The Familiar Secret
Joshua Spotts
Something dwelt there, something new. It was hungry. He was angry. Suppressing the new passion, he woke and rose from the bed. He thought he heard it whisper his name. The cold air brushed against his feet before it was banished by the warmth of his slippers. The brown wood flooring creaked as he stood. The man removed his red nightcap, folded it, and placed it gently inside his nightstand. Rubbing the dust of dreams from his eyes, he left the bedroom.
Laying his hand to the pinewood banister, the man guided himself down the broad staircase. He descended from the heavens of his dreams into the earthly incarnation of reality. He smiled as he entered the kitchen. The tiles, which covered the wall for about three feet up from the floor, shined in the stark sunlight which streamed in with the morning air. The rest of the walls above the tiling were painted a soothing baby blue color.
“Good morning, Jason.” The green eyes looked up at him. White teeth showed off their beauty in a wide grin. Light shimmered against her yellow hair.
“It is a wonderful morning, my lovely.” Jason answered. His slippers slapped against the linoleum flooring as he entered and sat across from his wife. “Newspaper come this morning?”
“It has not, dear.” His wife took a sip of her tea. The steam caressed her face before the morning breeze carried it away. Spring was her favorite time of year.
Jason did not smell the buttered toast until it was set before him. He sighed with the pleasure of the scent. He looked at his wife’s hair and basked in the realization that she had instructed their cook to make the toast specifically how he liked it. The lovely thought shattered when he realized that perhaps there was something special about today. But he could not remember what it could possibly be.
“Good morning, Mr. Lostrun.” The cook, who also served as the maid, smiled down at him.
“Good morning, Miss (Irma) Kilpatrick.” Mr. Lostrun responded. He wondered how she managed to keep those white curls so orderly while working over steaming pots a good portion of the day. Then his mind drifted to the secret of that morning. It was, in his mind, more mysterious than Irma’s curls. Certainly it was more pleasurable.
With the delicious taste of his breakfast still on his tongue, Mr. Lostrun excused himself and went to his study. It was a gorgeous room. The lighting was provided by two tall, bronze lamps. The green lampshades cast strange shadows against the ceiling. The mahogany walls, the thick, cozy, dark red carpet, the oak desk and matching bookshelves all seemed to belong together. But they also seemed to belong somewhere else, perhaps someplace else, or, if it was possible, sometime else.
Mr. Lostrun sat in his black office chair. The light in the room glinted off the small, bronze pins that held the leather to the chair’s frame. He always enjoyed Saturday mornings. He closed his eyes, rested his feet upon the desk, and let his mind wander. However, it did not wander. It dove straight to the secret. The new secret in his bedroom was now the old secret in the study. The mere thought of it seemed to belong there. It was familiar.
Folding his arms across his chest, Mr. Lostrun leaned back in his chair, and brought the secret to the forefront of his mind. He basked in its glory. Then she appeared. He saw her green eyes looking into his own. He was outside his body. It was a strange sensation. He watched his wife, admiring her. She was dancing with him. Love stirred in his heart, but the secret fought it. It alone must be loved. Mr. Lostrun’s wife began to fade away as Jason returned to his body, to his secret. A glimmer of light glanced off the golden hair in the mist.
Mr. Jason Lostrun awoke and looked about him. His study seemed to him a fortress.
What a perfect place to hide the secret, Mr. Lostrun thought. Then that other side took over. The secret lost complete control.
“Mary,” Jason called, “would you please come here?”
No one answered his call. Jason opened the door and called out again. This time his wife answered, “yes, dear.”
She was sweeping the hallway, doing housework despite Miss Kilpatrick’s wishes. It showed on her flowery summer dress. The light from the open doorway illuminated the dust particles in the air of the hallway. Mary smiled at Jason from the doorway. She was framed by the light. He noticed that she held one hand behind her back. At this he sighed. “You know, dear…”
“Mary, dearest, you should not be sweeping! Give me that broom.” Miss Kilpatrick rushed up from behind and grabbed the broom from Mary’s left hand. “You know what the doctor said.”
“Irma,” Jason interrupted Miss Kilpatrick’s scolding. “You’re not her nanny anymore. She is an adult now and knows what’s best for her.”
“She may be an adult, but she’s as stubborn as she ever was.” Miss Kilpatrick turned and marched away, holding onto the broom like a trophy.
“Mary,” Jason looked firmly at her. “You know the doctor told you to not do anything too physical.”
“I know, dear, but it’s not strenuous to sweep a little hallway.”
“What about your lung condition then?” Jason placed his hands on Mary’s shoulders. He turned her toward the hallway. “This dust will affect you tonight.”
“Jason, I am fine. I feel fine.” Mary looked at her husband with her loving eyes. Her voice was sweet and gentle.
“No! You’re not fine!” Mr. Lostrun threw his hands into the air. “We don’t even sleep in the same bed anymore. We haven’t for months. You are frail, Mary, you are not fine!”
“Dear Jason, I am sorry for the pain this has caused you.”
“No, no, it is fine. You just need to go and get some rest and take your medicine.” Mr. Lostrun dismissed her with a light kiss. His secret beckoned to him. It called from the darker corners of his study. It hid in the shadows between the red carpet and the dark backs of the bookshelves. Mr. Lostrun watched his wife head upstairs. He retreated into the study, muttering a lie to himself; “I have to get some work done.”
Whispered Beginnings Page 13
