The Lothgoliar

PART ONE

"The more one analyzes people, the more all

reasons for analysis disappear. Sooner or

later one comes to that dreadful

universal thing called human nature."

― Oscar Wilde

"The meeting of two personalities is like the

contact of two chemical substances: if there is

any reaction, both are transformed."

― Carl Jung

prologue

ON AN UNNAMED peak near the top of the earth, he waits for the golden sun to crest the snow-capped mountain range before him. The air is crisp and still, allowing him to hear the smooth flap-flap of an eagle’s wings a few miles to the north.

A screech of the eagle echoes past him, carrying on further to the south.

On the eastern horizon, orange and crimson altocumulus clouds pepper the deep blue sky. A thousand feet below him, dwarf shrubs speckle the mountainside, providing sanctuary to a pair of marmots that skitter between rock and plant, whistling to one another in warning of the eagle’s threat. Closer to sea level, evergreen trees, mainly spruce and larch, flourish. Beyond that, and lining the emerald valleys, deciduous trees dominate.

All life has its place.

Belligerent to this thought, he pushes it from his mind.

More than a routine, it has become a lifestyle; day after day sitting on this lush, grassy cliff on the edge of the alpine tundra; watching the same silhouetted vignette bloom into a colourful landscape; following the same currents through the wide riverbed down below him, noting their rise and fall with the seasons. He has come to know the flora and fauna with intimacy, right down to the nest of an alpine accentor—a sparrow-like bird—tucked into a rock crevice a hundred feet to his right.

But everything is changing.

He stretches out on the grass, legs dangling over the edge of the cliff and arms spread wide in beds of alpine buttercups. He inhales what, in all probability, will be his last breaths of untainted air. His last breaths of freedom, of the world he has come to love with a passion equal to that for his own life. He turns his palms down to grasp what foliage he can and closes his fists around it. He wants to pull, yank root and stem right from the ground, but he stops himself. He squeezes his fingers tighter around the plants instead.

A mild release. And a distraction from the pain.

The blood seeping from his wounded wing smells coppery. He would tend to it if it were not in such an out of reach place, but it lies somewhere near his backbone. Though by now he is more than accustomed to this environment, it still holds its dangers; in the dim light of pre-dawn, he slipped and landed on a jagged rock, thus the laceration. Though the injury is superficial, he would welcome a fatal wound. It would be a better destiny than what awaits him.

With a heavy heart, he sits up. It is time.

The first spears of intense sunlight extrude from behind the mountains, blinding him. He turns away and, despite the pain in his back, jumps to his feet. The soft blades of grass caress the skin between his toes. Fearing that this is a pleasure he may never feel again, he is consumed by a sudden flood of panic. Wrought with angst, he leans back and screams into the brightening sky.

The mother alpine accentor flits off her eggs and into the expanse.

The echo of his frustration bounces between walls of stone and returns to him. It refuses to leave him.

Taking flight will be painful in his condition, but he is unable to dwell here and avoid responsibility, obligation, any longer. Already weary of the task to come, he must remind himself that he has always enjoyed a change of scenery.

And he has always enjoyed them.

Well, almost always.

But he suffers no illusions that his journey will not end in death.

He catches the breeze under the feathers of his wings, leans forward, and closes his eyes. Gravity drags him toward the river below, and he feels the air, as smooth as silk, kiss every skin cell of his body.

Sometimes he closes his wings. Plummets. To be with her.

He does this now.

Yet, as always, his wings unconsciously expand in the manner of self-preservation. He opens his eyes, resigned, and glides back up into the sky.

With his path illuminated, he heads westward.

To confront fate.

1

storm and thicket

"DO YOU SEE this bruise?"

Josh Edwards leaned ahead on the narrow steel railing to see the blemish on Brian Guilleny’s biceps. The large contusion was as black and blue as the storm clouds roiling in from the southwest. Josh could not recall the last time he had seen a bruise so swollen, despite that injuries were commonplace in his profession. He was also surprised that Brian had not mentioned the affliction earlier.

Blimey, Josh said before downing a long swig of warm water from the plastic bottle in his hand. "Did you fall down a well or something? How’d you even get this far with that bowling ball hanging off your arm?"

He was tempted to poke the bruise as greatly as one is compelled to scratch a fresh mosquito bite. But being that Brian was six-foot-three—taller than him by three inches—Josh knew to refrain from such an action if he wanted today to remain injury-free.

Right…No, Lilia took a chomp at me, Brian replied with a proud smile. Love bite, I reckon.

Josh scoffed at the stupidity of the concept and then laughed in spite of himself. Love bite from a horse? He wiped his brow with the back of his wrist and gulped some more water.

Forgetting that he was sitting on the narrow steel rail of the one-lane bridge, he leaned back. A blast of euphoria surged through him as he began to fall, a sensation of weightlessness beleaguering his core.

Brian snatched his right arm with a swift hand and yanked him forward. Where the hell are you going?

Josh’s heart thundered in his chest as he regained a modicum of balance. He released a whooshing sigh and jumped from the railing to the gravel before he could perform an encore.

"Shit, thanks. Thought I was going in the river."

Brian rolled down his tee shirt sleeve. Yeah, well, I was ready for a swim anyhow. His face was still flushed, his forehead dripping sweat. The grey cotton tee shirt he wore was drenched down the center and under his armpits. The man was not in bad shape, but Brian had never been one for cardio. I don’t know how you flaming-well do this every damn day.

Well, for starters, you’re wearing the wrong material, Josh said and slapped his friend on the arm. "I said a sweat-wicking shirt, not sweat-absorbing. Secondly, it’s humid as hell out here—hard for anyone. Anyway, this is nothing. We’ve gone, what, three kilometres? I run at least twice that each day. And a hell of a lot faster."

Fantastic, Brian muttered. You might have to carry me home if we go any further out. After a moment’s pause, he said, Do you think it looks like a heart?

Josh inhaled a few deep breaths in the hopes of slowing his still thumping heartbeat. Does what look like a heart?

The bruise. Brian twisted his arm so that he had an entire panorama of his injury.

Josh shook his head but not without a hint of amusement. The only thing I see is internal bleeding, he said. Sure she didn’t get an artery, are you?

Brian smirked. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a deafening crack of thunder that made both men jump. They gazed up at the darkening sky. The wind had picked up, and the ominous-looking clouds had now settled over the village of Bredlam, England.

You know, Josh muttered, I’m beginning to think we’re about to be pissed on. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

No sooner had he spoken did he feel the first raindrop land on the tip of his nose. Josh cursed and took off at a dash, barely glancing behind him to check that Brian was following. They were unable to avoid the sudden onslaught of precipitation. Nearly off the bridge, the pinging of the rain on the metal frame of the structure followed them as they hurried up the unpaved road.

When, ten minutes later, they had made it back to the outskirts of Bredlam, pea-sized hail began to plummet down on them. They made a quick decision to take cover on the nearest porch.

From their vantage point, the town appeared unusually quiet for being almost noon, but who wanted to be out in the storm? They had also noticed a lack of lighting in the homes that they passed. The only house that appeared to be buzzing with life was that of Sir Norton McCarty, about a half kilometre from the edge of town. Every window of his new, colonial-style mansion set on five acres of grass diffused light into the storm. Dozens of vehicles lined the side of the road, and a newer black Rolls Royce Phantom adorned the driveway. It had been a while since Josh had taken this road; he had forgotten how McCarty loved to exhibit his wealth. The man might have done well to park the vehicle in his garage today, for the hail pellets were already growing larger, more damaging.

And definitely more painful.

Josh dashed up to the McCarty mansion and stood on the front porch, glad to be out from under the millions of tiny missiles, and tried to appear as inconspicuous as possible in his running gear.

Brian plodded behind and shook his head, panting. What are you going to do if they see us?

Josh shrugged. He was cold, wet, battered, and he could not care less if the pompous jerk did find them standing out here on his porch. McCarty was unloved by many of the town residents, in chief because while the average Brit struggled to make ends meet, the ex-mayor of Bredlam organized parades, cleverly finding ways to make himself the main exhibit. People had grown sick of it and stopped attending. McCarty cut lines, expected free meals; it would be a far reach to say he was an embodiment of modesty.

Laughter and music from inside the home cut through the ding-ding-dings of the hail for the five minutes that they stood there shivering and waiting patiently for the storm to relent. When the hinges on the front door suddenly squeaked, Josh wheeled around. Thousands of watts of light punched through the doorway, temporarily impairing his vision. The tall silhouette in the threshold had the shape of a pear. As Josh’s eyes adjusted, he noticed the man’s three-piece suit, and that he was holding a glass of champagne. He appeared intoxicated.

Sir McCarty glared at them through glassy eyes. Who are you? he slurred in his husky deep voice.

Invisible hands snatching in frenzy at the random and somewhat useless ideas rushing through his mind, Josh opened his mouth to speak. Nothing escaped his lips but, Uh…

Sorry, mate, we’re just taking cover from the hail, Brian said with his typical jovial smile.

McCarty squinted and leaned forward. What hail? I don’t see any hail. Are you here casing the joint? I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.

Josh glanced out toward the road. The hail was noisily ricocheting off the guests’ vehicles. The grass was nearly white with the ice pellets. McCarty was beyond drunk if he thought he was looking at a sunny spring day in late May.

Look, don’t call the police, that’s not necessary, Josh said, holding his hands up in surrender. We were just—

Brian stepped forward. We’re going door to door selling tickets. But I’m sure you’re not interested in us bothering you right now. I see, uh… Brian glanced at his watch. Josh knew it was only early afternoon. Pretty early in the day to be blind drunk. I see that you’re having a party.

McCarty waved his hand back at his guests with a scoff. Agh. Freeloaders. Tickets for what?

Josh gaped at Brian. "Yeah, why don’t you explain, Brian? You are the head of the operation here."

Brian stood with his mouth ajar, visibly at a loss for words.

They’re tickets to a football match, Josh answered for him. Brian had skill when it came to getting himself into trouble, but as he grew older, he was swiftly losing his touch at getting himself out of it again. See, Southampton’s got this new marketing strategy, Josh continued. "The Football Club is trying to get more families out to the matches, so they’re asking their players, like me, to do a little community service work. Meaning, we go out to the small towns banging down doors. Hence my being here. Trust me; it’s not my idea of fun."

It amazed even Josh how easily the lies spilled from his mouth. While he liked to point the finger at Brian, he had always been right alongside his friend in their youth, misbehaving as a team. Sometimes their minds seemed so in tune with one another’s that they could have been born twins and shared no better mental connection. And Josh had learned in a hurry that if he did not excel at digging himself out of trouble as Brian had, he would be left holding all the blame.

Do you think if I made an appearance or sponsored the team they’d make an announcement at the matches? McCarty asked. He leaned forward, unsteady on his feet. For a moment, Josh was worried that he might have to catch the man. Though he preferred to let McCarty fall, Josh was ‘the nice lad’ to fans of the football world. He preferred not to tarnish that reputation. He was the likeable one, the one that sold the tickets, the one that brought the women who begrudged their man’s love of sports.

Josh offered a grin to the drunken gentleman, struggling to remain in character. I’d certainly try to call in that favour! Depends on the sponsorship amount and how many tickets you buy, of course! They’d be for next season, mind you, as we’ve only just finished last week.

McCarty nodded. Yes, well, I’ll take two sets of season tickets.

Josh gulped. Really? You will?

Shouldn’t I?

Josh smiled. Absolutely. Look, I don’t have them with me, but I’ll swing by next week when I receive them and we’ll discuss your options.

Right, McCarty grumbled. I have guests to get back to.

Thank you for your time, Sir.

McCarty closed the door behind him. Josh felt a simultaneous rush of relief and dread.

Brian snorted. "How the hell are you going to get tickets, let alone options of tickets? I thought you said season tickets were sold out!"

Josh shook his head. "They are, and I don’t know. Let’s just get the hell out of here and pray he doesn’t see me around town any time soon. Hopefully he’s too plastered to remember any of this. You know, you really have to prepare me more for your sudden bursts of idiocy! He wouldn’t have phoned the flaming police, you know."

Brian shrugged. You should know me by now. They jogged back down to the road and began to walk. Anyway, I’m getting rusty. Gotta practice once in a while, don’t I?

At my expense? Josh muttered. Brian shrugged again and smiled.

Soon, large detached houses lined both sides of the street. Josh glanced at each porch, noting with jealousy how dry and welcoming they all appeared. He was sure that the rain had permeated his skin by now and was beginning to thin his blood. He raked his hand through his wet hair. He felt it sticking up so smoothed it back down again. Are we going to get under cover or what?

Brian scoffed and peered around him. Why bother? We certainly can’t get any wetter, can we?

Josh forgot to acknowledge the rhetorical question when out of the corner of his eye he spotted a woman sitting in a brown wicker chair on the porch of a newer two-story home. Perhaps in her late twenties, she appeared lost in a thick hardcover novel, oblivious to the world around her.

In recent years, especially since playing football for the Southampton Saints, Josh had been around the block with women—to say the least. Yet in all that time, he had never come across such a natural beauty, one that seemed so pure, flawless, and confident. He could see those qualities in her even from here.

Hey, see that bird, there? Josh whispered.

Oh yeah. May, Brian said.

What?

Brian shook his head and spoke louder, misinterpreting his question. "Her name is May."

May like the month?

Yeah.

Josh turned back to the beautiful brunette. Her long locks of loose curls folded over her shoulders onto the breast of her tank top. She pursed her full lips as she concentrated on her novel. Though her cheekbones were well-defined, her features otherwise possessed a delicate softness. Big green eyes, softly-shaped nose, full but refined brows, smooth chin, long, slender neck. She blinked. Her long lashes knocked him out of his trance.

How do you know her name? he asked. I don’t remember going to school with a May.

I took her out once.

Josh stopped in his tracks. And you didn’t feel the need to tell me? When was this?

Brian laughed. "Right! Me go out with a woman like her? I bloody-well tried, you know, but she’s marrying McCarty’s son—you know, Mark. He’s a lucky little shit, too."

Shouldn’t she be at the party then?

Brian snorted. Probably can’t stand the sight of ‘em.

Josh released a hopeless sigh, one wrought with an edge of frustration. There isn’t a woman in sight that’s not spoken for these days, not unless they’re just looking for a one-off. I’m getting old, I’m past my prime.

You’re twenty-nine, hardly fifty.

"Might as well be fifty. Christ, what if I haven’t found anyone by then?"

Brian shrugged. Don’t worry. There’re plenty of ducks in the pond. You’re a celebrity. You’d have the women lined up at your doorstep if you didn’t live in this shit-hole town. No one wants to commit to the trek.

Josh shook his head. "Well, you know why I live here. I’d move if I knew things would—"

Hey, you! shouted a voice behind him.

Josh turned back to see that May was beckoning them over. He felt his saliva dry up at once. She smiled and called to them again. Brian obeyed her order without the slightest hesitation while Josh followed a few paces behind, unnerved by this turn of events. Heart pounding as he stepped onto her concrete front porch, Josh felt his nervous gaze shift to the ground, though all he wanted to do was breathe in her beauty.

May giggled. Lift your head.

Josh heeded her command and he caught her warm, green-eyed gaze. It would be impossible for her not to be entirely aware of the breadth of her beauty for how dauntless she seemed. She held power in her appearance, and she knew it. Even her graceful movements invited his attention, as if she were wearing nothing at all. He wondered if she had the personality to match.

Sit down, May said. You both look like drowned rats. She stood to offer them the chairs, then leaned on the porch railing as Josh and Brian sat. So, she said with arms crossed, please tell me you’re not criminals.

Puzzled by her phrasing, Josh hastily shook his head. No! Of course not! Why—why do you ask?

I hardly want to let criminals onto my front step, do I? May posed with a smirk. She gazed out at the street with a sigh. What a dreary day!

Josh stared at her. She had already rendered his mind an empty void.

She turned back to him. What’s your name?

This he must be capable of answering. Uh…Josh. Josh Edwards.

She turned to Brian. And you? she asked with a sexy raised eyebrow.

Brian knelt on one knee and grabbed her hand.

Josh watched the scene with a cry of shock caught in his throat. What the hell was this crazy bastard doing?

Brian kissed the back of May’s hand and said, "You may call me what you wish, though my mates call me Brian. Might I add that I have never looked on such a beautiful wonder in all my years, and to be in your graceful presence is truly an honour?"

"Why, thank you, Brian, May gushed with a crooked smile. You would make a lovely poet."

Unsure of why he was sitting here, what day it was, or even what universe he currently occupied, Josh watched in complete bewilderment. But amidst the nothingness, a flicker of insight skittered across his mind.

Just wait one minute, now, he piped in. Brian, you said you tried to take her on a date. Why doesn’t she recognize you?

"Uh…See, I saw her…from a distance, that is, Brian said with a few darting glances at May, and I wanted to ask her out…but then I saw her fiancé, so…she’s actually never really met me."

Josh regarded May. She nodded her head with great self-assuredness.

Then it dawned on him.

He would show them who was playing games. Josh sat back in the chair, confidence brewing. His gaze pierced May’s. What’s his name?

Whose name? she asked with a simple smile.

Your fiancé.

F—Fiancé? May stammered. Oh, uh…Mar…ty––?

"Mark––" Brian grumbled under his breath.

May froze and turned a guilty gaze toward him. Yes, yes. That’s what I meant: Mark.

Josh was now positive he was being conned. Mark’s French, he lied. You know he was born in Marseilles? He caught a twitch of a smirk beginning to form on Brian’s face.

Yes, yes, of course, May said, sending an awkward glance Brian’s way. She was seeking redemption; their plan was backfiring. They had not expected their target to catch on with such speed.

May? Josh said, attempting to conceal his amusement at the vacant expression that had overcome her face. He believed they called it the deer in the headlights look.

May stifled a growing smirk. Um-hum?

Why don’t you know your own fiancé’s name? he asked. "Or where he was really born?" He crossed his arms over his chest now, far from pleased.

Well, uh, May said, I’m so bad with names. In fact, Brian, I––oh…I mean John––

Josh.

Yes, right. Josh. May flipped her hand through the air in dismissal of his name. See what I mean? I have a dreadful memory! She offered Brian a nearly imperceptible wink and then smiled at Josh. Her smile was calculating yet whimsical. There was no doubt in Josh’s mind that they were playing him.

So, he continued, maintaining his calm exterior, though her smile made his heart dance in his chest, "where is Monsieur Mark on this fine day?"

"Okay, okay! You’ve caught us! Brian exclaimed. You don’t trust a soul, do you, mate?"

"So I was right? Josh demanded. This was all just a windup, eh? Enormous embarrassment and self-consciousness besieged him despite having caught on to their prank early enough. Unable to look into May’s eyes, he stared at his thumbs and murmured, So, who are you, really?"

With an amiable smile, May held out her hand to shake his. My name is May Elizabeth Montrose. I was born in a village outside of Manchester that you’ll never have heard of, and I just moved to Bredlam about two weeks ago. Didn’t Brian tell you I was moving to the area? My parents have been here almost two months!

Josh awkwardly shook her hand, but she had not answered his question. No, he didn’t tell me anything, Josh replied, but I’ve been busy with work. So how do you know Brian? He gazed out at the road, his hands now beginning to tremble with chills. The hail had stopped falling, but pounding rain had followed in its wake.

Brian stood and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Don’t you see the resemblance? He squished his face close to hers and she struggled to push him away. "She’s my cousin!"

And you just decided to keep this a secret from me? Josh asked.

Well, mate, that’s kind of the point of a windup, Brian laughed.

"I didn’t know you even had a cousin May." Josh attempted a smile for her sake. He hardly wanted to look like a sullen party-pooper upon first meeting. May watched him with an intent and curious gaze. His stomach churned and he felt his face flush.

Yes, you did know! Remember I used to visit my cousin Frizzy now and again? Brian asked. He burst into laugher. "That’s May!"

"What are you telling him that for? May exclaimed with a swat at Brian’s arm. It’s not my fault I didn’t know about styling products when I was a kid! You traumatized me! I eventually just started calling myself Frizzy to prepare for his visits. Frizzy Montrose. Good spy name, if I ever was one."

Josh snickered in spite of himself. He had never questioned the name Frizzy, probably because they had been so young when Brian had first mentioned his bookworm-turned-celestial being cousin.

You boys reek of sweat, May said, wrinkling her nose. Even that was cute. In response, Josh lifted the collar of his tee shirt to his own nose but only smelled drenched fabric. Where have you been, anyway? she asked. I’ve been waiting here an hour longer than you said you’d be, Brian. She plopped down into her chair and set her book on the side table.

Brian gazed at his watch. Sorry, got sidetracked. I’m trying to get in better shape for the ladies, he replied. He didn’t think I could keep up to him, but I managed, what? Five kilometres?

You were dragging ass, Josh muttered. And what ladies? The horses?

A sarcastic laugh exploded from May while Brian shot him a glare.

"Well, you are right, Bri. He is quite dapper," May said.

Josh whipped his gaze at his friend. "You said I was dapper? What is this, the eighteen-hundreds?"

Brian scowled at May. You know I didn’t say it like that! He turned to Josh, whose look of disbelief sent him into a frenzy. "Honestly! What I said was ‘He’s not a bad looking bloke’! What is this, ‘Pick on Brian’ day?"

So this was all a setup? Josh demanded, attempting to ignore that his cheeks were burning under her gaze. Just for us to meet?

Brian held up his hands in defence. Whoa, mate! I didn’t think you’d get so uptight about it! You’re always moaning about how you want to find a decent woman…Well, here she is! If she weren’t my cousin, she’d be right up my alley.

"Ew, sicko!" May exclaimed and swatted at his arm again.

Josh inhaled deeply, mortified, and sat in the chair next to May. Well, you didn’t have to…you know, embarrass me like that, try to make me sound so stupid.

May smiled and patted his knee. Don’t let it get you down! You make a good first impression! She winked at him.

His stomach summersaulted. An insane worry that she could see the butterflies erupt in his gut caused his anger to flare, embarrassment to grow. "Well, I’m n–not some…monkey you can just toy with! he spat at Brian. I have feelings too, you know!"

Brian sat down on the porch step with a sneer. Quit while you’re ahead, mate; you’re starting to snivel. He turned to May. So, what? Your folks can’t afford the electricity bill?

May rolled her eyes with a smirk. They say it’s storming out or something. She stood. Anyway, come in. I made cookies before the lecky up and quit and the lagers should still be nice and cold.

Perfect! Brian smiled. I could murder a few cans.

FOR A FEW hours, they snacked on chocolate chip cookies and washed them down with imported German beer. The afternoon grew darker as the storm grumbled on, and the conversation bounced from one topic to another, neither of them able to fully focus on a subject with the thunder and lightning constantly interrupting. The electricity powered back on an hour and a half into their visit, flooding their retinas with yellow light that now seemed wholly unnatural.

Upon Brian’s continual requests, May read aloud from her cell phone some poems that she had written in university. Feeling privileged that she was already comfortable enough with Josh to share such personal creations, windows to her soul that exposed any concealed vulnerability and self-doubt, he looked down to hide his face while he closed his eyes and savoured every intonation of her smooth voice. He let his mind wander. His heart thundered as it stumbled on the possibility that one day he could wake up to that voice, go to bed with that voice.

In the shadows it crept, in my dreams as I slept. May stopped reading and set her phone down.

Josh nodded with praise but gazed deeper into his bottle. He did not particularly understand most of the poem’s hidden meanings, but he decided that because he did not understand it, it must be good. He could not appreciate Shakespeare, yet many regarded him as the greatest writer of the English language. And Josh could not claim to be an intellectual by any stretch of the meaning, so he hid his gaze, afraid that if he looked her in the eye, she would read him with the same insight that she had moments ago portrayed with her words and find something that he preferred to keep concealed. If nothing else, she might find that he was nowhere close to measuring up to her standards.

Your poems were always so creepy, Brian said and emptied his own bottle. "But crazy good."

May stood and grabbed three more beers from the fridge, perhaps an attempt to avoid eye contact as well. Ta. Anyway, that’s my true passion, poetry. The journalism just pays the bills.

When do you start? Brian asked. He held his hand out for a cold bottle of beer, beckoning like a greedy child. Josh had not come across anyone yet that could throw it back as well as his friend.

"My flat’s available June first, and the paper—the Daily Echo—wants me to start on the tenth, she said, setting the bottles before them, making sure to slide Brian’s directly into his hand. I can’t wait to get out of here. Living back with Mum and Dad again after eight years of independence is like having a noose around my neck. It’s as if I were fifteen again; they interrogate me every time I leave the house."

Judging by some of the stories Josh had heard over the years, it was generous of her parents to let her come live in their home again. May had always done what she wanted and when she wanted. She had not been a bad teenager, from what Brian could account for, but she had been fiercely independent. So independent that she refused to ask for help even if it meant she might put herself in danger. Like the time that she apparently skidded off the road in the middle of a rainstorm into a cow pasture. Instead of waiting for help, she had exited the car, pushed the cows out of her way, and walked to the nearest town four miles away. She had called the tow truck herself and, knowing she would have time, walked all the way back to her car. In the pouring rain. When Brian had asked her why she had not called her parents for help, or anyone else for that matter, she had merely replied, Why would I? I can do anything they can.

But Josh was not about to tell this woman he just met to be grateful for her parents’ generosity. He would do just about anything to see his mother one more time, let alone live with his parents, the way things had been a lifetime ago. What he could understand was her longing for her lost independence. On the best of days, Josh felt trapped by this town and all the people in it.

Your parents are fine, Brian said, noticing Josh’s sudden quiet and voicing what Josh could not. Brian knew him better than anyone in the world, probably knew what he had been thinking, and was likely reading his mind even at this very moment.

I suppose, May replied with a sigh. One more week. Anyway, what exactly do you do in this town for kicks?

Quite literally nothing, Josh said, gulping the last of his beer. He let it sit in his mouth. It was beginning to taste like warm piss. He chanced a glance up at her, found her staring at him.

He gulped the drink down.

"There must be something to do," May insisted.

Brian groaned. "There’s one pub, The Hole in the Wall. It used to be a great place…I guess when all our friends were still in town, but in the last few years, it’s just a bunch of old biddies in there. It’s changed ownership half a dozen times, too. It’s just not the same. We learned to make our own fun right from the off. We’re country kids, so we played like it."

Josh nodded. Once we were done high school, everyone left town for one reason or another and they just never came back. There’s nothing to keep them here. The jobs are in the city. Bredlam’s basically just a quaint village of affluent retirees. Tourists visit for the shops and the beach ten minutes away, but that’s about it.

"Well, if it’s so boring, why did you both stay? May asked. Especially you, Josh, being a bigtime footy player in a city nearly an hour away. I’m surprised neither of you have cabin fever by now."

Brian leaned back in his seat. Well, of course I’ve got my horses at my parents’ because, with only racing, I can’t afford a place of my own yet. Besides, the loft apartment in the shed suits me fine for now. It’s been home for years. He continued with a sly grin, "Joshy here, sure he works in Southampton, but he lives here because he simply cannot survive without me being a five-minute drive away. It’s quite sad, really."

Funny, Josh muttered with sarcasm. I recall that when your parents wanted to move closer to London, you begged them not to sell up so that you could stay right here with me.

So why do you really stay? May asked. Her tone and gaze had softened, having noticed that they were skirting the subject.

Josh shrugged. I stay for my dad. He’s all alone.

But you’ve never told him that, Brian piped in. He turned to May. He tells his dad he loves Bredlam. Back to Josh. "If he knew that you were only staying here for him, he’d be livid. You know my parents are just over the road. He would be fine. It’s been fifteen years, kid."

Josh shrugged. It upset him to think that when his dad was not out scrounging up welding business at all hours of the day, he was at home tinkering, trying to stay busy enough to get through another day without losing his grip on things. His father hated to impose on people, even his best friends, and only went out upon invitation, which made him a lousy salesman and only a slightly less lousy businessman. If not for frequent visits from Josh, his only child, the man might have become a recluse.

But he made a great father.

That’s good of you. May offered him a compassionate smile.

Did she know why his dad was all alone? Did she know what happened to his mom? Had Brian told her? A wave of anxiety crashed over him, inciting a panicked fight-or-flight reaction. He did not want to talk about these things, especially with this breathtaking and stupefying woman—he would never be able to keep it together. So, he shrugged again. He was generally calm, collected, and confident around women, but this one intimidated him. She was too smart for him, too perceptive, too far out of his league. She would surely be more interested in dating a doctor or a lawyer, not some athlete whose talent and paychecks would likely run thin by the time he was forty-five.

He could feel her unwavering gaze boring through his skin.

The bar stool he sat on was digging into the backs of his thighs. He could feel his legs going numb.

I’ve just… He indicated the back door when a sudden raunchiness overwhelmed him. Maybe he had consumed too many beers after the exercise, or maybe that last warm gulp had nudged him over the edge.

Or maybe…

What’s wrong? May rose from her chair with worry.

Don’t invite it.

Josh said, I just…need––

Yeah! Go! Go out on the back patio, May said, directing him toward the sliding door. You need anything? Glass of water?

No, ta, I’m all right.

Despite his overheating body, the warm, humid air felt nice on his skin when he opened the glass sliding door. The rain had reduced to a fine mist. Fog hung in the air as thick as pea soup and was difficult to breathe in. But aside from the lack of sunshine, this was one of the first spring days on which he could predict summer being just around the corner.

Josh stepped outside and shut the door. He leaned against the damp red brick wall of the house. The stippled clay dug into the back of his skull, but the slight pain this caused did not bother him. It only reminded him that he was alive, and that he had to breathe. He inhaled, then exhaled, releasing the strain on his nerves that had gripped his body for the past few hours. The air inside had grown stifling. Too much pressure, too much tension.

Josh scanned the backyard. Despite being just forty feet by forty feet, it was large in terms of fenced yards in England. Located in the far, right corner of the yard was a cluster of overgrown bushes—a thicket of thorns and vines that appeared not to have received a caring touch in years. At the center of the yard, encircling a young oak, was a small garden comprising mainly of tulip stems. A few dead, ineffectual petals still clung to them; the hail had pounded the remaining petals into the soil.

Josh sighed, wavered. He was not drunk. In fact, he barely had a buzz. He owed his high tolerance to too many evenings partying, celebrating victories, frequenting pubs with Brian or his teammates. He was easier with women when he was drunk, so why not drink? But May’s presence kept him uniquely sober, and knowing that he had just made an ass of himself by requesting air when he was not even inebriated made his stomach quiver. They were likely laughing at him as he stood here. Poor Josh having an anxiety attack over a prank.

No, it was neither the prank nor May that had set him off. From that life-changing moment fifteen years ago and on, he had randomly experienced these attacks any time he was forced to face his traumatic teen years. He could not control his reaction to the past, but he could refuse to talk about it. But by not talking about it, he never moved on from the grief. That only made it harder to talk about. He had never quite made it through the acceptance stage, but as long as he kept his lips sealed about it, his anxiety remained at bay.

He had to return to the kitchen, if only to ensure that they were not talking about him.

As his fingers touched the cool door handle, a loud rustle of leaves and sticks sounded from the unkempt bushes behind him. Branches snapped. Josh whipped around and peered into the thicket, his heart racing again. He was unable to see further than a few feet into the leafy green wild thorns. He froze, held his breath, and listened for another sound. Moments passed. The noises did not continue.

Maybe it was just the wind.

There is no wind.

Josh slunk inside with a watchful glance behind him.

How’re you doing? May asked from her bar stool.

Josh glanced at her for a moment. Mortified, he changed the subject. I think there’s an animal in your bushes back there. I wouldn’t go outside for a while—it could be rabid.

She sat up tall, alert. Did you see it?

I can’t tell what it is. Maybe a fox. Just don’t go out there.

2

in a flash

THE EPICENTER OF the storm is, at best, three miles away. Intense electrical currents surge and wrap around every limb of his body. The hairs on his skin stand on end. His cells feel as if they are vibrating. But he does not stop; he cannot stop. There is no time.

Six thousand feet below him, beneath the thick water vapour that forms the cumulonimbus clouds that he now soars amidst, he spots the spiderweb-like streets of another English town. Then the unnatural clusters of green and brown farmer’s fields, divided by hedges delineating property lines. All threatening reminders of the existence of human beings, the miners of his planet’s beauty and splendour.

The electricity grows thicker the further he flies. As goosebumps rise, his skin begins to tingle. His upright hairs further attract cool water vapour to his skin. Before long, he is drenched, and thanks to excessive pollution, this rain makes him feel contaminated. Jaded.

Up ahead, bolts of lightning flicker across the sky, as if nothing but tiny sparks of static. But what seem like mere electrical discharges result in heart-stopping cracks of thunder that portend the lightning’s true destructive power. The sound waves do not reach him for fifteen seconds, and even though they have already diminished in strength by the time they consume him, they are still deafening.

He has underestimated the severity of this storm, but it is too late to change direction now. Within three minutes he is at the crux of it, and there is no escape. He finds that he has no desire to escape it, and not because he might be suicidal, but because the kinetic energy of the molecules now enveloping his body is so riveting that he cannot remember ever having felt so alive, and so vigorous.

Though hail begins to pound him toward the earth, impeding his ability to fly and leaving red welts on his skin, he holds on to the fact that in a few more minutes, he will be out of the storm’s core. Not far.

An unnerving swell of electricity envelopes his body.

He knows what it means and has no time to react.

Dread melts into anticipation.

Blazing light engulfs him. His limbs seize, his muscles so beleaguered by energy that they have become spastic with contractions.

Then the world grows black.

MAY SAT UP in bed with a startled gasp. The bang had been loud enough to permeate her dream. She gazed about and listened to the silence.

The room was dark but for a sliver of moonlight that pierced the blinds and illuminated the foot of her mattress. Somewhere outside her window, a raven croaked twice. The gravelly air of its guttural, raspy cry sent shivers down her spine. Goosebumps formed on the skin of her arms.

She looked to her left at the bedside table. The alarm clock displayed 3:11AM.

Why the hell was the bird cawing at this time of night?

Quoth the raven, ‘Nevermore’…

As if in response to her thought, the raven croaked twice more. Another long silence followed. May sunk back to her mattress and pillow, her heart still pounding. She closed her eyes. The words of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven drifted back into her mind, but the poem only bobbed there incomplete. It had been too many years since she had read it to be able to recite a full verse. She drew the comforter closer, inviting its warmth to encase her suddenly chilled body.

Quoth the raven, ‘Nevermore’…Quoth the raven, ‘Nevermore’…Quoth—

Shut up! her mind cried back.

To drive the eerie poem out of her brain, she allowed her thoughts to drift back to that day’s events.

She was not sure if she was ready to embrace Brian’s proposition. Josh was a nice enough man. He was funny, handsome, and modest. A little moody, maybe; sullen at times, even. But what she appreciated was that he was real. There seemed to be no pretense or veneer with him; what you saw was what you got. No games.

She found herself smiling in spite of her reservations.

Friends had set her up with plenty of men before—‘her type’ they had claimed—but she had never found any of them interesting enough. Office dwellers. Computer nerds. A loan officer. One was even a funeral director—like she wanted to spend her life thinking about the many grisly aspects of death. The worst one had to be the not-so-successful golf ball diver. He had spent their entire date talking about his struggle to remain employed, the quality of mud at the bottom of each famous golf course’s water traps, and the best brands of golf balls to use at the driving range. By the end of the night, she had been ready to drown herself in a water trap at the nearest golf course.

In any case, the men were too safe, and most of them too desperate and clingy. They lacked the spontaneity and spark for life that she was looking for. Though Josh was the opposite of the typical man she dated, he seemed to possess those qualities that she had been longing to find. She had never been a big sports enthusiast before moving here, so she was naïve to his popularity, and though Brian had told her a couple of years ago that his friend was the big shot of the Soton Saints (‘Soton’ being a nickname for Southampton), she found that Josh was far from egotistical. He seemed normal, grounded.

But did she want to risk a failed relationship with him when her cousin was his best friend?

She was too tired to work up a pros and cons list in her mind. Maybe in the morning.

Her thoughts grew fleeting, and as she began to slip back into the dark void of sleep, another hollow bang from downstairs gripped her heart, penetrated her every cell. She sat up and gulped. The roof of her mouth had gone bone-dry.

She listened.

The sound seemed to have come from the kitchen.

Silence girdled her, squeezed her chest, made it hard to draw breath.

Maybe it had been in her head.

She threw off the quilt and tiptoed toward the window. She knew that the single-digit temperature outside was not ideal for sleeping, but she would rather someone heard her cries for help should there be a burglar in her parents’ home. She disengaged the locks and slid the glass panel across the frame. An icy breeze filtered into the room, stung the skin of her arms. Shocked, she closed it some. An inch was all she needed for neighbours to hear her scream.

The raven croaked again. Twice.

May stared at her bedroom door, expecting it to burst open at any moment.

Maybe the cat had knocked something off the counter.

Silence.

‘Tis some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door…

Now Poe’s words wanted to come to her?

This is it, and nothing more…

This wound her nerves tighter.

It was just the cat.

She considered returning to bed on that thought, but now that she was awake, her mind would not rest until she investigated the source of the sound. Being that her parents were attending a medical conference in London and spending the night, she would have to face the noise alone.

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door…

No, not so faintly. It had been a loud crash—too substantial, now that she thought about, for the cat to have been responsible.

She crept to the doorway and flicked on her bedroom light. While slowly opening the door, ensuring that it did not squeak, she reached out to turn on the hall light.

Better to be safe than sorry.

WHEN HE AWAKENS, the agonizing pain in his back and joints is nothing short of an assault on his sanity. He knows in his heart that something is wrong, but nothing other than pain registers in his mind. He squints through blurred vision and cranks his head to look about. He is lying on a patch of dirt under the cover of overgrown brush. He peers up through silhouettes of leaves and branches limned by yellow sunlight. The rain has ended, and the dark clouds have broken apart, revealing a cobalt blue sky that is fading to pink.

The sun is setting.

He struggles to sit up. He leans on his right arm, which, despite appearing uninjured, is still weak from lightning-induced convulsions. He takes a deep, rattling breath. Most of the pain is originating from his right shoulder, so he cranes his neck to see what he can.

His agony