off from it.

  He says softly while he holds the cross between his fingers, his knuckles resting against my skin, “Accusations could be made by anyone and were often forced from previously accused people under torture.” He gets a far-away look in his eyes. “The accused was forced to make a confession which also implicated others and they often used torture.” He grimaces while his eyes are still focused somewhere distant. “Sometimes the victim was tied to a pulley and hoisted up into the air. The more severe the accusations were, the heavier the weights were which were attached to the pulley. The victim was then jerked until all his or her limbs were dislocated and obviously to avoid this, they would even name their own mother as a witch. They were tortured until they confessed, and once they confessed, they were accused of witchcraft and they were executed.” He shudders and then he blinks his eyes as he looks around at the other passengers, who are all deeply engrossed in their own conversations or reading the newspaper or a novel.

  Slowly he leans closer into me and I feel his breath on my neck. He says quietly, “Did you also know that when the witch signed the Devil’s book, to seal the deal they made with him, they received a mark on their skin.” He touches his lips to a small mole I have just under my ear. I close my eyes for a brief, blissful moment.

  The train pulls off again as he straightens up. He is still holding onto my cross, his fingers rub against my skin in time with the rhythm of the train.

  I smile shyly up at him, trying to ignore the effect he has on me. His eyes look into mine broodingly, as I say, “That was awfully brutal to torture people like that.” I chuckle uncomfortably. “I actually had more to tell, but now I have forgotten most of it.”

  He smiles unhurriedly, as he asks unexpectedly, “What are you doing this weekend?”

  “Nothing much. Why?”

  “Shall we do something together?”

  “I can’t see why not.” I look up at him and smile invitingly.

  He angles his head down closer to mine and I have the distinct feeling he is going to kiss me. Unintentionally my eyes move from his eyes to his full lips. He smiles slowly.

  The train stops with a trembling and I snap out of the captivated moment.

  Moving away from him mystified, I hear him say, “I’ll see you later, Heather.”

  Looking back at him, across my shoulder, I murmur, “Bye.”

  I feel his eyes follow me until I walk through the doors into the ticket office and I hear the train rumble away.

  Relieved, I see Shannon waiting for me. We walk to school discussing what we should have for lunch while I wonder what could possibly be wron
g with me. Am I having a mental breakdown? Surely my mom and dad getting divorced could not have such a big impact on me. They were unhappy with each other, and their eternal love was not so eternal after all. So what? It happens every day—right?

  As always, once we enter the school building, Shannon and I go to the bathroom.

  I turn toward her, as we walk into the dimly lighted, cool room. I tell her what happened on the train, every word, but I add, “Shannon, I am being so, so forward with him. Gosh, I am the first to admit I am the queen of flirt, but this is extreme even for me. I kissed his brother and now I am yearning for Jayden to kiss me.”

  She leans across the basin to re-apply her gloss.

  I lean with my hip against the wall as I watch her. “He has some kind of hold on me, I am sure.”

  “Like a magic spell?”

  “No.” I scoff.

  She says jokingly, “Do you think he signed a deal with the devil? You should get him to take off his clothes and then you can look for a birthmark.”

  I punch her lightly on her upper arm and walk past her out of the bathroom. “Honestly, Shannon—not even close to funny.”

  As we walk toward our first class, my phone beeps. I pull it out of my pocket and notice it is a text from my dad. I open it, and it says, “Will pick you up Friday at seven.”

  I frown as I close the message. Is he serious? Why would he presume he can text me with instructions on when I will see him? I am sure it suits him, but does it suit me? I think not.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I am surprised when I get off the train in Drogheda that afternoon to see Kieran waiting for me outside the ticket office.

  He stands up from the low wall he had been sitting on and he walks toward me nervously.

  I smile down at him as I walk down the steps. “Hi. Where are you going?”

  “Waiting for you.” He turns as I reach him and casually, naturally, he takes my hand into his.

  I smile pleased. “Why?”

  He looks distraught. “Jayden was with you on the train this morning.”

  I frown. “Do you tell each other everything?”

  He looks confused. “No, but it is difficult to explain.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Are you just trying to be mysterious, or what? Now two things you have that are difficult to explain. This reminds me.” I look at him expectantly.

  He smiles. “It really is complicated, though.” He pulls on my hand. “Come, I’ll walk you home.”

  We walk down the stone steps to the main road and then turn toward the road I usually walk home. As we walk past a quaint, pretty garden, beautifully looked after by the elderly couple I sometimes see pottering around in the soil, he plucks a white rose from a rose bush overhanging the boundary wall.

  As we continue walking, he holds the rose to his nose and breathes in deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. He smiles when he pulls the rose away from his nose and he holds it out toward me.

  I lean in to smell it. The rich, sweet fragrance prickles up my nose. “It smells heavenly.”

  He smells it again. “It does.” He exhales loudly, and then he asks, “I am going to answer one of your questions today, if that’s okay?”

  “Only one?” I laugh cheerfully.

  His smile widens. “I wouldn’t want you to think I am not mysterious anymore.”

  I nudge him with my shoulder, as if to tell him not to worry, he will always intrigue me. I feel as if there is a great shroud of mystery surrounding him and as soon as he tells me one thing, there are about five other things he leaves hanging in mid-air, unanswered.

  “Okay, let’s do this then. So, I am sure you have heard of magic?”

  “Obviously. Who hasn’t? Magic is the attempt to control the natural world by controlling supernatural powers which are believed to direct events in the natural world.”

  He laughs. “You are a walking encyclopaedia. Did you know though?” He looks at me inquisitively. “The practice of magic is based on magical or superstitious beliefs, which are not supported by logic, science or religion. To practice magic involves words, actions, and objects. In recent times, magicians who use magic for entertainment have sullied this practice.”

  “Like sleight of hand tricks?”

  He nods affirmatively. “Yes, the public influence of magicians has resulted in a spectacle and fakery of magic which is very amusing, but very different from the serious side of real magic. Serious magic is generally restricted to strongly traditional societies and to groups who have relatively little contact with major world developments.” He smiles sadly. “Once people are surrounded by the everyday world, they forget magic even exists.

  I interrupt him, “Yeah, but real magic can be used for good or evil purposes, like white or black magic.”

  He smiles pleased. “Yes. Some people might even use the words witchcraft or sorcery, and some believe it is used to control witches or disembodied souls.”

  I ask jokingly, “Witches again?”

  He grins while he twirls the stem of the rose between his fingers. “What colour rose is your favourite?”

  I think for a moment. “I’ll have to say that near black red roses are my absolute favourites.”

  He holds the rose up in front of him. I hear him murmur something and then he sweeps his hand, palm down over the rose. I gasp loudly when he hands me the near black-red rose. The tips of the petals are bright red and then it darkens as it goes closer to the stem. It is the most beautiful rose I have ever seen.

  I look at him in disbelief as I reach for the rose and my fingers brush against his as I take it from him.

  He announces, looking embarrassed, “Magic.”

  I look behind me and try to see in the distance if there is a rose bush with red roses growing next to the one where he picked the white one. Although, I know I have never seen a red rose along this road I walk every day, he must have tricked me. There is no way he could have changed the colour of the rose.

  I laugh cheerily. “I know. You bought this one earlier, before waiting for me at the station. What did you do with the white one?” I look back to see if it is lying on the pathway behind us. As I turn back to him, I say excitedly, “You must teach me how you did it.”

  We turn into my estate as he says, “It’s not that simple.”

  I laugh. “Jeez, with you nothing is ever simple or easy, is it?”

  “I am trying to explain what happened the other day when you almost.” He does not say died; he changes his words. “Got knocked over.”

  I look at him confused. “What does it have to do with magic?”

  “It is all about magic.”

  We reach my house and I invite him in. He follows me down the hall to the kitchen. I put the rose in a tiny vase filled with water while he leans against the cupboard.

  As I make the tea, I feel him watching my every move, so at last, I stir the sugar into the tea one final time, and then I turn around to face him.

  I hold his mug out to him and he reaches for it.

  When he takes it from me, I ask seriously, “So what does magic have to do with witchcraft? Are you a witch?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  He laughs amused. “One question at a time.”

  I start to walk down the hall to the lounge, and he follows me. When I sit down on my usual seat, I swing sideways on the couch and then I pull my knees up in front of me. My toes burrow into the gap between the seat and the armrest. I fold both my hands around the mug because although it is a beautiful late spring, early summer’s day with not a single cloud in the sky, I feel a chill.

  He looks at me apprehensively where he sits across from me. He leans back into the chair and he holds the mug up across his chest, with his other arm casually draped across the armrest. He starts talking hesitantly, “Magic is basically the control of the environment around you.”

  “But, what does it have to do with the day you saved me?”

  “You need only two things to perform magic, the
spell, and the object. Usually the spell involves an incantation or chant that has to be repeated over an extended period of time, but when you say something repeatedly and you believe it, it does eventually come true, doesn’t it?” He looks at me questioningly.

  I tighten my lips while I consider this and then I nod my head in agreement. “It does if you say it long enough.”

  He smiles slowly. “I believe these days new age thinkers call it affirmations.”

  I chuckle loudly.

  “Then you need a strong believe that everything and anything, in other words, the object is merely energy. Minuscule little elements of bouncing and bopping energy particles and atoms.” He smiles slowly, as he looks across the room at me. I can see the mirth glitter in his eyes. “If you practised to harness this energy you could change a white rose into a red one. It is in you, in all of us and anybody could use it if they believed strongly enough. After years and years of practice, you would be able to shape anything to the way you want it to be without using repetitive chants, all you need is to believe. Obviously, you should never try to jump off a cliff and expect to land safely because it took me years and years to hone my skill, to believe as strongly as I do today. It takes dedicated practice and discipline.”

  I ask in disbelief, “So I did hear the metal crunch when the car knocked into you? I did feel the impact. It was never my imagination?” I answer my own question, “With magic, you shaped it back to the way it was supposed to be. There were dents and scrapes on the car, but you fixed it, just by thinking it?”

  I look across the room at him, as my mind whirl and reel in disbelieving panic. With lightning speed, my mind builds pictures in my head from scattered images, which at first seem unrelated, but now when they are placed next to another, they fit perfectly, like puzzle pieces. A whole lot of information scattered in various parts of my memory comes together to form a picture, albeit there are still a lot of empty, unfilled spaces.