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Crown Vic to a Parallel World: Stolen Love The third and final installment of the ongoing adventures of Church Philips
14
Waiting Some More
I got in the Vic and turned the key in the ignition to prime the fuel system. It was a step I usually skipped as unnecessary. The car always started when I turned the key right around from off' to start.'
I remembered that somewhere in some long-forgotten owner's manual, the manufacturer of the car recommended a brief pause with the key in the `on' position, before twisting the key around to start the engine. I obeyed the suggestion this time because the enemy, more than even the kidnappers, seemed to be time, and the time seemed harder to kill.
The pause worked out in my favor because it gave the dashboard gauges a chance to read. They showed me the fuel tank was almost empty. I hadn't filled it since the morning of the previous day when I left to get Father Miller on Earth. Since then, I'd driven more than three hundred miles in two dimensions. I got out of the car, pulled the fuel hose down out of the ceiling, and fueled the car. When I got back in, Paul had a question.
"You told me they don't use fossil fuels here. Where are you getting gas?"
"The car runs on an industrial solvent, it's mostly alcohol. They blend it with vegetable oil to lubricate the cylinder walls." I explained and glanced toward Paul. I could tell from the look on his face that he was trying to be interested in what I'd explained, but that my words didn't mean anything to him.
I tried to tell Paul that it didn't matter without saying it directly. "I suppose that's more than you wanted to know. Think E85 fuel where the eighty-five is ethanol and the remaining fifteen is canola oil instead of gasoline. The old girl doesn't seem to mind at all." I rubbed my hands around the steering wheel like I was petting a familiar dog and reached down to twist the ignition the rest of the way to start the engine.
The car started and ran on high idle for a few seconds, then idled down to a steady grumbling that echoed off the hard surfaces of the big garage. I put the car into `drive' and listened for the tone of the engine to change. I felt the subtle lurch as the automatic transmission went into gear. I took my foot off the brake and let the idling engine propel us from the garage in first gear. When all four tires were on the plains, I added a little throttle and steered the car to the east, toward the statue.
I didn't look at the climbing wall, the birthday present I'd given my husband when he turned thirty-four. I kept my eyes on the horizon and drove the car toward it. When the looming bulk of the mountain disappeared from the edge of my vision, I steered north to traverse the statue toward the elevator. I didn't plan to spend any time at the base of the mountain. I didn't want to see the monument I'd erected to the dead lovers. I didn't want to see them holding hands. I didn't want to see them having what I couldn't.
When the mountain passed out of view again, I turned west and then south to backtrack to the northeast corner of the mountain and the base of the elevator. I parked the car next to the glass tube that was the elevator shaft. "Are you afraid of heights?" I asked Paul and gave him the reason for my question. "I'd like to go to the top of the mountain, but I won't if it will bother you. It's one thousand feet and the elevator is clear glass all the way to the top."
Paul didn't answer me. He gathered his book from the dashboard and got out of the car. He held the book in front of himself and crossed the plains' scrub to the elevator tube. He followed the tube with his eyes from the base of the mountain to the summit. I watched him through the windshield and noticed for the first time that day what he was wearing. Paul had on a long sleeve pullover shirt in orangy yellow with navy-blue trim, straight leg slacks in orangish red with black trim, and a pair of orange dished heels.
I knew the outfit was from Andy's reef collection because it had to be. Paul's entire wardrobe was from that collection. Andy had done most of Paul's wardrobe in long sleeves in deference to the man's age. We assumed he'd get cold easily and figured that occasionally being too warm would probably be preferable to always being cold. The logic seemed to play out as the last time I'd heard Paul talk about being cold was when we were in the car on Earth. Since he'd arrived on Solum, I had yet to hear him say he was overheated.
There was no doubt the clothes fit well and Paul looked good in Andy's designs. The startling colors even complimented his skin tone. I wondered if Paul thought the same. I doubted it. It had taken me years to come to terms with what passed for fashion on Solum and in many respects, I still didn't quite get it. It's not that I still felt like an earthling on Solum. I felt like a Solumite, but there were some things, like the clothes, that I hadn't completely embraced.
I was happy that Paul looked right in his Andy Philips outfit. Andy's vision of fashion for all' had been fully realized on Solum and the Andy Philips Fashion Company operated on the principle of universal appeal. His mantra of Fashion for Every Body' was literal in that Andy catered to all ages, both sexes, and all body types. The fact that he could outfit the high style elite on Solum, and an elderly priest from Earth using the same collection, spoke to the success of his philosophy.
I realized my mind had been wandering when I noticed Paul staring at me from next to the elevator. He'd tucked his book under his arm again and was staring at me with both his hands in his pants pockets. His posture reminded me a little of Cass's default pose except Paul had his head cocked to left as he wordlessly waited for me to snap out of my trance.
I climbed out of the car and went to join him. I got in the elevator and motioned him in with me. I pointed to the two buttons that controlled the car. One said UP' and the other said DOWN.' I asked Paul if he wanted to do the honors.
"I feel a little like Charlie." He said with what sounded like excitement in his voice. "I wonder if I push this button, if we'll really go to the top of the mountain or if we'll wind up on some strange planet far away from everything I've ever known."
I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the elevator wall. I didn't know what Paul was driving at. He guessed I was confused and tried to explain. "You know, the Roald Dahl book, the sequel to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.' It's called Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator.' Didn't you ever read that one?"
I shook my head that I didn't. In point of fact, I'd never read the chocolate factory book either, but I'd seen the movie. I told Paul as much. "And as to where you'll wind up," I added, "I think what you're worried about has already happened. Look around."
Paul cast his eyes across the Pravus Plains and toward the mountain and up inside the elevator shaft. "So it has, young man...so it has." He observed thoughtfully. "It looks like the adventure has already started. I'd better press the button and get on with it."
Paul pressed the `UP' button, and the elevator began its silent journey to the heavens.
I leaned against the glass back of the round elevator car for the entirety of the trip while Paul moved from one side of the small glass tube to the other and let his eyes wander constantly. He looked up, down, and all around, taking in everything without speaking a word. He rubbed his big hands together and shoved them into his pants pockets. He took his book from under his arm to clasp it between his hands and then he tucked it away to wipe one hand down his face. He seemed giddy with the wonder of what he was experiencing. I hoped he was enjoying himself.
The elevator car slowed to a stop at the top of the shaft. I shifted my weight off the wall and onto my feet in time for the rear of the car to become doors that opened onto a short glass walkway. The walkway led from the self-supporting elevator tube onto the flat top of the mountain. I stepped out ahead of Paul to show him the pathway was safe, but I hadn't needed to. He crossed the walkway that was as transparent as the air around it without hesitation. He seemed to trust the material like he trusted the rock of the mountain.
Paul turned himself as he walked, looking in all directions as he explored the mountaintop. "It just goes on forever, doesn't it?" Paul asked referring to the plains.
"Yup. It spans hundreds of miles in every direction." I stood with Paul and pointed over the carpet of yellow juniper scrub and into the endless pale-blue sky. "To the north and to the west, if you go far enough, you'll reach the ocean. If you head east, you'll reach the mining town of Oppidum and very little else for several hundred miles. If you keep going, you'll reach the northern tip of the breadbasket of the Protectorate of the Common States. To the south, that's the rest of the country."
"How much of this belongs to you?" Paul asked. He was shading his eyes with the flat of his hand like he was the look-out in the crow's nest of a ship.
"As far as you can see and farther. This is a wasteland. There's no water, no life to speak of, and no minerals worth mining. There might be oil, but no one cares. When we wanted to buy it, the government assumed we'd found something valuable. They sent geologists out to scour the plains. They drilled holes and tested samples and did all kinds of research for six months. When they didn't find anything that they didn't already know about, they gave up and let us have the land for a song. To give you an idea of the scale of what we own, the plains are just a little smaller than the state of Texas."
"TEXAS?" Paul thundered in disbelief.
"Yup." I confirmed and chuckled at the memory of the negotiations. "And none of it worth even what we paid for it. I think the government hoped that we'd found something valuable and when they couldn't find it, they decided to settle for taxing whatever it was. They were quite disappointed when, instead of dragging mining equipment in, we applied for a permit to build a house."
Paul looked around some more. "It's lovely up here. It doesn't look at all like what I experienced in South America, but the altitude is exhilarating." The broad man slapped his deep chest with his hands like he had when he'd gotten out of the shower the day before. "I feel wonderful. Better than I have in a very long time. I wonder if it's the air here."
I rubbed my face with my palms and thought about what Paul had said. I was certain it wasn't the air that was making him feel better. It was much more likely that he felt good from being around me and my magic. I figured I would start to influence him at some point, but I didn't think it would happen in less than twenty-four hours.
I was glad he felt good, but I worried what would happen when his magic activated. I hoped Shawn would be back by then. I figured that I'd need his help. I wasn't even sure what to tell Paul, or whether I should tell him anything. I decided to chew it over for a while longer. I dropped my hands and was about to ask Paul if he wanted to go down into the head of the statue, but the expression that met my eyes stopped me.
"What is it?" Paul asked.
"What do you mean?"
"You rubbed your face." Paul pointed at my head unnecessarily. "I noticed you do that when something is bothering you. What is it?"
I raised my hands toward my face again, realized I was doing it, and forced them down to my sides. I put them in my pants pockets to keep them out of trouble. I paused only a second before I decided to tell Paul what I knew. "You feel good, and I'm glad, but it's not the air. I already warned you that spending time with me would likely activate your magic. I'm pretty sure...I'm absolutely sure that you feel good because your magic level is up."
Paul cocked his head to the left again like he expected me to relate the punchline to the joke I'd been telling. I continued to explain and tried to keep my face stoic so Paul would know my words were not a joke.
"If you've already noticed a difference, your power will probably activate soon. I don't know how long it will take or what your magic will be, but...on Earth, it took about a week for my overflow to push-start Mary and Andy. As we're here and everyone around you has active magic, I would think it will take even less time."
Paul dropped his eyes to the ground and kicked the dirt at his feet a little. He ran his hands over his brightly colored shirt, like he was smoothing wrinkles that weren't there. He held his hands up and looked at them, then lowered them and put them in his pockets in a somewhat awkward stance that matched mine. "Aren't I a little old for this?" He asked finally.
"I don't know, Paul." I shrugged at him. I understood the man's concerns, or I thought I did. He'd lived his whole life in one way. Now that he was getting close to what he thought would be the end, he was being shown a whole new world and a whole new way to live. I understood how jarring that could be.
"The truth is," I explained, "if you spend time here, especially if you decide to stay, you'll probably live a lot longer. I don't know how much, but quite a bit. Look at me. I'll be fifty-eight at the end of November. I look like I'm in my early thirties...I think I do anyway, and I feel great. I think my life has realigned to match theirs. I think I'm going to live a VERY long time. If you stay here, you will too. If you go back, I think you'll still live longer, but not as long. I hope that's OK."
Paul bent forward at the waist and kept his hands in his pockets, so he looked slightly like a large bird with its wings folded. He seemed to be thinking. "What would I do here?"
"I don't know, but you don't have to decide this minute, or even this month, or even this year. If you want to go back though, you'll have to make that decision sooner than later, but even that isn't something you have to think about today."
"But soon." Paul muttered to himself.
"I've been here almost eighteen years. In all that time, I haven't aged a day. It's made me think about time differently. The only thing I'm in a hurry for, is having Shawn back. Everything else can happen tomorrow, or in ten years."
Paul straightened up and raised his eyes to mine. "This is truly a wonderous place." He said again. Paul sounded quite impressed with everything I'd said about magic and long life on Solum. That made me think I should tell him the rest. I figured that, while we were talking about magic and wonder and all that, I'd better tell Paul everything.
"You should know..." I paused and rubbed the back of my neck with the heel of my left hand. I immediately had second thoughts about my decision, then I did another mental about-face and decided it was his right to know. I started again. "You should know that...I already explained that my magic, it..." I trailed off because I didn't know how to explain myself.
I reached into my mind for the right words and found the explanation that Beni had used all those years ago. "My body makes its own magic, and it makes a ton of the stuff. It makes so much that it spills out all over the place. I've been compared to a bonfire. I'm the bonfire and the magic is the heat. Everyone around me stays warm on my fire."
I paused for a breath before I went on. Paul used the momentary silence to make a comment. "Young man, you say it like it's a bad thing. I thought your magic was a gift. It was that power that allowed you to save this world."
I rubbed my neck again and tried to explain that, like most things, my power wasn't all sugar. I tried to explain that some vinegar had to be taken with the honey. "You're right, sort of. What I'm trying to explain is, Shawn and I, early on, we discovered during some of our more intimate moments, that my power conveys my mood. Shawn suspects it's because my magic is made from my body mass." I seized on the bonfire metaphor and used that to explain myself further. "You know how a hardwood fire will smell a certain way, a dry, aromatic scent?"
"Yes." Paul conceded the point and waited for me to go on.
"And a fire of pine will smell heavy from all the sap?" I asked.
"Yes." Paul agreed again.
"My magic takes part of how I'm feeling and broadcasts it. Those that absorb my power, they are influenced by how I feel. The closer someone is to me, the more of my mood they'll pick up, because the more of my magic they'll absorb." I stopped short of explaining the deliberate emotion sharing that I'd done with Shawn and had once-upon-a-time done with Bem. That seemed like a little too much information for the time and place and the audience.
Paul considered what I'd told him, then responded to it. "You talk about it like you're sharing a contagion." He observed. "What is the problem with sharing your mood?"
I dropped my eyes to the dirt at my feet. "I feel pretty black right now, so while you feel good, you might not soon. See?"
"I see." Paul nodded at the edge of my averted vision. "Yes, I see. Don't worry, my friend. What you fail to realize is that my already heart aches for your distress. I care for you, and for your wonderful husband, and I pray for his safety and your reunion. Until that comes to pass, I promise you, I feel as black as you do. No amount of magic sharing or lack of magic sharing would stop me from experiencing your grief. Does that make you feel better?"
I raised my eyes to Paul's. His face was so caring, and his words so paternal, I had the impulse to hug him like I had when he'd come into the closet in my apartment to console me. I didn't act on the impulse, but I thanked him all the same. "Thanks, Father...I mean, Paul. That helps."
"Anything I can do, anything at all, I will do it." Paul solemnly promised.
I didn't want to continue the conversation much further. I knew if I did, I'd burst into tears. I tried to get the field trip back on track. "Come on." I motioned for Paul to follow me and strode toward the spiral staircase that led into the statue head. "Let me show you where Fidum and Pravus lived."
We went down the steps and into the large chamber. As soon as we entered, I wished I'd thought to come earlier in the day. The sun was already starting to move behind the statue and away from the eye windows. There was plenty of light, but the place wasn't at its best. The very edges of the space were already starting to get dark. I promised myself I'd bring Paul back again some early morning so he could see its full glory, but I didn't ruin his experience by apologizing for the lack of light.
Instead of playing tour guide, I loitered near the bottom of the steps and let Paul explore the space on his own. He moved through it, rotating as he went, and looking like he was trying to take in everything at once. His method of exploring put a smile on my face. I liked watching him turn and look with his expressive face moving and changing as he was alternately impressed and amazed and shocked.
"Mister Fidum excavated all of this from the living rock of the mountain...by himself?" Paul asked, the familiar amazement in his voice.
"To use his words, `what would you do with eternity?' He spent fifteen hundred years living on this mountain. Fifteen hundred years."
"Boggles the mind." Paul breathed to the space. "And the paintings? He did those as well?"
"Yup. The sculpture and the painting and all the maintenance, he did it all. He said that Pravus helped him when he was able, but I don't know how much help a king would have been."
Paul moved over to the stone banquet and examined the celebrating statues one by one. When he came to Fidum, he looked a long time. "I see it. It's as clear as it can be. The love and the...the...worship perhaps that he feels for Pravus. You say he did all this for a man who was mad?"
I left my spot at the bottom of the stairs and joined Paul at the table. I pulled my chair out and sat like I usually did when I visited my stone friends. I leaned forward and propped my elbows on the table and my chin on both of my fists. I kept my eyes on Fidum while I tried to explain the situation that existed between him and his king.
"When we were here, Pravus wasn't mad anymore. Fidum made a stone spike and he drove it through Pravus' brain, through the frontal lobes, the centers of reason. Shawn explained it to me later, but basically, he gave Pravus a lobotomy. He couldn't be mad if he couldn't reason. The rest of his brain kept his body working and the magic kept him alive, but he had no will and no consciousness. Fidum looked after him, tended him like someone would a loved one in a coma. It was tough to see."
The situation, as I explained it, seemed to move Paul deeply. He blinked and wiped his eyes with his fingers. He sniffed and cleared his throat. He took the book from under his arm and held it between his hands, like it was an infant's security blanket. "Such depth of feeling." He muttered to the statue. "What a lovely man he must have been."
"He was." I admitted. "As hard as it was for me to...to kill Pravus, when I thought that by...ending his life...maybe I could make it possible for them to be together again...there wasn't any other choice to make."
"Mister Fidum," Paul waved the book at me, "this was his. He was a believer?"
"He was. He mentioned the ancient church and its views on homosexuality. He explained that his relationship with the king was frowned upon. He was the first person on Solum that I'd heard say anything about God, so I asked him about his faith. The God he worshiped has the same name as ours. Fidum called him Jehovah."
"I find that fascinating." Paul said in a hushed and reverent voice. He held the book up to me again. "I've just started to read this. To my complete surprise, and my genuine delight, I have found that this book...this book, or at least the first few chapters of it, is The Holy Bible. I don't want to speak ahead of my facts, as I have much more reading to do, but I very much think that this book is The Bible. The implications of that are...staggering."
I leaned back in my chair to give Paul my complete attention. I waited a moment, but he seemed to have said all he was going to. I asked him to explain his meaning. "What are the implications?" I asked to parrot his words.
Paul threw his arms up in the air and waved them in two great arcs in opposite directions. Fidum's bible made the journey with Paul's right hand. When he brought his hands back down, he clasped the book between them again.
"It means...it could mean...it could mean confirmation that what is written in this book is absolutely true. The idea that there was a movement on this world, a movement that may be by some measure, OLDER than Catholicism is on Earth, why...it's evidence that this story may not be a fable!"
I eyed Paul in his excitement. I was surprised by his words. I was surprised that a priest seemed so thrilled that he might be holding evidence that the story of The Bible is a true one. I thought that a priest would have believed already and that no amount of evidence or proof would make any difference to him. "I thought you already believed that story." I said as a question.
Paul stared at me and deflated. He seemed to collapse in on himself as he came down from the height of his enthusiasm, down to the grim reality of my question. He gripped the book between his hands hard enough that I noticed the tension in his fingers. "To be perfectly honest, my friend, I do believe in God. I believe in the divine power that created the Earth and all the people on it. I believe that same divinity created this parallel dimension that you live in now.
"However, as I've gotten older, as I've gotten so much closer to the end of my life, as I've reflected on the years I've endured, I have wondered about God as the father figure that Jesus said he was. I've wondered about the Abba father of the Lord's stories. I've wondered about the implied dichotomy of absolute power and absolute love.
"I am a priest, but I am also a mortal man with all the associated fears of my inevitable death. I'm...I'm ashamed of myself to admit it, but this book, if this book turns out to be what I think it is, what I very much hope it is, it will be a sort-of life-preserver for my faith."
Paul seemed to collapse further into himself as he admitted his humanity to me. "I feel, the last couple years, as I've grown tired, as I've grown old, I feel a bit like, I feel like a fraud. I've struggled, I've prayed and felt like a fraud for praying, praying for faith, asking God to help me believe in him. That's..." Paul trailed off and raised sad, desperate eyes to mine. He heaved a deep breath and went on with his confession.
"That's why when my seventieth year was approaching, I told the diocese that I was ready to retire. I had tried so hard to keep my shaken faith from impacting my work, but faith is my work. How could it not bleed through? I had hoped that, if I could spend time in reflection, if I could spend time away from the demands of a large parish, I might be able to find my faith.
"That's why...you see, recently a very important donor to the church, they offered me a trip to the Holy Land in recognition for my long service. I was supposed to leave for my pilgrimage the day you arrived. I saw that trip as a potential life preserver for my faith. When you showed up at my door, I was so overjoyed to see you, I forgot all about the other trip. I hope my absence will not alienate the donor from continuing to support the church. When I saw you, my dear friend, looking just like you had, in truth looking even better than when I saw you before, all my other concerns evaporated. I've been sadly irresponsible."
I shook my head at Paul's worries. I'd forgotten to explain things to him and laughed about my omission and his concern. "I don't think the donor will mind at all. Once he's back, you can ask him."
"What do you mean, young man?"
"The donor is Shawn."
"SHAWN?" Paul demanded, shocked by my revelation. "You mean, it's his generosity that we have been enjoying for the last decade? The building fund, the new roof, the repairs to the organ, the monthly donation to the food pantry for the poor, all of it...SHAWN?"
I nodded to him. "Do you remember when we first started writing to each other, you wrote that you were worried about the finances because the congregation had gotten smaller, and the economy was bad just then, and people were holding onto their money? Shawn read your letter with me. He went to his uncle, and because Shawn is the holder of his uncle's investments on Earth, Ars agreed to give Shawn a charitable allowance to disburse as he thought appropriate. Your church has been the largest recipient of Shawn's charity."
"But," Paul objected, "but there's been so much money. I thought it was a corporation looking to save on taxes and polish their corporate image at the same time. I always thought it was curious that no one ever advertised themselves as the source of the funds. The man who contacted me, Stephen Wolf, he said he represented an investment firm."
"He does. He represents Summas and Summas Holdings, LLC. It's the firm Shawn started on behalf of his uncle to hold his uncle's investments on Earth. It was all done through Abbey Wealth Management in Center City, Philadelphia." I left out the fact that I suspected Stephen also worked directly for Ars. That seemed like information that wasn't necessary to the conversation.
"I'm staggered." Paul said. He seemed to literally stagger as he said it. He took several steps toward me and leaned his hands on the stone table for support. "So, the trip to the Holy Land, that was a ruse?"
"No. You were booked and ticketed on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. If you decided not to go with me, you could have stepped right onto a plane with first class treatment all the way to the Holy Land and back again. If you decide to return to Earth, you can still go there.
"Since you came with me, an agent of Shawn's uncle took your place on the trip. He served your stand-in. If you decide to stay here, your stand-in will complete the pilgrimage on your behalf. Instead of returning to Maple Shade, he will resume his own identity on the way back and yours will simply disappear."
I clapped my hands and opened them to signify the finality of Paul's presence on Earth. "Father Paul Miller will be remembered as the priest who went on a pilgrimage and was never heard from again."
"You've thought of everything."
"Not me." I admitted. "Shawn's uncle Ars is the one who came up with the plan. I just said that I wanted to see you. I suspect Ars has done this sort of thing before."
"Very well, young man. I will remember to thank Shawn when I see him. It's nice to know that staying or going is an easy choice logistically. The only thing I have to worry about is the rest of my life." Paul shifted his weight off his arms and back onto his feet. He stood back and cast his eyes around the room. I suspected, from his change in posture, that the discussion we'd been having was over.
I found I was correct when Paul changed the subject. He gestured along the table at the stone Fidum and his love, Pravus. "It's clear to me that these men mean a great deal to you. What, may I ask, do you see of yourself in them? Is it just that you met them, or that you were instrumental in ending their lives, or is there more to it?"
I recognized Paul's question as a leading one. Paul was a very perceptive person, like Shawn. I also had to admit to being fairly transparent. All the poker-face in the family went to Joe, because I had none of it; either that or I used it up hiding my homosexuality for the first forty years of my existence. I didn't know why Paul was asking. His question was highly personal, and I wondered why he wanted to know.
I decided to explain myself and to hell with the whys. Paul and I seemed to be having a confession-fest, so I went along with the theme. Even setting aside the mood of the moment, Paul had already proven himself my ally. That proof went all the way back when I was trying to convince Joe to come to Solum. I'd never hidden anything from Paul, and I never regretted anything I told him.
"I don't know that I see myself in either of these men." I said to premise my answer. "Shawn once said that I am as devoted as Fidum was. I like to think that I would be, if my circumstances ever matched theirs. I'm actually a little jealous of them, more so recently.
"Fidum said that there was a time, after all the others took their own lives, when it was just him and Pravus here, before Pravus was mad. I get the impression that during that time, Fidum was the happiest because he could have his love and he didn't have to worry about what anyone thought of two men sharing a life."
"What aspect of their seclusion on this mountain are you jealous of?" Paul asked another searching question. I leaned back in my chair and rubbed the back of my neck with my right hand. Paul shook his head at me. It seemed that he was picking up on all my nervous mannerisms. "If the question is uncomfortable, you don't have to answer it." He offered.
I shook my head back at him and lowered my hands to grip my knees under the table. "No, it's fine. It's not uncomfortable, it's just...yesterday, I sat in this chair, and I thought how nice it would be if it was just the two of us, Shawn and me...forever.
"You know, Paul, the magic that I've been telling you about, it is a gift but it's not that simple. Because of the way my power broadcasts itself into the world, everyone on the estate thrives on my magic. You'd think it would make me happy, helping my family and friend like that, and it does, except I'm left with the feeling that they all want something from me.
"That's the real trouble. The young people, Andy and his boyfriend and the twins and Altus, they love spending time here because they can play and climb and swim and run and fuck like bunnies, and it doesn't cost them anything. Mary and Bem are the same way. They'd never admit it and I doubt they realize it themselves, but they've both told me they're happiest when they're near me.
"That has nothing to do with me or who I am as a person, it's just my magic supporting their energy. I could be a magic crystal from a fairy tale, and they'd worship me like some goddamned sacred cow."
I stood from the table and shoved my chair back so I could pace the room as I warmed to what was quickly becoming a rant. "Joe hates it here. He's never said anything, but he's disappointed in this place. I think he'd go home in an instant if not for Andy. Now, maybe that's his fault, but he blames me. I don't need Andy's telepathy to know that.
"Shawn has his charities and his practice. He makes a ton of money doing what he does, but only from the wealthy clients. The poorer ones he doesn't charge a penny. He feels like we should give back. I'm tired of giving. I saved all these mother fuckers once! Why do I have to keep saving them?"
I stopped pacing and rounded on Paul. I spread my arms wide in an exacerbated gesture and shouted at him. "Now some FILTHY CUNT out there took my husband because they want my MONEY! I wish I had them here. I'd tell them to TAKE IT ALL! They can FUCKING HAVE IT! I wish I'd never asked for it. I just want my husband. I want him and me and no family and no fucking house and no fucking servants and no fucking patients and no fucking phone calls and no fucking hangers on!"
I dropped my face into my hands and explained the rest to my palms. "I just want to live, like they did, like Fidum and Pravus. I want to live with him and sleep with him and love him and have him love me and that's it forever and ever, Amen."
I stopped talking. The stone chamber that had echoed with my angry voice seemed to amplify the silence that followed. I felt bad for shouting at Paul. I hoped he knew I wasn't shouting at him, but just in his general direction. His question had torn the scab off a festering wound in my psyche and the poison had come shooting out of me like pus from a lanced boil. I didn't mean for it to be as violent as it was. My emotions were running high and raw, and I hoped Paul would forgive me.
I started to look up to apologize when my phone chimed with a text message. I drew it from my pocket to see what it wanted. It was a note from Met. `Need your magic to help Joe. Please come to kitchen of main house.'
"FUCK!" I screamed and hurled the phone at the nearest wall. It crashed against the stone and fell to the floor. Frustratingly, it chimed with another message after it hit. As the thing was built of black glass, it was basically indestructible. I probably could have vaporized it, but that seemed even more childish than throwing the thing. I gritted my teeth and called it back to my hand with telekinetic magic. I checked the follow up message. `We're ready now.' It read.
"Oh, fuck you." I swore at the screen. I replied `ten minutes' and locked the phone.
I turned my attention to Paul and tried to apologize, only to be waved to silence. "Don't." He insisted. "I know exactly how you feel. Just because I don't express myself the same way you do, doesn't mean I haven't felt exactly as you do, with certain modifiers."
"I don't...what do you...how?" I asked, fully aware of what my question was but unable to articulate it.
"What was your message?" Paul nodded toward the pocket that I'd slipped the phone into.
"Met's gonna try to help Joe. He needs my magic."
"Help him what?"
"With his weight."
"We should go, then." Paul urged, apparently the one with more sense than me. "I can tell you the rest of my secret woes on the way."