Letters Home, Section 3, June, 2000

June, 2000

With new and fierce intensity, Lisa fought the possibility of Henry gaining ownership of The Oak, avoiding his presence to maintain her hope and trying to block out the sound of his voice as memories of things he had previously said and done returned to her mind like reoccurring nightmares that would appear at whim. “Don’t listen,” she would tell herself, sometimes aloud, as she tried to push his voice away. “Be strong, just hold on,” she would whisper so that only she could hear. At moments, she would look out the window, being reminded by the beauty of the house garden of the power of kindness, of caretaking, and the walls about her seem to lighten somewhat. Though the shadow continued to appear in The Oak, following her at times, the distance it kept was greater than before, as if hope was a serum that would destroy him.

Lisa tried all that she could think of, but her phone calls to the governor, the county commissioner, and old business acquaintances of Christina had gone unanswered, and the letters written would never reach their destination before the deadline. Before realizing that she had lost track of time, Henry had called together a gathering of Oak employees to the grand entranceway.

Looking about the room, Lisa only saw a handful of employees, people who had not yet decided to walk away from Henry, from what The Oak had become. In the chairs lined beside each other to face the staircase, Lisa saw young Mary Hawthorne who had helped to clean the house for the past few months, barely nineteen and sending most of her check home to her mother to help care for the infant son of whom Mary had lost custody. Then, there was Danny Price, who had tended to the animals for over thirty years, his wife having died just last year from cancer, his children grown, his son and daughter-in-law having left the Oak in the earlier exodus. And, old Bob Thompson who was still checking on the fields after being at the Oak for over fifty years, a person of great knowledge on how to tend to the crops, childless and alone since his wife had died in childbirth and the babe was stillborn, but someone who had been content here at The Oak until this year. But, amongst the small group, she did not see Mr. Gates. Lisa ran outside before Henry arrived to address the group, wondering if Mr. Gates was still in the garden and to make certain he realized the time, noticing more than ever the darkness that had settled within the structure and how it differed from the brightness of the house garden and the sun that shown above it.

“Aren’t you coming,” she asked him as he tended to the garden.

“No,” he calmly and casually replied, shaking his head a bit as he watered the roses, “I have no desire to go into his house. If he has anything I need to hear, he’ll come out here to this beautiful garden to tell me.” Christopher smiled at her. “But, I can’t tell you what to do, Lisa. You have to choose for yourself.”

Lisa reached her chair just before Henry positioned himself at the top of the grand staircase like a god standing on top of a darkening world. “Well,” he began, raising his arms and extending them dramatically, “welcome to my new kingdom.” Henry laughed as he put his right hand in his pocket and began to descend the staircase, its luster no longer apparent, its shine gone. “I’m sure all of you are wondering what this is about and I’ll get right to the point. As of,” Henry looked at the watch on his left wrist, “two hours ago, all papers were filed and legalized to make me the new owner of the Oak, every weed, every timber.” Henry noticed the small group looking a bit confused, save Lisa who simply looked defeated. Henry smiled. “The State could no longer make any money off of the property,” he said, “so they sold it to me.” Henry noticed the vacant chair. “Where is he, Lisa,” he said, pointing to the chair.

“Tending to the garden.”

“Oh, well, I’ll deal with him later. As for the rest of you, you have a few choices to make. Danny, old boy, all of the animals are to be sold by the end of the week. If you know someone or can find someone who will buy them that quickly, then I’ll give you a couple of days to make that deal for me. If you can’t, then all of the animals, the cows, the horses, the chicks, all of them, will go to slaughter.”

“I’ll find someone,” Danny said urgently, knowing that they were good animals that other farms in the area would be lucky to have.

“Good. I want top price for them. I’ll leave that up to you. Check in with me tomorrow morning on how it’s going. When I say the end of the week, I mean I want all of the animals gone, paid for and off the property by then.”

“Yes, sir,” Danny replied, his favorite old, worn Chicago Cubs hat in his hands and sitting on his lap, a questioning expression turned to Bob.

“Now. I have no intention of farming this land. So, there won’t be any more animals to take care of, Danny, but I will have some other work if you want it. Bob, this is where you come in, too. Whatever has been planted in those fields, I want it stopped. Do whatever you have to do to prevent the seeds from sprouting or growing or whatever it is they do. Then, if you two men are up for it, the property needs some places to be cleared of trees and the land needs to be prepared in other places so that building can occur on it. I’ll need your answers by the end of the week as to whether or not you want those jobs.” Henry continued to circle around the line of chairs, patting a shoulder now and again as if trying to choose, but landing his hand on Mary’s shoulder. “The Oak, the house that is, will be torn down. I expect that process to begin this month. The other structures on the property, the barn, that restaurant the State built, the worker’s quarters, all of it, will be destroyed. I had first thought I’d just put all the rubble in that lake so that we’d be rid of it but may be I’ll actually keep the lake there. It’ll draw people to the area. But, in either case, by the end of next month, none of this will be here.” Looking in the direction of the garden, he muttered with contempt, “And, that damn garden will be gone too. So,” he said looking at Lisa and Mary, “I won’t have any need for housekeepers. Now, if you wish to remain in my employ, I’m sure I can find other things for you to do for me.”

Lisa shuddered, the sound in his voice both repulsing and worrying her, and she worried about Mary.

“Now,” Henry addressed the group, “if you join my team, there will be good wages and a few other benefits. But, and let me make this very clear,” his voice became stern, “I’ll have no talk or reference to the Allgood family or the Oak. Ever.” He paused and looked them over. “You’re dismissed,” he said, wondering why he had bothered. “Remember, the end of the week. I will have your answer by the end of the week or you’ll be terminated.” Henry turned and walked back up the stairs. “I might actually miss this staircase,” he said, on his way to returning to his office.

Lisa exhaled, amazed that her strength had held up as well as it had although she was worried that it might not, and Mary began to cry. Bob fatherly put his arm about Mary’s shoulder, reassuring her that it would be alright. Danny moved his chair, followed by Lisa, so that everyone could face the others.

“I don’t know what to do,” Mary cried. “I’ve hated working for him but I can’t afford to quit. I have a child to support.”

“I’m a little confused myself,” Bob added, nervously adjusting his suspenders holding up his dusty work pants. “I was born here at the Oak, lived here my whole life except when I went to war and for a while when I went to live on the coast after my Mrs. died. But, I always came home to The Oak. Always.”

“I don’t really think I have any place else to go,” Danny added to the conversation. “My kids are grown; they have their own lives now and I’m not sure there’s room for me.”

Lisa inhaled slowly, trying to reclaim her strength again, reminding herself it would all be alright, it would all be okay. “I don’t think we should be talking in here. Let’s go to the garden.”

Sitting on the benches in the sunshine, in the company of the colors and fragrances and the life, life seemed easier.

“Is this little one okay,” Mr. Gates asked as he put down his water hose and knelt beside Mary.

Mary shook her head, trying to dry her tears and compose her spirit.

Mr. Gates exhaled, “Doesn’t sound like it went so well in there,” he asked Lisa as she sat on the bench beside Mary.

“He’s destroying everything. We all, this includes you, we all have to let him know by the end of the week if we’re going to leave or work for him.”

“That’s a mean man,” Bob added, sitting on the bench to the other side of Mary while Danny sat on an adjoining bench.

“Well, folks,” Christopher began, “it seems that there are some decisions to be made.”

“I have to stay,” Mary said. “My mom doesn’t want me around, thinks I’m evil or something because I had my baby. I guess I disappointed her, wasn’t the daughter she wanted me to be, and I’ve got to keep money coming in. But, I hate it here since he moved in the house,” she continued. “He’s always making little comments and looking at me in ways that make me uncomfortable. He hasn’t done anything. I just don’t like it. And, the house is just so different, like it’s watching me.”

Lisa, not one to usually find herself nurturing, put her arm around Mary. “Go home,” Lisa gently said, the compassionate tone reaching Mary’s soul. “Go home. I’ll help you. I have some money saved to help you get there. I’ll talk to your mom and make her understand that you shouldn’t be here. It’s not healthy here. This place isn’t good for anybody anymore.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“We can all help,” Bob added.

“Sure we can. And, Bob and me here are so old that we should make good references for you when you get a new job,” Danny said.

“You’ll be safer away from here, Mary,” Lisa added. “If you stay, your spirit will go into ruins right along with this house.”

“What about all of you,” Mary asked. “What will you do.”

The old men looked at each other. “Well, if we’ve lived this long,” Bob began, “we’ll figure it out.”

As Bob and Danny took Mary back to the worker’s quarters to begin calling her mother and making arrangements, Lisa turned to Christopher, still kneeling beside the bench.

“And, you, what about you,” Christopher asked of Lisa.

“I don’t know. I just don’t know yet. And, you, Mr. Gates? When will you leave?”

Mr. Gates smiled, “I’ll leave when it’s time. Don’t you worry about that,” he playfully winked at Lisa. “I know where I’m going. But, you, well plans still need to be made for you.”

“I don’t know anything but this place and, even with the changes, I’m scared to leave. Whatever is out there on the other side of those front gates, well, it just seems a bit overwhelming. It’s the unknown factor, you know. What if whatever is out there, on the other side of those gates, is worse than what’s in here?”

“There’s nothing worse than what’s in that house, Lisa,” Christopher said. “Sometimes, you have to face your fears and turn away from what you know before you can find something better. Life’s never easy, but, like a house, you can build your life, make it into what you want or you can let others build it into what they want for you. Sometimes that’s a good thing and sometimes it’s not.”

Lisa felt a strange sensation when Mr. Gates mentioned building, knowing that he knew nothing of her return to her hidden box of dreams of architecture. “What do you think will happen to The Oak, Mr. Gates?”

Christopher adjusted his hat and looked up to Lisa. “Evil always destroys itself, Lisa, in time. Oh, people don’t always realize it because they see other people with fame or riches or big houses, they know of people who break laws or hurt others in one way or another to get ahead, and they don’t get caught and it looks like they’re living the lives that dreams are made of. But, in time, evil always destroys itself, and the dream will become a nightmare. Evil will always destroy itself because of exactly what it is, a destroyer of life, of hope.”

By the middle of the week, more changes had occurred. Danny found homes for the animals at nearby farms, saving them from Henry’s wrath. Then, Danny found himself a new home with his son in another state, packing and saying goodbye once he knew the animals were safely relocated. When Danny left The Oak, he took with him Mary, transporting her back to her son and to her mother, back to a safer life where she would be away from harm, and with heartfelt, thankful prayers that Mary’s mother was understanding of Mary’s situation and willing to work things out between them.

After watching Danny and Mary drive away, Lisa sat on the front porch, studying what was before her and what used to be and watching the birds that would fly nearby sit and stare into her eyes with questions. Shots rang out repeatedly, taking away Lisa’s breath with surprise as she turned toward the front oak doors to see Henry firing a shotgun at the birdhouse outside the office window. “Fly,” she thought, wishing the birds on to safety as she saw several fall, “fly.”

Lisa pounded her way over to Henry. “What do you think you’re doing? They’re just birds. They’re not hurting you.”

“I told you,” he said, continuing to fire until the birdhouse was destroyed, “they’d be gone.”

“I’m not gonna sit by and watch you destroy this place anymore.”

Lisa tried to take the gun away from Henry, the two struggling over the weapon. “Let go,” Henry said, “you think I won’t shoot you too?”

Lisa tore the gun out of Henry’s hands, the force swinging the gun through the air until it landed on the ground, one final explosion exiting the barrel and marking the fence.

Lisa, breathless, turned to Henry. “Do you realize how evil you are or do you just not care?” And, with those words, she walked off towards the fields.

“Do you really think you’re any better,” he asked in a sincere tone, just loud enough for her to hear as she was walking.

And, the words rang through Lisa’s brain.

Lisa walked for hours, up part of the mountain and across part of the valley where she had never been. “Mr. Bob,” Lisa asked as she saw him standing alone in a field. “Sir, are you alright,” she asked, putting her hand gently upon his arm.

Tears filled his eyes. “They are only plants, but I just can’t do it, Lisa. I can’t destroy these little seeds like he wants. I tried,” he paused, looking down towards the Earth, “but I can’t just do it. These little seeds just want to live. That’s all. And, I’ve spent my whole life trying to grow life, not end it.”

Lisa remembered how Bob used to be, his voice confidently talking about the seasons and the crops, his eyes bright when it came time to plant or harvest or when he was watching the plants change, grow. And, Lisa saw his eyes now, tearful and downcast, vacant and almost hollow, a look she had been before.

“I have no other place to go, Lisa,” he said, almost without emotion, without hope.

“There’s always a place to go, to turn to. We’ll find a place for you, Bob. We’ll work together on it. You can’t stay here. If you stay, he wins. You’re a good man. You don’t belong here. There will be life for you on the other side of those gates.”

“No, I’m an old man and there’s nothing left for me,” he said, patting her hand where it rested on his arm. “Nothing. Henry was right when we talked. There’s nothing left for me anywhere. No one will want me. I have no other choice other than to stay here and help him kill this life I’ve planted.”

“Well, sure there’s another choice. Look at all the knowledge you have. That’s valuable information that any farm would be proud to have access to.”

Bob almost laughed. “I thought I’d retire here, you know, near these fields. Christina always saw to it that people who worked here could grow old here and be taken care of. But, all that’s changed now. I’m too old for anyone to hire me, and I’m trained in the old ways.” Bob gently removed Lisa’s hand from his arm. “This is all I know and there’s no time to learn. It’s the end of the line for me.”

“No, no,” Lisa repeated. “We’ll figure it out together. We will.”

“Lisa, please go back to the garden.”

“No,” Lisa said, her voice worried. “I won’t leave you alone.”

“Please. If it’s the last thing I ever do…”

“No. Come on,” she put her arm around him. “We’re going back to the garden.”
He said not a word as she eased him back through the fields and up towards the living quarters though she continually tried to remind him of brighter days, of possibilities, reassuring him of positive outcomes, relating his experience to the fields. Refusing to sit in the garden, its colors a disbelief to his dimming eyes, Bob returned to his quarters where Lisa watched over him until he fell asleep.
In the moonlight, Lisa sat upon the porch outside Bob’s cabin, basking in the white beams of light. In the moonlight, she could remember the Oak as it used to be, the angels upon their perches blessing the people within and the animals that lived about. She could remember the prisms of light that would shine in through the windows and how the sun would display light upon the roof of the house as if sending The Oak its own special spotlight. And, she could remember her dreams of building houses just as special. When sleep came, she remembered the white rabbit and the letters as her mind reviewed the magazines in the plastic box.

The morning came quickly, and Lisa awoke with the sunrise. Peaking in on Bob see how he was doing, she found him beside a note he had written in the night that simply said I have no place else to go, an empty prescription bottle in his hand. Lisa checked, but he had no pulse, no breath, no life left in him. Henry had won that battle.


Lisa spent most of the morning in the garden, nothing said between herself and Christopher as she thought of all that had passed, watching Christopher pull the weeds from between the plants and give them a little fertilizer here and there. Sitting there on the bench, Lisa felt the need to draw, to sketch, to create a world of lines that was something more than what she knew now. And, in the loose soil beneath the white roses, Lisa found herself drawing, her finger a pencil, the Earth a canvas, drawing walls and ceilings, welcoming floors, open windows that let in the light, and rooftops that embraced the structure like a mother. Sitting there in the garden, she felt her hope restoring, her spirit breathing again. Though she ached from the losses, there was peace in the garden that gave itself to her, a peace that she wished back to it like a kiss blown on the breeze.

In the afternoon, Lisa wondered through the valleys and up into the mountains, sitting at times beneath the trees and listening, feeling soothing music played about her by the leaves that was carried upon the wind, across the mountain and through the valley. There was a gentleness about the mountain that she had never noticed, a gentleness that spoke to her without words. Realizing, there was no one left now at the Oak but herself, Mr. Gates, and Henry, Lisa contemplated what to do, knowing that she had to decide for herself. In a blend of hope and confusion, she closed her eyes and whispered for guidance, and she began to smell wildflowers drifting on the breeze. Upon opening her eyes, Lisa looked about the mountainside, some of the limbs seeming to take on the form of structures while others seem to hold wands that pointed to the structures like a teacher pointing to a chalkboard, the tangled roots almost appearing as people inside, and the leaves sounding, from time to time, as if they were speaking of corners and angles. Through her hair, a warm breeze would blow, whispering into her ears happy songs of smiles and laughter.

And, at the tree line was the white rabbit with blue eyes, sitting comfortably on a tree root and looking at Lisa like a friend in need. “Come here,” Lisa whispered carefully, and the rabbit hopped to where she sat, sensing no danger. “What should I do,” Lisa whispered. And, though the rabbit only looked into her eyes, Lisa understood. “Yes,” she whispered, “yes.” Gently, she picked up the rabbit, cradling it in her arms. And, though it was she holding on to the rabbit, Lisa felt a loving embrace about her body and a comfort within her soul.


Lisa opened up the suitcase, first taking the books from the nightstand and placing them in the corner. She took her favorites pieces from the closet, folding them neatly on the bed before packing them alongside the books. In cardboard boxes she packed up her life, piece by piece, clothing and romance novels and pictures from the wall, stationary and colorful writing pens and ceramic mugs, greeting cards and letters she had received and saved, old family photo albums, and all of those little things that add up over the years. The plastic box holding the reminders of her dream of architecture sat alone and added to the box for their own protection were portraits of her parents. Though before her she saw the material objects that she thought had added up to her life, she now knew there was much more.

A call to her cousin on the coast who worked for Katrina’s children and grandchildren provided her with a temporary destination and a job, and the plastic box before her was the beginning of her plan. Carefully she had completed the application for college, using Savannah as the return address, attaching the appropriate fees and transcripts they had requested before mailing it from town. An architect she had wanted to be and an architect she would work towards becoming. After all, as long as there was time, it was never too late.

“You don’t have to go,” Henry said, his voice more calm than Lisa had ever heard it before as he stood at her door.

“Yes, I do,” she simply stated, calmly but with certainty as she continued to pack.

Henry suddenly seemed nervous and alone, uncertain and unsure of himself, qualities Lisa had never known him to express.

“You know that you can stay as long as you want, you can even come back. We’d make a good team, you and me. I’d like to have you on my team.”

“I don’t want to be on your team and I don’t want to be in your house or on your property. Don’t worry,” she told him, “you’ll make your fortune and live,” she stopped, considering the next word, “well, ever after.”

Henry looked over his shoulder, the black shadow standing there, watching him, Henry swallowing hard at the feeling of cold hatred that he was now receiving regularly from a dark shadow with no eyes, no soul, no body, but with a mighty clutch. “You know,” Henry said sincerely, “I know we’ve never really gotten along, but,” he paused, “maybe we could learn to,” and paused again, a lengthier pause than before, “everyone has gone.”

Lisa stopped, turning to look at him, seeing something of fear in his eyes, or was it regret? “What did you expect,” her voice remained calm, her hope helping her to hold back the tears. “People at the Oak were once happy. This was their home. You’ve done everything in your power to change all of that. Almost like you set out to hurt everyone, like you enjoyed their hurt, their anxiety, their loss.”

“I,” he stopped, looking towards the floor and then about the room. Then, the familiar Henry surfaced. “You know what, I’m better off without all of you. You’re all a bunch of losers with no ambition to get ahead, no ambition to make any money. You all just wanted to sit on your lazy butts and stay at the Oak. Certainly, not the kind of people I want working for me. Besides, it’s not like I’ll be alone. There will be plenty of people keeping me company.” Henry almost turned around, but returned his gaze to Lisa, “Frankly, I did you all a favor and you should all be grateful. You owe me.”

“Not you,” Lisa responded with an uncommon calmness. “I owe you nothing.”

And, Henry walked away, the dark shadow following him.

After the car was packed, Lisa went to the garden to say goodbye. “When will you be leaving,” she asked Christopher as he stood from pulling weeds and tucking in flowers.

“When it’s time,” he nodded. “Don’t worry.”

“I’ll miss this place,” she said, looking only about the garden.

With one final embrace, Christopher whispered, “Don’t look back, Lisa. Just go forward with your life.”

And, with tears in her eyes, she said in a voice barely a whisper, “I’ll miss you.”

Pulling a rose from the garden and placing it in her hand, Christopher nodded in response. “I’ll always be here…tending to the garden. Now, you go on,” he gently stated, “your future awaits.”

As she slowly turned to leave, she felt a pull to turn around one final time, to look into his blue eyes and feel encouraged that he wouldn’t fall to Henry’s power. Yet, as he had instructed she repeated to herself, “Don’t look back. You must never look back.” And, swallowing hard, she got in her car, tears of excitement and fear, hope and remembrance streaming, holding the rose in her hand against the steering wheel, and driving away from the Oak and into a new life.


Christopher Gates looked into the skies above, seeing the blue skies with white dotted clouds happily sitting above the garden, the sun shining brightly, smiling upon the roses. He saw the rays of light that circled the grave sites of Kevin and Abigail, of Katrina and, yes, of Christina, too. The wind playfully coursed a path through the oak trees and up the mountain, collecting messages of history from all living beings to be shared with all who would listen as the wind made its way around the world. The birds sang songs of joy from their lofty perches in the oak trees and about the garden. And, as he always had, Christopher tended to the garden, watering and weeding and nurturing and praying.

“Yes, the time should be soon,” Christopher said to the white rabbit with crystal blue eyes sitting atop a stone platform amongst the roses of red and white, pink, purple, and blue. Christopher continued to water the flowers, the roses and daisies and lilies, the flowers of all shapes and sizes, colors and styles, each one receiving his special attention.

The white rabbit extended his foot, touching Christopher’s arm as they looked above the Oak. A black swirling tunnel of dark winds and angry clouds, energy, pouring from the sky to the house like a sheet of black rain engulfing the roof, the walls. In one moment, they saw a bright light from the sky shine into the house through a window, but it disappeared just as quickly. The outer walls of the Oak were becoming as black coal and the windows as black as tar, as hard as nails. The Earth upon which the Oak had sat for over a century began to soften, the brown soil turning to ash, emitting sounds of creaks and moans, separating, splitting, opening.

“Yes, soon,” Christopher said to the white rabbit. “The time should be soon, old friend.” And, together they looked up into the glory of the sun.


Henry passed by the mirror in his office, adjusting his collar and admiring the fit of the tailored suit, his head strong upon his shoulders, his eyes fixed to his own reflection. You’ve done well for yourself, Henry, his mind whispered to himself in a voice slightly different from his own. Very well, indeed. Henry straightened his tie and checked his hair. Think of how far you’ve come, how hard you’ve worked. People with less, people who haven’t done so much, they just don’t understand. Do they? Henry did not notice that as he turned from the mirror, part of his reflection remained.

“No, they don’t,” he answered himself aloud, thinking that the words seemed to echo in the silence of the room. A sigh exited his nose as he looked about the office he thought of now as his own, the office that came with a price, but with the dignity, power, and the status he had craved since childhood. Upon the walls were priceless pieces of art and on the shelves were hunting trophies of pure gold. So what if he hadn’t won them, though he felt that he had earned them. The ceramic angels of blue, pink, white, and crystal Henry had thrown out with the trash, except for those few that Lisa had earlier found and saved, placing them throughout other parts of the house so that the grouping would not be so noticeable on the tours that were led through the house at the time. The furniture was covered in fine leather, real leather that Henry would slide his hand across each time that he sat upon it. Priceless editions of literature still lined the walls since Henry had decided to allow their value to increase before selling them, but some of the antique ceramics he had already sold, using the money to purchase rich Cuban cigars and fine whiskeys.

Sitting down at the oak desk, looking out across the property that he had acquired, his mind again began to speak to him. Quite a piece of property. The land deal will make you millions.

“Maybe even billions,” he said aloud, kicking his feet on the desk and pulling a cigar proudly out of the box, smelling the rich scent of the tobacco before lighting it.

That’s right….matches, not lighters. You’ve learned so much. You’re so different now from that little boy you used to be. Henry always hated these moments, the moments he found himself unable to entirely erase his memory. Most of the time, Henry was strong-willed, able to repress years and force experiences into a little box, tuck it away in the back of his mind, and forget about it. Then, once in a while, there were moments like this, moments he felt out of self-control, moments when the past came back to him like a violent boomerang determined to find its sender. That’s right, Henry, remember, remember, remember. Henry tried to focus on other thoughts, the Oak, the money, his future plans, the dream house he would build for himself. No, Henry, don’t fight it. Let the memories return, and remember it all, the pain of the punches. So many times and you were such a little boy. Remember, Henry. Remember the blood? It was yours. Do you remember the smell of the sweat and the blood, the sting of your tears? Good, don’t forget any of it. The knife, be sure to remember the knife, Henry, and how it looked when he stabbed her in the chest. And, why, always remember why, Henry. She was trying to stop him from hitting you. It was all your fault, Henry. Do you remember hearing your mother’s final whispers, the blood spilling from her mouth? ‘Make something of yourself,’ she had said, Henry. The gunshot in the bedroom, Henry. Remember that sound. Yes, remember how it rang out. Remember what he looked like, Henry, lying there. Remember your parents carried out by those men in white. Remember you and your brother going to live with your father’s brother. He always set you straight, just like your father, didn’t he? Yes, he told you how it was, that it was all her fault, didn’t he? Yes, remember it all. Let it come back and swirl around in your heart. Remember the pain, Henry, remember it all.

Henry felt the sadness, the anger, the loss, and the numbness, but tears no longer came. He would tell himself that enough time had passed so that it bothered him less, but it wasn’t the truth. To no avail, he tried to push the memories away, trying to find other areas of life upon which to dwell, but there was no fighting it when it came to Evelyn.

Remember her, Henry, such a little tramp, she was, wasn’t she? Always giving you the eye and telling you how much she loved you. She didn’t mean a word of it, did she? Telling you that you were the only one. She was lying, that little whore. Remember her perfume, Henry, remember it well, how it would be ever so slight. And, that chestnut hair, Henry, remember how soft it was to the touch? Be sure to remember.

Evelyn was her name, a beauty with chestnut hair and hazel eyes from a good family in town. It was Henry’s intelligence in the classes they shared that had attracted her, and the broken spirit she noticed in him and from which she wished to save him kept her with him. Their love was true, but not always strong as Henry’s doubts born in the past would revisit his heart and cause difficulties between them. Through their last year of highschool and most of college they had remained together, sharing hearts and passion and secrets. It was Evelyn who had encouraged Henry to go to law school, to fight for kids like he had been. And, the goodness in him had sent in the applications, dreaming of days of using the law to fight so that no other kid had to suffer the evil that he had. And, in other dreams, he dreamed of Evelyn, a house, a family, and a life where he would be so different than his own father.

Remember, Henry. What did she say, Henry? Remember it now.

“I love you,” Henry whispered to no one. And, Henry remembered.

Remember. ‘I didn’t do anything,’ that’s what she said when you asked her about it. ‘I didn’t do anything,” what a pathetic little excuse. Yet, your own brother told you that he had had her. Why would he lie? He never liked having that tramp around anyway. She looked down on all of you is what he always said, that girl from the good side of town, the side with money. He couldn’t stand to be around her. Remember. Remember when you drove her out to the woods, that favorite spot by the pond, that final argument? Be sure to remember how she was crying, just repeating the same words over and over again about how much she loved you and that she didn’t know why your brother was lying. Feel the anger, the rage like you did then. That’s right, Henry, feel it all. Remember how good it felt, how powerful you were when you knocked her down? Remember how strong you were when you picked up that large stone? It was a big one, wasn’t it, Henry. So little effort it took from you to throw it against her head. Remember the blood, Henry, and those final little words of hers, ‘I love you, Henry.’ She was a tramp. Remember, Henry, she would have just gotten in your way, wanted you to do other work than business. If she were with you, you wouldn’t be where you are now.

Henry remembered Evelyn lying there, helpless, the love of his life dead and gone by his own hands, the shiny pendant that she always wore, the one he had given her with their initials inscribed, still lying against her chest.

But, you messed up, didn’t you Henry? Didn’t realize that Spike had followed you out there. And, him just a little kid at the time. Saw the whole thing, he did. Didn’t he, Henry? And, you explained the whole thing, going on about what your brother had said, explaining why you had to kill her. But, Spike, well, he had a different story to tell you, didn’t he? A story about having heard your brother laughing, planning on telling you all of that just to get rid of that little tramp because she was always looking down on all of you.

“She never said a word,” Henry said to himself.

Oh, come on, Henry, get the story right now. She was from the other side of town, and everyone on the other side of town looked down on all of you. Everyone, Henry. And, you had been working so hard to get through school, working at night at that little pharmacy with the creaky floor to put yourself through school. No one helping you, was there, Henry? But, this wasn’t your brother’s fault, now was it? No, couldn’t be. It was that little tramp. It’s all her fault. She deserved it. Remember the smell, Henry, of the blood and the sweat as you and Spike dug the hole and put her in it. It was a better burial then she deserved, Henry. You know that. Remember that. And, Spike wouldn’t tell a soul as long as you helped him out from time to time, when he needed it. Spike was probably lying about your brother’s plan anyway. You can’t trust any one. Remember that, Henry. And, that body, well, it still hasn’t been found. Better that way, Henry. You’ve got a reputation to protect now, a career that you’ve built. You don’t want that little tramp coming back and taking it all from you, now do you?

“No,” he said, in a voice barely audible and with lips that barely moved, the cigar hanging loosely from his fingers, its weight feeling too heavy to lift.

Come on now, don’t get sentimental on me. We can’t have that. Not now. We’re so close to having everything.

Henry dropped the cigar, never noticing that it had burned through his slacks and seared his skin. Henry looked out through the window, looking about the property again, lifeless.

Don’t back out on me now, kid. We’ve got work to do.

Henry remembered Evelyn’s hair, the way her eyes sparkled in the sun, the truth in her smile.

I need a little reassurance from you, Henry. You’re making me doubt your loyalty to the plan. Are you going to stick with me here, or do you want to lose everything you’ve worked for, everything I’ve helped you to get?

Henry straightened his back and picked up the cigar, laying it gently over the edge of the ashtray. Returning his gaze to the mirror, he saw the dark shadow in the glass.

Well, will you come with me, and I’ll make sure you continue to live in all this glory. I’ll make sure that you have all this and more, all you’ve ever dreamed of, all you’ve ever wanted. What do you say, Henry? You can’t find a better business deal than that.

Standing up from the chair, Henry smiled and began to walk towards the mirror. Then, a bright light shown through the window, catching Henry’s attention, the glare causing him to turn around to see what was happening, and in the light he heard a voice. And, Henry laughed at the light. “I’m a businessman,” he said, walking towards the mirror and continually speaking to the light, “you’d have to come up with a better offer than that.”

The mirror turned black and the light disappeared. Henry addressed the dark shadow in the mirror. “Money, prestige, everything. I want everything that I’ve got coming to me.”

And, though the shadow had no specific features, Henry saw it smile. As you wish. In the space of a heartbeat, a dark tunnel of wind forced itself through the house, lifting Henry from the ground, breaking him through the glass window, and crashing him into the ground, a piece of window glass piercing his skull in the same location where he had crashed the rock into Evelyn’s head.


He made a noise as of clearing his throat, but he didn’t have to. Christopher knew he was there, standing at the edge, just outside of the garden in the entranceway to the house.

“You killed him,” Christopher said, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” the shadow simply replied.

Christopher leaned on his hoe, the white rabbit sitting beside him.

The shadow pretended to have a gun aimed at the rabbit. “I’ll be glad when that thing is gone.” The shadow continued to stand at the edge of the garden, in the doorway of a black house.

“You’ll never be able to kill truth. You’ll never be able to kill hope, not completely,” Christopher said, “no matter how hard you may try.” A sincerity, a truthfulness remained in Christopher’s eyes. “Why don’t you come into my garden,” Christopher invited, sensing that it would never happened but his heart remaining open to the possibility. “Here, you may find a beauty you’ve forgotten, a sanctuary you once knew and can know again, if you’re willing.”

“You never came into my house, Christopher.”

“No, not your house. I never went into your house. But, the light was always in there, trying to find souls in the darkness that would listen. The light never surrenders, though it does have to accept that final answer. And, I’ve always been right here, waiting to encourage the spark that the light brought within. Many who have walked through your house have seen the light and followed it out here to the garden and beyond.”

The dark shadow looked upward at the dark, swirling skies above the house and below at the ashy Earth. Christopher remained calm, the light of the sun still above the garden, the oaks, the graves. And, between the two worlds, a thin veil of choice.




This work is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to situations or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental.