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Crown Vic to a Parallel World: From Whence I Came The second installment of the ongoing adventures of Church Philips
33
A Point of Frozen Blue Light in the Darkness
It was after eleven when I got to Joe's. The house was dark. As I parked, I felt waves of anger and worry from Shawn. He was awake and not happy about something. I tried to hurry in, but the front door was locked. I had to let myself in with the key that had been hidden behind the mailbox since I was a kid. I remembered after the fact that I could have spun the lock with magic.
I crept upstairs to find Shawn sitting up in bed with his arms folded across his chest and a nasty look on his face. "Who is this high school friend that kept you out all day?" He demanded.
I started undressing as I explained. "I lied. I went to see Father Miller."
Shawn's expression and his mood soured even more. "You expect me to believe you willingly went to church and spent twelve hours with a priest? If I look that stupid, tell me and I'll change something."
I stood at the foot of the bed and made hard eye contact with my husband, so he'd know I wasn't lying. "Think about it for a minute and you'll know I'm telling the truth. We both figure Joe is going to refuse to come to Solum with us, right? That refusal is most likely going to be on religious grounds, right? Who would be the one person Joe would listen to on that subject? The answer is simple, Father Miller. We've been talking all day. He's a wonderful man."
Shawn's anger spiked and his voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "And what did you talk about with a priest for twelve hours?"
The whisper, and our emotional link, told me that Shawn was beyond angry, bordering on rage. I didn't understand why he was so upset. I'd spent the day away from him before. I'd even done so on thinner explanations. I tried to keep my voice calm and even. I hoped that would help soothe him. "I told him everything, my whole life story from growing up here, to meeting you, to the Demon's Citadel, to our marriage, the last four years, and everything about the days we've spent here. I had to stop talking when I got me into his office because there I was."
Shawn's harsh whispering continued. His soft voice was a jarring contrast to his violent emotions. "Since when do priests smoke cigars and drink whiskey?" He hissed. "I smell it all over you."
I moved to Shawn's side of the bed and knelt next to him. He scowled at me. I kept telling him the truth and hoped he'd feel my honesty through our link. "Shawn, I swear, I haven't been out doing anything you wouldn't approve of. I met no one from high school, haven't been to a bar, and I haven't been out cheating on you. I'm not Roeb. Father Miller is a priest and he's a man. Men have weaknesses. His include the occasional glass of bourbon and a nice cigar. After I told him my story, he was kind enough to share his vices with me."
The mention of the ex-boyfriend, who had caused Shawn so much hurt, seemed to show him the absurdity of the accusations he'd leveled at me. Rage ran out of Shawn like water from an upended bucket. He stroked my face with his soft hand. "I'm sorry for shouting." He said even though he hadn't shouted. "I know you're not Roeb. It was too familiar, the half-assed story, staying out late, coming home reeking of debauchery. I guess I had a flashback. I know you would never do that to me."
I leaned my head into my husband's touch. "I'm sorry for worrying you. You always seem so together. I've been so lost in this family stuff, I guess I forgot that you have feelings to. I forget that you didn't just appear, fully grown and well adjusted, and with no past to deal with. I should have gotten word to you and told you what I was doing. Maybe I should have invited you over to meet Father Miller and talk with us."
"I went over there on an impulse." I continued my explanation. "I never expected any help. He welcomed me in, listened, and believed me. He wants to help. Tomorrow he's planning to research all the arguments on both sides of the issue. If he can convince himself the right thing for Joe to do is to come with us, he'll do everything he can to convince him. It's our best chance. Can you forgive me for taking you for granted?"
"Yes." Shawn held my face in both hands and leaned in to kiss me. "I'm sorry for overreacting. It's great you recruited him. When is he going to let you know?"
"We have to go to mass again on Sunday. He'll give me a signal or something. If it's a go, we have to get Joe to his office at the rectory on Monday. Paul said it will be easier to convince him if he's not in his own territory."
"Who is Paul?" Shawn asked, derailed by the unfamiliar name.
"Sorry," I said as I got to me feet and went back to undressing, "that's Father Miller's first name."
"First name basis with a priest." Shawn's voice rose at the end of the statement to let me know he was teasing me. "Hmmmm...he's not reforming you, is he?"
"Never waste time on lost causes, Shawn." I laughed and got in bed. "How'd you make out with Abbey today?" I asked to change the subject.
"Great. It's all done; the LLC, the transfer, everything. As far as the mission goes, we could leave tomorrow. Something is wrong." Shawn said as he managed to give voice to my own suspicions. "Uncle has agents in this world. Anyone could have done what we did. He sent us here for some reason that isn't plain yet."
"Your Uncle never exposes his true intentions." I observed with a verbal shrug. "Let's not worry about it. Mission accomplished, congratulations. We'll wrap up the family crap, get the Crown Vic, and get the hell out of here, hopefully no later than the end of next week."
"Sounds good to me." Shawn said and kissed me. "Oh...I forgot to mention. Bob Newman is the one who came over today to go over the LLC and everything. He brought the account representative who will manage the portfolio for Abbey. The guy said he knew you."
"Oh yeah?" I asked indifferently as I settled in bed.
"Yes," Shawn replied, "his name is Stephen Wolf. He said..."
I stopped listening to Shawn as I tried to remember when I'd last seen Stephen. When I remembered, I sat bolt upright in bed. Shawn had been getting ready to lay down with me and my sudden movement caught him by surprise.
"What's wrong?" Shawn asked.
"Stephen Wolf?" I demanded. "Are you sure?"
"That's what he said his name was." Shawn explained with concerned caution, like he was afraid of setting me off.
I described my former friend as I'd last seen him, in Big Nick's bar, just a few hours before I'd met Shawn on that cold Thanksgiving eve. "Was this guy pale, like white sheet of paper pale? Was he a short, thin, bald guy? Did he dress like he made a lot of money?"
"Yes," Shawn said, "yes to all that. Andy commented on the gold watch Stephen wore. Apparently, it is a very high-end brand here. Why?"
Suspicions swam in my brain. Could it be a coincidence? Could it be that much of a coincidence that I'd see Stephen, when I hadn't seen him in decades, right before I was snatched away to another world and then he'd turn up again as soon as I came back? Is it possible?' I asked myself. No. It's not possible. Ars has a hand in this somewhere.'
I explained why the mention of Stephen set me off and exposed my suspicions to Shawn. He voiced the logic that I already knew. Even if Ars was behind Stephen showing up both times, there was nothing we could do and no way to even ask about it until we got to Solum. I grumbled but agreed that Shawn was right.
I laid down and Shawn settled into me. "Do you want to...anything?" I asked.
"Actually," Shawn said with a tentative tone and a tentative emotion, "I've been thinking about your magic and about what I saw inside you. Remember when we were at Longwood yesterday and I talked about the dot from the painting?"
"Yeah."
"I didn't actually see the dot, just the black storm. Church...I don't think I made it all the way inside you. I'd like to try again."
FUCKING SHIT!' I thought to myself. I took a deep breath to beat down my fear and my shame at being found out. I came up with a rationalization. This is good,' I told myself, `he thinks he didn't look hard enough. He doesn't think I hid it from him. All I have to do is to let him in, all the way the fuck in, and this solves itself. I'm going to have to show him the nightmare. I have to.'
I agreed with myself, even though I didn't want to. I knew that I had to show Shawn everything inside me. I also knew that he'd be relentless in his pursuit until he did see it. I reminded myself that Shawn was my husband and that I was supposed to share everything with him. It was his right to see all that I was, and it was my responsibility to be honest enough to show him.
I answered Shawn's request by activating my direct magic. I let it gather at the edges of my body. Shawn relaxed into me as my magic started to flow. It only took a moment for the power to equalize and the magic to connect me to my husband at a level of intimacy that I'd never before experienced.
I noticed that Shawn felt deliberately calm and centered. I wondered why that was. As soon as I wondered, I knew the answer. I sensed the answer directly from Shawn. He was doing his best to anchor us both.
"Open yourself to me, my love." Shawn coaxed. "Be naked with me, like we were yesterday. Expose yourself to me." His voice whispered in the darkened room, and it echoed in my mind like when we connected for a medical exam.
Even though I'd told myself I had to do this, I still hesitated. "I'm afraid." I whispered back. Shawn climbed on top of me. He rested his body on top of mine, his bare chest to my bare chest and his face in my face. Shawn petted my head and ran his fingers through my long hair. His breath mingled with mine and his eyes flashed in the low light. "Hold me, love."
I reached for him and linked my hands behind his broad back. I pulled him against my body. Shawn's heat warmed me, and his familiar scent soothed me. Our breathing seemed to synchronize so when he exhaled, I breathed him in and when I exhaled, he breathed me in.
"Do you feel that?" Shawn asked in my face and in my mind. "Our hearts, Church...our hearts are beating together."
I felt it. I felt completely in tune with Shawn. He asked me again. "Love, please. Open yourself to me."
I took a deep, nervous breath that filled my lungs with the breath of my husband. I breathed it out, into his gentle inhale. Shawn rested his forehead against mine and looked in my eyes. I felt him look inside me, like he had that day when our emotions became inextricably linked, the day our lives entwined. "Trust me," Shawn begged, "please love, trust me with your pain."
I trusted him. I loved him. I surrendered myself to him, and Shawn dove into me. I felt him, his determination as he surged inside me. His energy was a point of frozen blue light. It plunged into the deepest depth of my being, into the deepest part of what made me the man that I am. Shawn was relentless in the depth of his dive. The point of frozen blue light sought the secrets of me, the secrets of my pain, and the secrets of my shame.
The blue light that was Shawn sank into the tortured black depths of that place inside that no one can describe. He followed the path of my thoughts and emotions, through the crashing velvet black that was the storm of my pain, and into the place that everyone refers to with words like heart,' soul,' `mind.' Shawn dove down into the deepest me.
As he dove, I felt myself go with him, like a pilotfish with a shark. I was both the vessel and the visitor, the observer and the observed. I clung to the frozen blue light of my husband as he searched the angry and endless universe of my being, as he searched for my private self.
Shawn called out to me as we went. "Church." The blue light of my husband called to my being. "Church, where are you?" Shawn searched and searched but couldn't find me. He stopped his search. The storm roared around us as Shawn put his focus on me. The blue light that I'd been following took shape before me. It became my husband in all his glorious beauty. "Do you know where to go? Will you show me?" He asked.
I basked in his perfection. It glowed even though he was no longer pure light. I basked in the breathtaking glow of the pure and perfect energy that was Shawn. As I stood in his radiant presence, I would have done anything he asked. I even admitted my lie from the previous day. "I hid from you." I told my perfect husband. "I'm sorry for that. Can you forgive me?"
The physical representation of the energy that was Shawn offered his hand to me. "I forgive you, love. I know why you did it. You wanted to spare me, but I don't want to be spared. Please...please take me to you."
The physical representation of the energy that was me accepted Shawn's hand and gave my solemn promise to show him the way. I turned us both to face our destination. I turned us to face the place that I knew we had to go.
In an instant, Shawn and I stood on a section of dirty sidewalk in front of an ill-kept, brick fronted rowhome. It was the place where I'd lived in Philly. It was the only place I'd ever lived that wasn't my parent's house. This wasn't the actual building though, just a conjured image. Nothing existing to either side of the single dwelling. The area all around was a vacuum. Beyond the vacuum, the storm raged.
Shawn squeezed my hand. "Here?" He asked me.
"Yes, Shawn." I whispered. "This is where I live."
"But why?" He asked and seemed incredulous that I would choose such a place.
"Because," I whispered my response, "because I don't know how to leave."
Shawn cast his eyes over the smutty brick house. His careful gaze followed the three concrete steps up to the sagging wooden porch with its flaking paint and rusty wrought iron railings. He looked at the unpainted wooden entry door with the crazed grain from the moisture's attack on the bare wood. On the plain trim of the jamb was the yellowed index card fixed to the wood with the rusted head of a staple. The staple had been fired from a manual gun on the day I'd moved in. On the card was my old last name, `Philips' written in block capitals with a black magic marker.
Next to the door, Shawn saw an orphan kitchen chair, cigarette burned and scarred from the same elements that had damaged the door and that had stripped the paint and rotted the porch. On the sill of the single front window was a tin bucket full of cigarette ends. Beneath the sill, stood two dented metal trashcans. These were gorged with the leavings of take-out food and empty whiskey bottles.
The first-floor window was screened on its lower half and the whole of the streaked glass was shrouded on the inside by curtains stained brown from cigarette smoke. The dull flicker of a television hinted that someone was home. The second-floor windows were both unscreened, but each was shrouded like the lower one. No light or movement showed inside of them.
Shawn tried to step forward toward the concrete steps. I gripped his hand and held him in place. "No." I said.
Shawn didn't understand my hesitation. "But...but this is why we're here."
"Please," I begged, "please, Shawn don't look. It's...it's too terrible."
As if to make my point for me, the door to the rowhome dragged open with the haunted house scream of unlubricated hinges. A horrible, nightmare version of me came through the door, his arms full of take-out containers and an empty whiskey bottle to add to the trashcans. That me moved across the porch with heavy, practiced steps, rammed the trash into the cans like he was disgusted with it, and lumbered back to sit in the kitchen chair.
He took a cigarette from the soft-pack of T-Squares that strained his shirt pocket and lit it with a plain Zippo lighter. As he snapped the lighter shut, I noticed the glint of the broken, gold-tone watch on his left wrist. The man...that version of me, settled into the chair and stared at the vacuum beyond the porch.
The me that sat smoking was the me from before I met Shawn, the old me. He was fat, miserably fat and terminally hungover with the bloodshot eyes to prove it. He was dressed in a grey t-shirt, a freebie from a crane company that he'd worn and washed thin. The shirt was stained with pizza grease and stippled with burn holes from weld sparks and dropped cigarettes.
His legs were clad in threadbare black jeans that had faded to a different shade of grey than his shirt. His feet were in crew socks and the ankles visible inside the pant cuffs were swollen from high-blood-pressure and too much salty food. His unshaven, weld-flash-tanned face was bloated and garnished with the burst capillaries of gin blossoms. His hair was greasy and too long for the non-style that it was worn in.
That me crossed his arms over his chest in defiance to the whole world that he was angry with, the world that he lived in and hated. The cigarette smoldered in his face and flared as he inhaled. The old me blew smoke out of the side of his mouth and acknowledged Shawn and the new me for the first time. "Well?" He demanded in a voice coarsened from cigarettes and whiskey.
Shawn stepped forward and dragged me with him. "We've come to see you."
"Why?" The old me grunted.
Shawn tried to take another step forward, but I dug my heels in and held fast to his hand. "NO!" I insisted.
Shawn turned his gaze from the old me on the porch to the new me that held his hand. He waited for me to explain. I didn't explain. I pleaded that we leave. "Please." I whispered in Shawn's face. "Please, let's just go. Let's go. I can't look at it."
"Can't look, huh?" The old me on the porch sneered hatred at me. "Fuck you."
Shawn glanced at the old me and back to the me that held his hand. "We need to deal with him." Shawn urged.
"HA!" The old me barked and hacked out a lungful of smoke. "You're gonna deal' with me? How do you plan to do that? You can't deal' with me. I am me, and I'm him to." The me on the porch pointed at the new me. "I'm the beginning and the end. I'm all there is and all there will ever be."
I gripped my husband's hand and held on like the horror on the porch was planning to attack us. "Please Shawn!" I begged in a frantic whisper.
"That's not you." Shawn whispered back. He cleared his throat and spoke aloud to the horror on the porch, the old me. "You're not him, not anymore." Shawn insisted. "You haven't been him in six years."
"The hell I'm not." The porch-horror insisted back. "I'll always be him." He capped off his sneering speech by spitting his cigarette end from his mouth, over the railing, to where it landed with a burst of sparks on the sidewalk at Shawn's feet. The old me took his pack from his pocket and lit another smoke. He inhaled and talked the smoke out. "I'll always be him. Always."
I averted my eyes from the horror. I couldn't look at him, at that version of myself. I averted my eyes because, as much as I hated to do it, I believed him. I believed that he would always be me. I believed that no matter how good I looked or how much money I made or how many years I spent married to Shawn, that horror would always be me. I believed that version of me, that fat, miserable, angry man, was exactly who I deserved to be.
Shawn let go of my hand. I cried out and made a grab for him but missed. "It's OK." Shawn soothed me as he moved out of arm's reach. "I'm not going anywhere. I just need to have a word with the other you."
I watched, terrified and helpless and rooted to the sidewalk, as Shawn climbed the steps toward the horror on the porch. The horror sneered at my husband. When Shawn got near him, the horror blew smoke in Shawn's face and turned his eyes to the imaginary horizon as a deliberate insult.
Shawn waved the smoke away. He crouched down and looked up at the horror. Shawn put one of his soft hands on the exposed flesh of the horror's forearm. "You know," Shawn said to it, "the first time I saw you, I knew what a sweet man you were."
"Bullshit." The horror grunted.
"No, it's the honest truth. You pointed your gun and you shouted at those men. You stood up for someone you didn't know with nothing to gain and everything to lose. You did that. I didn't ask you to. You did it on your own. Do you remember why you did that?"
"I was shitfaced." The old me grumbled.
"You were." Shawn rubbed his hand up and down the horror's arm. "But there is more to it than that. A lot of people, drunk or sober would have walked away. Some would have stood by and watched to see what was going to happen. You got involved. Why?"
"I hate bullies." The old me grunted like Shawn had wheedled an answer out of him.
"That's true." Shawn agreed. His agreement seemed to interest the horror. It interested the horror enough that he lowered his eyes from the horizon. He brought them to look at Shawn's hand as it traveled in slow passes on the horror's forearm. "Why is that?"
"Why?" The horror asked. His voice had started to change. His every word was no longer a sneering challenge. He sounded like me, like I used to sound before Shawn took my cigarette addiction away.
"Why do you hate bullies?" Shawn pressed.
"Because...because," the horror hesitated, then blurted an admission, "because I know how it feels." "How what feels?" Shawn pressed some more.
The horror clenched his jaw and moved his eyes to meet Shawn's. "I know how it feels to be where you were. I know how it feels to be helpless and hopeless and sad. I know how it feels to have the whole wide world and everyone in it against you. No one ever...no one...never mind." The horror trailed off and returned his stubborn gaze to the horizon.
Shawn took his hand from the horror's forearm and used it to guide the horror's gaze back to his own. "No one what?" Shawn asked.
The horror exploded with angry venom. He shouted rage-filled words at Shawn. Purple color rose in his face and bulged in his shapeless, fat neck. "NO ONE EVER RAISED A HAND TO ME EXCEPT TO HIT ME WITH IT! NO ONE EVER RAISED A FOOT EXCEPT TO KICK ME IN THE TEETH! NO ONE EVER OPENED THEIR MOUTH EXCEPT TO SPIT IN MY FACE! AND NO ONE EVER SPOKE A WORD EXCEPT TO DAMN ME!"
The horror ran out of breath and paused to recover himself. He gasped air into his chest. It rattled and wheezed in his scarred lungs. The breathless horror went on with his angry rant, but at a lower volume, because it was all the volume he could manage. "And you know what?" He snarled at Shawn. "They were right. All of them were right. I'm a mean, hateful, disgusting, hideous, fat whale of a son of a miserable bitch and I deserved every kick in the teeth and slap in the face and punch in the guts this wretched world ever gave me. So, fuck you. Fuck you both."
The horror fended off Shawn's caring hands and flicked away the cigarette that had burned down during his rant. He lit a fresh cigarette, drew the smoke into his chest, and sighed it out. He put his eyes on the horizon like he planned to ignore Shawn completely.
Shawn got to his feet and moved to stand between the old me and the horizon. "None of that's true." Shawn insisted in the gentle voice he used to soothe me when I was upset or sad. "It is true that the people who should have cared for you the most are the ones who accepted you the least. The fact that they didn't understand you only made you angry, it didn't make you mean. You're actually the kindest person I've ever met...and the most thoughtful. It's that kindness that drew me to you in the first place. It's one of the reasons I fell in love with you."
"BULLSHIT!" The horror screamed. "No one loves me." His scream changed to a throaty growl. "No one could ever love me. I'm a fucking monster." The horror leaned around Shawn and pointed an accusatory finger at me. "HE THINKS SO!"
Shawn glanced over his shoulder at me, then turned to the horror. "He's wrong," Shawn soothed, "and so are you. I love you...both of you and it's time you knew it." Shawn called out to me. "Church, come here."
I moved toward the porch and climbed the steps. I crossed the creaking, paint-less wood to stand next to Shawn. I tried to keep from staring at the horror that was the old me, but my eyes refused to obey. They kept drifting to him...to me.
I expected Shawn to try to reason with me, to attempt to reconcile me with the horror. He didn't. Instead of words, Shawn did something...something I didn't expect. Shawn put his left hand on the center of his chest and his right on top of his left. He swallowed hard and flexed both his hands like something was between his palm and his chest. Shawn turned his hands flat. Inside his left palm was a glowing ball of blue, about the size of a tennis ball.
"What is that?" I asked.
"This is my heart." Shawn explained as he cradled the brilliant ball of frozen blue light.
I stared at the blue ball like I was possessed by the beauty of its light. I stared until my eyes betrayed me again. They shifted and noticed that the horror in the chair also stared at the ball. He reached curious hands out toward it. "NO!" I shouted and grabbed his wrists to stop his hands. I struggled with the horror. I struggled to stop him from reaching.
Shawn cried out. "STOP-IT!"
I stopped. The horror stopped. We both stopped in deep surprise at the sound of Shawn's voice raised in a shout. Shawn glared at me. "You, stop."
I lowered my head in fresh shame and stepped away from the chastisement. "Don't you see, Church?" Shawn pleaded with me. "Don't you see how badly he needs this?"
Shawn held his hands out toward the horror. He held his heart out to the horror in the chair. "Go ahead." He coaxed. "It belongs to you. Take it."
The horror accepted the glowing blue ball. His scowling, sneering face softened. He spit his cigarette out toward the trashcans and cradled the ball in his big, scarred hands. "It's beautiful." The horror rasped. He raised confused eyes to Shawn. "You said it's mine. You said it belongs to me. Is it really mine? Can I really keep it?"
"It belongs to you. You can really keep it, but..."
"I KNEW IT!" The horror snarled at Shawn when he said the word `but.' "There's always a catch." The horror's snarl turned to a desperate sob. "You'll take it away. As soon as you see what a monster I am...you'll take it away from me."
"No." Shawn said in his best soothing voice. "No, not now, not ever. I won't ever take it away as long as you pay what it costs to keep it."
"What could you possibly want from me?" The horror wailed miserably. "I don't have anything to give."
"Give me your heart. It's an even trade. You can keep mine, as long as I get to keep yours. See?"
The horror shook his head. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he gazed on the blue ball my husband had given him. "You don't want my heart. This heart is beautiful. Mine is ugly."
Shawn leaned over the horror and took its face into his hands. Shawn wiped the horror's tears away. "I bet your heart is as beautiful as mine. I'm sure it is. Let me see it."
The horror that was the old me mimicked Shawn's actions. He pressed his left hand to the center of his chest and flexed it like something was between his palm and his chest. He turned his hand flat to reveal a brilliant ball of white. The horror offered it to Shawn, hand up but eyes downcast, like he was ashamed at what he offered up.
Shawn accepted it and cradled it in his hands. "Church it's precious!" He gushed like he was holding a new puppy. "It's the sweetest thing I've ever seen!" Shawn smiled on the ball of white. "You made it look just like the dot from your brother's painting. I absolutely love it."
The horror raised his sad eyes to Shawn's smiling face. "Does that mean...does that mean you want it?"
"Of course I want it, you silly ass." Shawn grinned at the horror. "I love it!" Shawn stroked the white ball with his hand. "I'm going to take such good care of you." He said to the ball and kissed the top of it. "And you have to take good care of mine." Shawn said to the horror.
"I will." The horror breathed to Shawn.
"Promise me." Shawn coaxed.
The horror shifted Shawn's heart to his left hand, raised his right, and swore. "So help me, I will."
"Good." Shawn agreed. "Now...we have to do something about this place. You can't live like this anymore. Something has got to be..."
"Wait. WAIT!" I demanded. "What about me?"
Shawn and the horror both looked at me like they were surprised I was still there. "Oh love," Shawn moved from in front of the horror to talk to me. "It's time for you to make peace with yourself."
"WHAT?" I asked in terrified surprise.
The horror struggled from his chair and moved to stand behind Shawn like he was there to support my husband. Both Shawn and the horror held each other's hearts in their left palms and cradled them against their chests. The horror spoke to me. "You have to make peace with me." He rasped in his cigarette voice.
"Peace with YOU?" I demanded of the horror. "You're a fucking nightmare."
"Church!" Shawn scolded me. "That's no way to talk to him. You should apologize."
I shook my head in disbelief. "I feel like I'm insane. Apologize? Apologize to what? To that? Why? For calling a spade a spade?"
Shawn took a big step forward. It brought him well into my personal space. The light of the horror's heart made me squint my eyes. "Church," Shawn said into my face, "this you, this version of you, this person you call the new you,' you act like it's the only you that there is. You act like the old you' is dead and gone. That's not how it works, love."
Shawn shook his head at me with gentle disapproval. "You can't pretend the old you doesn't exist. He does, Church. The truth is that there are two versions of you but they're not the old you and the new you. The two versions of you are the whole you and the you that you choose to acknowledge. You have to acknowledge the whole you or you'll never get any better. You have to make peace with this part of you."
Shawn took a step to the side. His movement left me face-to-face with the horror. We stared at each other. Neither of us made any moves to acknowledge the other.
"Shake hands." Shawn commanded after the horror and me had eyed each other for a while.
The horror and I reached out toward each other and clasped hands. As soon as we touched, the horror disappeared. "Where did he go?" I asked.
Shawn moved in front of me. "He's still here." Shawn breathed in a confidential whisper. "Look at your left hand."
I looked to see the brilliant blue light of Shawn's heart in my hand. I panicked and looked at my body. I expected to see the bloated wreck I used to be, but that's not what I saw. The body I stood in was my own, the body of the new me, but my left hand cradled Shawn's heart. "I don't understand."
Shawn leaned into me. He put his right hand against my chest. "He's in here now." Shawn breathed over my face. "You made peace with him and he's part of you. He was always part of you, but now you've accepted him. You're not afraid of him like you used to be. You're the whole you now, Church."
I don't know how or why, but I felt that what Shawn said was right. "Now what?" I asked.
Shawn grinned at me. It was an ecstatically happy grin. "What do you mean, now what?" He asked. "Now, the rest of our lives!" He jumped up against me and kissed my mouth. "You have my heart and I have yours and we get to be together."
I didn't understand how it could be that simple. "But...but what about him...I mean me? What about this place? What about all that?"
Shawn's ecstatic grin drew down into a serious face. "That other part of you...he's still here. He's still in pain. He's still sad. This place still exists. It's going to take a lot of work, hard work, to make you feel better and to fix this place up, but we're here together now and you don't have to do it alone."
"Thank you, Shawn."
Shawn shook his head. "Never, no thanks, not ever. This is what we do."
I leaned down to kiss my husband. He raised his face to mine. Our lips met, and I closed my eyes.
I woke up with Shawn on top of me. I looked in his placid sleeping face and thought about how lucky I was, about how much I loved him, and about how much he loved me. I felt my love swell in my heart. The feeling, and the place I felt it, terrified me. I'd felt my love swell in my heart and I feared that the heart I'd surrendered to Shawn had somehow made its way back into my chest. I feared that Shawn had given it back to me.
I shook my husband awake. His frozen blue eyes opened and looked on me with love. He kissed the end of my nose. "Good morning." He said and smiled a lovely, peaceful smile at me. "Is it morning?"
I glanced around and saw that it was dark. "I think it's the middle of the night."
Shawn agreed with me. He started to say something when I interrupted. "Shawn...my heart...I feel it. Did you give it back?"
He shook his head. "No silly. I still have it, and you still have mine."
"But...but...I feel it." I pressed a nervous hand between my chest and his chest to prove what I meant.
Shawn laughed at me. He smiled a warm smile onto my worried face. "It was a metaphor, you silly ass. Your heart of flesh is still in your chest, and mine is still in my chest. We've given each other our...our lives, our promise, our commitment. We've surrendered ourselves to one another. You could argue that what we gave each other, was a far more precious thing than the muscle under your ribs."
I looked into Shawn's eyes. I felt his love and acceptance. I knew that he was right. I still had his heart, and he still had mine, and what we'd exchanged on the porch of the smutty rowhome in my mind was far more precious than any muscle or organ. It was more precious than life itself. We'd given each other our love.
I still wanted to hear Shawn say it, though. I wanted the confirmation from him. "So...I still have your heart and you have mine?"
"Of course, my love." Shawn confirmed. "We did before. I've had your heart for a while, and you have mine."
I didn't understand. "Then what...what did we do last night? What did we accomplish?" I asked.
"You let me in. You let me all the way inside, like you never have before. You let me convince you that you had my heart. You bared your very soul to me, Church."
"Does that mean we won?"
"No," Shawn shook his head, but his warm smile didn't fade, "we took one step, but it was a big step. Last night, you became a whole person...you accepted yourself. I'm so proud of you." He kissed the end of my nose again. "How does it feel?"
I had to think about that for a second. When I answered, I answered honestly. "It feels heavy. Like...like I'm not sure how to describe it. Emotionally heavy. Does that make sense?"
"Yes, it makes sense. That other part of you...that part you've been trying not to deal with, his life hasn't been easy. He's carrying a lot of what you'd call `baggage.' We have to help him...help you to carry it now. It's not bad thing because...because we can make it lighter for him, for you."
I felt that Shawn was right, and I felt that, with his help, maybe I could calm the storm and lighten the load, maybe I could learn to be at peace with myself. I tried to thank him. "Thank you, Shawn."
He refused my thanks, like he had inside my mind. "No thanks, never."
I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed his body to mine. "Please, Shawn, please let me thank you. Please. Just let me thank you."
"OK," he whispered in my ear, "just this once."
"Thank you, Shawn."
"You're welcome, my love."
We snuggled together and went back to sleep.