Leaping Over Mountains

Leaping Over Mountains a novel by John Mark Guerra

Contents Acknowledgements Introduction

Part One: Discovery Chapter One: Solomon

Part Three: Searching

Chapter Two: Cy

Chapter Nine: Solomon

Chapter Three: Solomon

Chapter Ten: Cy

Part Two: Broken Chapter Four: Cy

Chapter Eleven: Solomon Part Four: Being Found

Chapter Five: Solomon

Chapter Twelve: Cy

Chapter Six: Cy

Chapter Thirteen: Solomon

Chapter Seven: Solomon Chapter Eight: Cy

Afterword

To Dad, a man who left the example.

Acknowledgements To all those who read the book when it was in a three hole punched binder and pretended to enjoy the first editions full of spelling errors and confusing plot twists, I very much want to thank you all and hope you can stand to read it at least one more tim

Introduction I find myself pressed to share the reason why I decided to write this book. It all began one night as I was sitting on the floor of my shower. I asked the Lord what he wanted me to do with this story and why in the world I should even try to write a book. “What twenty-something writes a book that really matters?” I would think to myself. My life was convoluted and spread thin and I needed an answer to take a step in some direction.

As I sat there I began to hear, “Write my story” over and over in my mind. In the midst of asking questions and figuring out life at that moment, I was interrupted with a hushed voice saying, “Write my story.” With that propulsion I started this simple story of two people and love.

With the idea of encapsulating this great and awesome thing that is Love into two intertwined stories, I believe it can allow a simple but powerful knowledge of His love and we can begin to find it real. As I was writing this book I felt over and over this question wash over me, “Do you really know the price I paid for you to choose me?” As I began to marinate in the understating of the sacrifice that Christ gave I began to feel angry and frustrated that for so long I had never heard of the actual price that was paid for my choice. It was more than death on the cross. It took my Savior and His Father thousands of years and hundreds of generations to bring himself to Earth. He split water from itself so millions of people could walk to him and he threw himself down to our level as a servant just so he could ask, “Will you choose me now?”

He did not force himself on us like a scorned lover but presented himself as a way to a Loving God and a love that flows like gushing rivers and washes us clean. “Will you now choose me?” is what he asks you right now. It is up to you if you see that you are worthy of the price he paid. Choose this love and choose this Chris

Part One: Discovery

Chapter One: Solomon “You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride; You have stolen my heart with one glance of your eyes…”

I suppose you could say it all began at this little place called Beaux’s Bait Shop. With its dirt smeared sign of alliteration and its rickety porch that had three rocking chairs, I found myself desperately pleading for cell phone coverage and trying to dig up some reason for smoke and steam billowing out of my car. Yes the Ford ’32 roadster was old and held together by hope and duct tape.

I refused to let it go despite the prodding of Mr. Beaux and everyone else who saw what was considered a heap of metal and eight different colors of paint. It was without a second thought that I walked inside to get out of the humidity and away from the strange colored fumes from the car and was quickly met with the bellowing greeting of Mr. Beaux, “Well hey there Sol’mon,” he said in his muttered and murky voice, “How’s your mom?”

“Good, everyone’s good, Mr. Beaux”, I said in a rush of exhaled breath and frustration.

“Car causin’ you some trouble?” he said with a now clearly evident smirk, which I assumed he had been hiding since he saw me push the car onto his gravel parking lot.

“I suppose you could say that,” looking back toward the plume of steam still rising from the hood dissipating into the hot air, “I think it’s the radiator.”

With a smack of his lips, “You want me to take a look?”

Before I could answer him he was already walking around his counter and had a handful of tools shoved in his back pocket. And with the screech of the screen door and the click of his shoes across the wood floor he wallowed toward my pathetic roadster with a smile I could see from the back of his head. Now Beaux was in no stretch of the imagination a completely unique individual with no possible comparison to be made to anyone else real or fictional. He was probably close to six feet and nine inches tall and wore the same Coors Light hat every day he won at a bar. He was older, probably close to sixty-five and had those thick bi-focal glasses that would refract the sunlight in focused beams that probably had the power to annihilate countless, innocent insects.

As a man from the country he spoke in short muddled sentences with little room for colorful words and annunciation. As a Cajun man he had one of the largest smiles I had ever seen. It was so large that his cheeks would bulge out past his face and would be clearly evident even when he was not looking at you.

Beaux loved only a few things; fishing, and cars. He loved cars like few men do. So whenever I would drive through his part of the swamps where he kept a small bait shop and gas station I made sure to talk cars with him despite my complete lack of any formative knowledge of almost all vehicles. When this giant man lumbered toward my car I knew that he would enjoy the challenge and one way or another I would get back home to New Orleans.

The only problem of having Beaux work on my car was the guilt of obvious neglect that he quickly noticed and made aware to me as well as anyone who was within earshot. This particular time I was probably close to nineteen and had other things occupying my mind more than rotating the tires and changing the oil more than

once a year.

As that sweet old man lay under my car I could hear his snickers of disappointment and curiosity. Every now and then he would poke his head toward mine holding a wad of tape or some strange screw with the bewildered and amused face that let me know he was telling me something along the lines of, “What is this and what were you thinking?” Despite his judgment and lack of trust, he relinquished control of my little roadster with nothing more than a pat on my back and a simple request, “Tell your daddy,” Beaux said, “you’re not too big for an old man like me to whoop your butt! Now have a good one, boy!”

I jiggled the key in the ignition and with a quick prayer and a press of the clutch the engine rattled and gravel flew in the air. I loved that car. More importantly I loved the fact that I could take time and just drive through the swamps and feel the hot sticky air become cool wind swirling around my thoughts and whatever small issues a nineteen year old boy could possibly posses.

∝∝∝∝∝∝∝∝ All I knew then seemed to change drastically (like how studying could be avoided and how most people thought logically with some common sense) as I decided to take a drive up to this college called Harvard. I really don’t know why I chose to go to Harvard. Perhaps it was because my folks met there and it was out of some sense of obligation that I applied. Nonetheless, I went and quickly learned why this place had such esteem mortared in its formation. “College will be good for you,” was all I heard when I was a teenager. My dad would tell me all about Boston and the history of the beginning of America started there. The coffee shop where Thoreau and all his buddies sat was steps away from the church where George Whitfield preached.

Being twenty and a freshman I found myself comingling with what appeared to buffoons and dirty children that just so happened to be sharing space in this tacky linoleum soaked dormitory. So I quickly bought an apartment in this area called Bunker Hill, across

the Charles River, which situated itself miles away from campus and the infected freshman dorms. Despite the distance to class, the apartment itself was completely worth the long drive in the roadster, which had no roof to speak of and absolutely no heat*. I had the place designed to look like an old library married to a downtown loft. All of my books were piled on top of countless alphabetically arranged books. The most crucial piece for the entire house, my big leather chair was stranded from all rest of the house, perched and pointed toward the windows. I would sit in my big leather chair like the great men of the world probably did. I would imagine myself as a dignitary coming to this great city with police caravans and protestors all following me to some grand hall to change the world with my speeches. Or, I would picture myself setting sail from Boston Harbor on the Forth of July with fireworks exploding all around me as my mighty sailboat swirled the patriotic waters behind her and me sails wafting in the wind.

(These are all just a bunch of boring facts and little stories to give you an idea of who I am before I take you into the real story.

In all honesty I would much rather just give you bullet points of everything that led up to the actual story. But for the sake of it all you now know that: I have a lot of money and used to drive a beat up Ford Roadster in Louisiana I went to Harvard late and bought an apartment Now, to the important part of the book) The winter that I am remembering in particular is very important in understanding this story (at least my part of the story.)

It must have been my junior year because I distinctly remember returning from a family trip to New Zealand that Christmas and having thoughts of murder as I nearly froze in the February of Boston. Winter in New England is a strange thing compared to winter elsewhere. People are prepared to be miserable and freezing as well as wet and loud in their swearing at one another. From the looks of it, no one owns modern-day winter clothing other than coats. People walking down the streets seem to grab whatever stray

pieces of fabric and wrap them around their frigid faces in hopes of trapping any heat that might be left in their bodies. Honestly, I have a hard time distinguishing the homeless from the nondestitute.

One particularly wet snowy day some friends and I decided to go to some coffee shop near campus, pretend to have one of those memorable conversations like we were Winston Churchill wannabes and eventually talk about close to nothing. As we peppered our conversations with random movie quotes, I felt this deep desire to go and talk to the barista behind the counter* As I maneuvered around the low tables with small chairs toward the counter, everything inside of me tensed up in hopes of looking (1) buff, (2) sexy, (3) smooth and (4) casually impressive. None of those attributes were evident as I found my body contorting violently as I went crashing over a table inches away from a successful pick-up attempt.

As I lay prone on the ground feeling the slow flow of coffee from the cup to the back of my shirt, I looked up to see this laughter being subdued by the red headed barista, (Frankie – as I soon found out) and the most captivating blue eyes. Lifting me to my feet and shaking sugar off my clothes I heard her say, “Smooth move, captain,” and chuckled as she stepped backward to see if I was hurt.

“Uh…yeah I guess,” I said with a smile as I brushed off the front of my pants and tried to regain not only my composure but also some sense of pride. Awkwardly I stuck out my hand toward the still laughing red head, “Hi I’m Solomon.”

“And I’m Frankie,” she said as she quickly gripped my hand like we were at some Chamber of Commerce meeting. “Are you okay?”

“Well, now that I can talk to you without having coffee puddle around my butt, yeah, I guess I am okay.”

“Okay, good,” with a quick pause and a realization that she should probably get back to work and not talk to foppish

unbalanced co-eds with grande latte stains on their grande Levi’s.

“Talk to you later… uh, what’s your name again?”

“Solomon, my name is Solomon.”

“Great, I’ll see you around,” she said as she began to turn around heading back behind the counter.

I saw my window quickly closing and my mind preparing to walk back to my friends with some lame excuse and call it over.

With all signs pointing to failure I felt my arm jerk forward in some unknown action to my brain and grab her hand.

“Wait!” I said, without realizing what happened and that I had pulled her toward me.

In a state of confusion mixed with a smile she held onto my hand and gave a look of shock and amusement at my silly attempt of smoothness, simply saying, “Yes?” with a surprising large smile.

“I’m having a party at my house tonight and would love it if you would come,” I said suddenly returning to my senses.

“Can I bring a friend?”

“Of course!”

“Okay, great, what time does it start?” she said still letting me hold her hand.

“Uh…” I became aware right then that I did not have a party at my house that night or even plans of having people over, “Why don’t y’all come around eight?”

“Great,” she said with a slight pull of her hand from mine. She took back her hand control because she then quickly took down my number and address without my total comprehension. “I can’t wait.”

And with that she turned back and walked behind the counter with a small smile while I weaved through the maze of tables and chairs with a grin like a little boy who just took his first shot from a new bb gun. As I slowly sat down with my friends I slowly said, “So, it looks like I’m having a party tonight and she is invited?”

Bracing the wet snow that fell like ice cream falling from a cone, I pushed open the door and walked shoulder first out onto the parking lot and immediately to my phone. We needed to get a party going that actually looked like we had planned this party weeks ago. As we all ran through our contact lists and told everyone of a mandatory party I found myself playing over and over again the image of tumbling over myself and this chick in an apron quietly roaring with laughter. We were all riding in a buddy’s gigantic Suburban and managed to stop at several stores to pick up some food as well as some sense of amazement that we could put on a party that now had close to forty people coming in less than two hours.

I had never moved so fast. Whether it was in Wal-Mart or at my house cleaning and getting things ready, I felt like I was flying through everything and yet things were getting done. Within a matter of seconds it was somewhere around eight o’clock. People were showing up with bottles of wine and plates of food as we had requested. I looked around and saw that not only had I put together a pretty sweet party in nothing less than a few hours, but I had yet to shower, shave, and get ‘Frankie-ready.’ It was no surprise to me that I had absolutely horrible breath, which would not do.

After showering and purging myself of any funk that might have collected, I came out to see her sauntering around my kitchen in this tangerine silk “shirt thing” with a black skirt and was laughing with her head thrown back, letting her curls swing across her back and somehow slap me in the face from across the room.

Her laughter was light and clean like some soft water splashing around a pond or light filtering through leaves as the sun poured through a tree; she moved just as smoothly as she laughed. I never remember seeing anyone so vibrant, so full of life and completely able to take my heart and yank it to hers.

As I walked over to her, I saw her friends (or at least what I assumed to be her friends) eye me over and begin walking away with big smiles. She quickly turned to face me with her hand on top of the counter like it was her hip and with a big grin that seemed to push the blue of her eyes to the surface.

“Hey!” she said quickly as she set her drink down, “Great party, thanks for inviting me.”

“Oh no problem, so are you having fun?” trying to be the smooth host with the most.

“Oh yeah, this is great. I’ve needed to get out of the house and this was perfect timing.”

With a sip of her drink, I saw her look down at herself and then back up to me as some sign that she expected a compliment.

“You look fantastic,” I said leaning into her ear, so I could sneak a whiff of her hair – which smelled surprisingly like normal shampoo. She noticed of course and pulled back giving herself space. Maybe it was the tangerine dress/shirt or maybe it was the fact that all of my friends knew I threw this party just for her, either way we made our way to the couch and talked for hours.

She was impressive to say the least. Her father was a naval engineer and her mother was a US attorney, which made sense for her to attend Harvard like most everyone else in my circle of friends. She told me about a time when she went to her uncle’s ranch and was almost pummeled by a herd of cattle during a stampede. She said that as she found herself running for her life, the sound of clamoring hooves shaking the ground beneath her was actually peaceful and she could see her life being lost in that moment with total peace. I told her about the time rescued a drunken woman who had driven into a canal and her psychopathic dog that nearly bit me.

Near the winding down of the party one of her friends came over and whispered something quick, grabbing car keys out of Frankie’s purse, leaving her frustrated and clearly upset. Turning

toward me with a look of mixed aggravation and a forced smile she asked, “Do you think you could take me home? My friend just bailed on me and took my car.”

“No problem,” I said with a pause to see that she meant right then and there, “Oh… now?”

“Thank you so much,” she whispered while grabbing her purse.

Giving a signal to one of my buddies he tossed his car keys to me and gave me a low ‘thumbs up’ and off we went. I would never get over the idea of having a girl ride in the roadster; but my friend had a nice Audi. So we left my house with close to twenty people still inside to drive somewhere around thirty minutes away.

The wind was dying down and the cold air hung low around us as we made our way to the car; everyone seemed to be done driving or at least making noise since it was incredibly quiet. I could hear the snow crunching under our feet and the slow moving breath billowing out in plumes of steam from our noses. It was so cold that our breath hung around our heads and fogged up my glasses instead of rising and quickly evaporating. Frankie was quiet as I opened her door and watched her slip into the passenger seat with a shutter and a cute, “Brrrrrr!” with a smile. As quickly as I could, I jumped around the front of the car and into the driver seat blasting the ignition and the most crucial heater.

Off we went with two big smiles, frozen hands and frigid feet as we crept to her house. On a good day with close to no traffic it might have taken fifteen minutes. But since the roads were pretty bad and neither of us were necessarily in a great rush to depart we might have spent somewhere around forty-five minutes driving and well over an hour talking in front of her house.

We talked about everything, school, Boston, our families, the places we had been. Surprisingly we actually spoke in great detail about the death of a loved one while neither of us had experienced anything like that. She was captivating and even more beautiful with the cool blue light of the moon reflecting off the snow and softly beaming across her face. Her full name was Francis Allison

Carlyle, with bright curly red hair with deep crushing blue eyes. I was falling madly and hopelessly for her as she snuck inside her house with a tiny wave and a blown kiss that hung in the air.

Ah Frankie‌ my life was now taken over and ruined for anything else.

Chapter Two: Cy “Do not stare at me because I am dark, because I am darkened by the sun.”

I am not completely sure what it is that I should be writing. I guess for me at least, I consider myself a fairly normal person who was thrust into considerably abnormal circumstances resulting in this amalgamation that is Cy. First off, I realize that my name is rather unique, so that is a good jumping off point for my story. For all those who do not know I am named after Cy Twombly, an artist. My mother named me after him since she was an art major in college and loved his work. I always thought many of his pieces looked like graffiti-ridden chalkboards where you could see hints of what appeared to be a lesson on cursive behind swirls of reds and blues, thick and without any real form to me noticed. I suppose that fits me well in some way that I still don’t understand. Besides, my mother was as crazy as anything and little that she did actually made much sense and had any public purpose.

Medically, I suppose you could see her as bipolar and schizophrenic. But to me she was just in her own world and loved it whenever she would have guests over. I remember when I was a kid, she would take me to the top of the roof and we would hide on the backside and watch people walking by. Then she would say something to one of the random passers by like, “Your fly is undone!” or “Oh my God! Watch out!” and we would just watch as

this ordinary guy minding his own business would freakishly look around in a panic only to see that nobody was around and most likely thought he was hearing voices. She and I probably planted seeds of insanity in close to fifty people between three in the afternoon till six at night. If my mother was anything, she was closer to being a random scatter of colors and sounds like a kaleidoscope on fire than she was a normal mother. She would cook such frightening concoctions for dinner that my little brother and I would come prepared for either a hungry night or something weird like spaghetti with pickles or ham sandwiches with peanut butter.

As far as my dad was concerned, he seemed to get away from the circus that was his family; being a cop it seemed he had an overflow of excuses to not be with us. He was a short man who kept quiet and kept a little bit of scruff for a beard which I used to sit in his lap and rub my hands across. His hair felt like ants on the palms of my hands or on my cheeks, yet very few words were spoken and those that were, were cutting and crushing.

I suppose my father needed to hold us with his thumb pressed on top of us while treating my mom like garbage and reminding us that he did not need us and did not need to love us. In all honesty, I don’t know what kept him at home since it seemed like he would much rather leave us; but then he might have taken some comfort from pushing my mom around and pinning me against a wall. My little brother and I would hide in the hallway closet whenever we could sense “DD” was coming home. (DD meant “drunk dad” and my mom would tell us beforehand that we should go hide before he got home.) In those moments my mom would get very quiet and would sit in the living room waiting patiently for what would usually be thirty minutes of screaming, crying. Every now and then we would hear this hushed prayer, “my God, help me…”

He never came after us during those nights, even though I’m sure he knew where we were and that we were watching. I think it was some twisted moral issue he formed; much like not divorcing the family he so clearly hated but being completely comfortable with throwing us around like ragdolls with his words and my mom with his fists. He never touched me, not even a hug out of his own

will. I never remember him carrying me or throwing me over his shoulders like I see dads do. For me, I suppose I never got over the image of looking through a slatted wood door of my mom being slammed against the wall. Despite moving away after high school and my mom leaving my dad to go live in a group home there was still a huge wound left from all his mess. Even when I started college I still would have nightmares of being screamed at and pressed in between the toilet and the bathtub with my dad yelling inches away from my face.

℘℘℘℘℘℘℘℘ Ah, college! I hated it! Not in its entirety, but the bulk of classes and requirements I felt were completely pointless. I had more fun working at The Globe than I did in any of my classes.

Someone explain to me the point of geology classes when my major was Journalism. Would I find some benefit in scripted rock formations along some fault-line somewhere that contained the last writings of somebody important? There were also a number of other classes I felt to be completely asinine: Basic Math, American History Since 1970 (does it count as history if I can get the same information from VH1?) All I knew was that I just needed to knock out the classes and finish college.

My aunt Steph was one amazing woman. She had climbed all ‘Fourteeners’ in Colorado and had her pilot’s license just because she could. Never married, she was able to start her own philanthropic organization as well as start raising a crazy niece and dirty nephew by herself. She was the one who pushed me to go to such a tough school as well as my internship at the Boston Globe.

She was the one who came to the courthouse to pick the two of us up before we were sent to foster homes. I remember when I applied to Boston College and the absolute stress that began percolating between her and me. A thick packet containing not only my acceptance letter but also a form that informed us of a full scholarship soon quenched the drama.

The winter I am thinking of must have been my sophomore year because I distinctly remember moving out of the dorms into a

house a friend’s mother bought for her. Living with women in itself is a mixture of stress, funk, laughter, cooking experiments as well as an overall mixture of clothing styles and personalities. This seemed to blend together in what was called The House of Diana, which beautifully fit the living situation; I and three other girls found us fully immersed in.

There was Allison, the two girls both named Sarah and myself.

The Sarahs seemed completely different from each other except in their shared appreciation of the movie ‘Fight Club’, being daughters of military officers and both living in Okinawa, Japan for a few years.

Now Allison was actually Francis, or Frankie; but we called her Allison since her first name sounded like a kid that got beat up in high school. Allison and I were probably closer to each other than we were to the Sarahs. It was clear to all who were concerned whenever we would finish each other’s sentences or have fights where we already knew what needed to be said and who was right.

She was tall and had bright red hair while I had short dark hair that would only begin to curl if I let it grow past my shoulders. One time we tried to brew our own beer and nearly set the kitchen on fire. Another time we thought it would be a good idea to pretend to adopt animals from one of the shelters until our guilt and a slick humanitarian tricked us into getting an old beagle that piddled on Allison and threw up on the way back to the house.

Then she begged the Sarahs and I to come with her to this party that was all the way across the river in Bunker Hill. We begrudgingly decided to go since she said she would drive and heard it was at some “Trust Fund” guy’s house. It must have been close to ten degrees outside since it had been snowing hard all day; the wet kind of snow that turns to slush and dirties your windshield the next day because they over salted the roads and the car in front of you flings it in chunks at your car. This was the snow that forced you to use your entire windshield cleaner fluid within two trips in your car. Anyway, she was driving her beefy Tundra (which could quite possibly climb a tree) and we made sure she looked amazing for this guy who asked her over despite the crummy weather. Of course I looked amazing and for all the wrong

reasons.

The house was phenomenal to say the least. The entryway was stone with huge wood beams stretching across the ceiling. Built in the stone was a staircase made out of thick plates of glass that seemed to jut out from the wall. There was a thin banister that ran along the outside of the staircase made of what I guessed to be a type of wood with a piece of glass that ran through the center of it.

It had the appearance that you were walking on air or walking up a flat wall of stone. The second floor seemed to be an entirely open space with thin bookshelves to separate sections for rooms or spaces and had one the largest fireplaces I had ever seen. The fireplace was so large that the two guys building a fire in it were dwarfed. It had the appearance of a cast iron fireplace if it was magnified and covered in copper – with a huge pipe piercing the ceiling above. From across the room you could feel the heat of the fire, which had to have been close to fifty feet away.

The floor seemed pieced together; some sections were wood while others appeared to be slates of stone. It appeared the owner took all the type of flooring he liked and shoved them all into one floor like some decorator’s puzzle or some flooring showroom.

And the windows went from the floor at least ten feet up the wall to be met with giant beams of wood. The place felt old, like some library designed by the Mad Hatter but still had the feeling of comfort with two identical sectionals butted against the backside of each other. A prominently placed dark leather chair looked across the entire room with a commanding view from the windows.

The kitchen seemed to be pulled from a restaurant and set in granite and copper. It had two humongous stoves with double door ovens beneath them and three massive subzero refrigerators set in the cabinetry. There were already close to fifty people buzzing around the house and at least four cooks in the kitchen sending platters of food flying across the counters in a frenzy that could only come from a last minute notice. There were grilled lobster tails and Kobe beef skewers seared with droplets of wasabi darted across them. I saw three gargantuan pork tenderloins being sliced and heaping platters of lamb chops hovering around the floor like appetizers. They were making Chinese noodles, which was

actually one giant noodle somewhere around twenty feet long per serving. I saw one woman up to her ears in piles of fresh made chocolates. This “get-together” seemed more like a wedding reception for royalty (or some culinary flight of fancy.) I had never seen so much food, such amazing people, and such a nice house for an assumed college student.

While the place may have been amazing, I was more concerned about my amazing Allison. She made sure that she was in good view for “Trust Fund guy.” The Sarahs and I made sure we were able to spot him and whoever else had the appearance of either a job or tight abs ∍ and quite possibly, for me at least, just a little bit of scruff on his face but not a goatee. (I think it looks like someone bobbed for apples in a bucket of hair.) Then as we were talking to several of the cooks in the kitchen I see this lanky guy with hair still wet from just jumping out of the shower with a nice oxford shirt and jeans. I assumed it was the dude that put on this pageant of a party. With a simple point toward him and a throw of my eyes at Allison to let her know, Mr. Trip-Over-Tables was heading toward us. She gave us the signal to disperse with a pointed smile and a whisk of her hand. Walking away I could see her flip her hair like a little flirt as well as the dude of interest smile this huge smile that was cute in an unexpected way.

The Sarahs had split up and left me to my own devices that revolved around finding a place to sit (hide) and hope to God no creep comes and offers to impregnate me – which happens more than you would think. Eventually I found a spot on a sectional and found myself watching the little red dots whizzing across the river and the slow flicker of the city skyscrapers. The couch seemed to suck me into this position that was too perfect for a nap or reading a good book but too horrible to look amazingly hot. Fortunately, or unfortunately, no one really wanted to talk to the girl sitting all by herself for close to thirty minutes. This worked out perfectly as it allowed me plenty of time to come up with a few interesting responses to any attempted pick-up lines from the unqualified.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, there was this tall blonde mass of a man making his way to the couch – with his eyes dead set on me. As I adjusted myself as smoothly and nonchalantly as

possible he sat down next me and expelled this sweet scent that smelled like a mixture of fresh cut grass and “clean” and a little bit of sweat. His name was Saul and I liked how he kept his hair short and tight on his head, like he was balding but didn’t want to admit it. We sat and talked about how the party seemed to be thrown together in a panic because of the random assortment of people and the horrendous weather. He was a jeweler in the city and made custom pieces for designers and a few ridiculously wealthy people.

“So – are you going to make me a necklace or something now that you are completely captivated by me?” I asked in full flirt mode.

“How did you know?” he said in a perfect answer. “Well, what kind of necklace would you like?”

Without even hesitating… “An incredibly long pearl necklace, like six feet long – real pearls.” I sounded like a five year old.

“Done. I have one at the store right now.” He stood up, “Do you want to go try it on?”

“Uh…” I looked around to see how the other girls were doing.

Allison was talking to her guy and the two Sarahs were dancing like a pair of crazy girls and laughing hysterically. “Sure, I’ll follow you in my car if that’s okay.”

“Perfect,” he said with a quick smile.

“Let me just go get my keys.” (Yes, Allison drove her car and I just told him that it was mine.)

The two of us walked closely to Allison and I snuck my hands in her purse and grabbed her keys with a hushed, “I need your car for a second. I’m getting free jewelry.”

The store was dark but you could still see the crystal and jewels sparkle from the streetlight pouring through the window. He took me by the hand as we passed all the display cases to a simple wooden door with nothing but a padlock keeping it closed. As the

key clicked and unlocked I felt my heart jolt with excitement for the necklace as well as this guy, Saul, doing an excellent job impressing me.

With a soft fling of the door I saw his shop. There were tools laid out in some ordered chaos and hung from beams over a high table. There were two thick stone wheels and a few other tools and machines unknown to me but clearly used by Saul. I walked quietly, letting the heels of my shoes mark each step I took as I examined some the projects he had not finished. There was a massive emerald with black marker lines across it set in wax; and also there was this rough looking pink diamond set lightly in a metal stand with files lying nearby.

“That is a pink diamond from Angola,” he said as he came toward me with a white box. “We bought it for about a million dollars.”

“Conflict free?” I asked.

“Is anything this precious taken without a clash?” he said eyeing the rock. “Blood will always be shed if the reward is great.”

“No one should have to die for something as small as this pink rock,” I said, thinking of all the people that worked like slaves to scrape this thing out of the ground.

He set the box down and put his arm behind my back as we both leaned into the diamond. His hand felt strong against the small of my back and I could feel the scruff of his beard lightly pressed against my cheek.

“You see, it takes tons and tons of rock and dirt to be ripped off this one rock in order for anyone to be able to see it. Who knows how many men died in the excavation of this site just to find this one tiny rock? Then after sifting all the rocks and dirt, the diamond was still trapped in another rock and the larger one had to be broken into pieces just for the hope that this diamond was inside of it. Finally the diamond was visible as one of the miners lifted it to the sun and the light poured through the diamond to make it

evident it was something of great value.

“So – whether a man died or not over this tiny rock is not the point; it is the absolute and constant struggle that all men have to find something precious within something ordinary and worthless.

And Cy, once we find it, we will rip the earth from top to bottom in order to claim it.”

He then turned me toward him and pulled me close so I could almost feel his eyes piecing mine. I could smell the sweetness of his breath and of cologne; I did everything I could to keep my eyes open.

“Some things are worth conflict and yes, even the shedding of blood.” With that he leaned into me and kissed me softly and with a fire ∍. His name was Saul and I think I was this diamond that was worthy of death.

Driving into the little garage at our house I could see that Allison was still up by the light in her bedroom. So I went inside her room to see her have the same gigantic smile on her face that was on mine, the same tear marks on her cheeks that marked mine.

Almost simultaneously we both said, “I think I met the greatest guy on the planet tonight.”

She was beaming as she told me about this guy, Solomon, who made her face hurt because she was smiling so much; he looked like a skinny King Leonidus from the movie “300” with a thinner beard and darker skin, almost Middle Eastern in his features. She said that he was going to Harvard for a degree in International Business with a minor in Psychology and was born and raised in New Orleans, Louisiana. Apparently, his entire family was incredibly wealthy and he actually had a few businesses of his own – and he was not yet thirty. (Actually, I think if it was my sophomore year, then that means he was only twenty-two and I was nineteen.) I had never seen Allison this ecstatic. It almost looked like she was soaking in the lingering conversation that supposedly lasted somewhere around six hours. I don’t think I talked that much in two weeks.

After she was done talking about her “Mr. Fantastic,� it was my turn and I think I talked about that kiss for twenty minutes.

That night we were two elated women who only had two hours of sleep.

Chapter Three: Solomon “Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land”

So, I’ve covered my roadster, Frankie, Harvard, the notorious party, and enough of that one winter for you to get an idea that it was unreasonably and ludicrously freezing cold. Now I suppose I should tell you about the beginning of the relationship between Frankie and me. It was oddly tumultuous for a normal college relationship. Well, maybe not tumultuous between the two of us, but during our relationship there were a bunch of several just strange events that happened.

I was never one to act irresponsibly, especially toward any bills or tickets, except for this one ticket I received during the summer after my freshman year at Harvard. A friend and I were driving down to Manhattan for the weekend to visit some friends and I guess we were driving a little too fast. (I was driving his Ferrari and was going about 115mph in a 65mph speed limit.) Of course the cop pulled me over and gave me one of the fastest tickets I had ever seen written. He checked out the car, as he should, and went on his way. My friend drove the rest of the way. Well, I went to Spain for a few months after that incident and apparently missed my court date and forgot to pay the fine.

Around a year later Frankie and I were leaving a friend’s place and were heading back to my house to watch a movie when I saw the red and blue flashing lights behind us. Pulling over I had no recollection of the ticket and had completely forgot about the whole thing. Unfortunately, the City of Boston and the Police Department had not. After pulling me over for a burned-out taillight, he ran a check on my license and decided that I needed to go with him.

“Sir, do you know that there is a warrant out for your arrest for a missed court date?” the officer said with his flashlight, examining my car (the roadster, with a new roof and a new windshield.)

“Officer,” I said as sincerely as possible, hoping for a warning and a new court date, “I completely forgot about that. It was over a year ago and I was out of the country taking care of some business.

Do you have another court date for me?”

“Actually sir, I’m going to need you to step out of the car.”

“Sure, no problem,” still not realizing what was happening.

“Can she drive this car?” pointing to Frankie with his flashlight “What? Wait – what’s going on?”

“Please step out of the car.”

I obliged and mouthed to Frankie, “It’s okay.” I stepped out of the car, hoping to God this cop was not about to take me to jail over something as stupid as a missed court date that was over a year ago. (I was equally stupid to forget about a court date, then leave the country.) With Frankie trying to stay calm in the passenger seat by not moving, the officer began asking if I had any weapons on my person, and he needed to know if there was anything ‘inside’ of me. With a slap of metal against my arms he cuffed me and led me to his squad car. As he sat me down and closed the door I saw him walk back to my car and talk to Frankie, leaning into the driver side window. He walked back to the squad

car as we watched my sweet redhead leave to drive to her house – probably scared and completely freaked out.

“She’s cute,” he said, trying to keep things light.

“Yeah… So did you really have to arrest me?” I asked, frustrated.

“Actually, I did. I hate taking in people who I know didn’t do anything wrong or something awful, but if I didn’t it would show on my record and I could get in a big mess of trouble. Besides, more likely than not, you probably qualify for a PR Bond which means you don’t have to pay anything and you’ll get out, if not tonight then tomorrow morning.”

I could stand a night in a holding tank and not having to pay anything didn’t sound all too terrible. As much as that whole situation stunk, I could have been in much worse shape. The only thing I was concerned about was Frankie.

The jail was taupe and cold, lit brightly with fluorescent lights.

I think the floor was either entirely linoleum or the people behind desks were hogging all the carpet for themselves. Everything was built-in or sealed behind thick Plexiglas; the TV, the telephones, the water fountains. Even the toilets were bolted to the floor and the wall, despite being made out of one solid piece of metal. If a massive flood, like out of ‘O Brother Where Art Thou’, came crashing through the booking area, the only thing that would be swept away would be the hookers – clearly having withdrawals from heroine – and maybe this one officer who looked like a black leprechaun with anger issues.

As quickly as I could, after trading in my shoes for some rubber sandals and taking my infamous mug shot,∗ I ran to the phone and called Frankie.

“Babe, are you there?”

“Oh my God, Solomon! Are you okay?” she said in a tired voice.

“I’m fine. I’ll probably be out tomorrow morning, so just go on to bed and I’ll call you then. Okay?” I said as confidently and as comforting as I possibly could.

“Okay I will… So you’re coming home tomorrow, right?”

“As far as I know, yes. Yes I’ll be home tomorrow and we can watch that movie.”

“Alright. Please be safe.”

“Yes ma’am, I will.”

“Solomon?”

“Yeah?” “… What did you do?”

I laughed, “I forgot to pay a ticket for speeding over a year ago.”

“So – no murders or stealing cars or anything, right?” she said lightly.

“No, just my own stupidity.” I felt a pause, “Get some sleep, I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

“Well, g’night, my jail bird.”

“G’night.”

If only it was just one night. Because of some paperwork issue and a sudden influx of people, that one night turned into five days.

What made it worse was the fact that I had no way of contacting Frankie once I was inside the jail because they block all phone numbers except for bail bonds offices. Also, since I was supposed to get a PR bond I could not get a bail bond. Stuck. Needless to say, it was an interesting and eye opening experience. I shared a cell with an adamant thief who continued to pester me for my

things like, ‘Can I have your toothbrush? Can I have your envelope? Can I have your pillow? Can I have your leftover food?

Can I wear your clothes while you are taking a shower?’ which I repeatedly said no, no and no.

Then I was moved to this place called the tower and shared a three-sided room with five other guys. I watched a gigantic black man get taken to the ground by a tiny white guy who had the strongest grip in the absolute worst place possible for that black guy. It was like seeing masculinity being pulled out from this beast of a man by this tiny little worm. (The little guy actually went by the name “Sme′agol” from The Lord of the Rings.)

Jail was simply awful. As I heard my name called by a tall woman that it was time for me to get out of there, I felt my body rise like some dirty Phoenix from the thickly painted metal bunks and float out the door. With a smile streched across my face like Mac trucks in both directions and horrendous breath were pulling it, I called Frankie.

She answered the phone before the first ring could finish with a tired panic that quickly turned to a tired excitement.

“Solomon, what happened?” she said insistently.

“Frankie, I am so sorry, they had some paperwork issue, then a bunch of people came in so they were backed up. Then a guy stole my toothpaste and some paper and I saw a midget rip a giant to shreds and–” “When are you coming home, you IDIOT!” she almost screamed in the metal phone.

“I’m coming to you as soon as possible,” I said with a smile.

“Good, I’m going to punch you before I kiss you ∍.” Then she hung up the phone and I called a taxi. I stunk, my breath stunk, and I was filthy. But as soon as I pulled up to her driveway in wrinkled week-old clothes, she wrapped her arms around me so tight that the time apart was considered just a moment and quickly forgotten.

Allow me to clarify something for a moment.

While I have stories piled so high in my mind, the point of this story is to tell you about love and its cost – the preciousness of love and the constant untimely fights and struggles for it. My name is Solomon and I am writing this story to speak love into your life.

There is this unbridled love and fire that we as humans possess and need to release in such a way that I would not be surprised if I heard people falling on their faces crying and shouting for this love to come and fill them to the brim. You can have this love .You can be worthy of love and the pursuit. This love will chase you down from the inside out and will wake you up in the middle of the night – all for the sake of having total control of your life, if you let it have control. We as people must know and must appreciate the raw and potent power of love in pursuit, and harness it for the sake of love and for the sake of the chase of love.

Here is my question to you: Is there something you love so desperately that you would give everything you could and do anything necessary without resistance to have it? Is there someone who draws out this unquenchable adoration and desire, a sacrificial and larger than life love? If the answer is yes or no, I must tell you my story of finding, loosing, and finally claiming this love as my own. No more wasting time with tiny stories and little facts. This story is worth dying for and worth all of your life.

Okay, back to the story.

There was a particular time I remember far too clearly when Frankie and I decided to take a trip down to South Carolina. I always loved the beach down there. We decided to drive there and take about two weeks out of normal life. By this time, I think we were engaged and were about four months from the wedding.

Driving was nice since it was our first vacation together. We took the long route. We stayed close to the ocean and close to each other.

I remember stopping at a little gas station named Spud’s, which let me know we were clearly in the South. It was small but large enough for Spud (I’m assuming) to have a little sandwich shop on

the side with a drive-through window that looked a little too high for most cars. We made a quick stop for gas and Frankie said she desperately needed sunglasses as well as a bag of Combos. I almost threw up over the smell of pizza combos but she kept popping them in her mouth with a huge smile. I guess the guy behind the counter was Spud since he looked like someone named Spud. He wore this beat-up orange hunting hat and a loose-fitting denim shirt that had a pack of Marlboros stuffed in its chest pocket.

“So where y’all headed?” he mumbled with a smile.

“We’re on our way to Myrtle Beach.”

As he punched in the prices without eye contact and a twisted smile showing a few teeth, “Nice, nice.”

“Yeah, I’m very excited,” Frankie interrupted while she slipped on her new sunglasses that covered half of her face.

She grabbed my hand and began to walk me out of Spud’s with a forced smile. “That guy creeped me out!” she whispered under her breath as soon as we walked out of the store.

I never really noticed anything inherently strange, but she said that he was staring her up and down the entire time. I shrugged it off as just another creep who owned a little shop that probably took people and turned them into sandwiches. Frankie was obviously upset by the whole incident. She was sensitive to any sort of uncomfortable situation, especially if it involved creepy men.

She told me about this neighbor she knew as a kid and how he would watch her through his fence when she would swim in her pool. His name was Sampson and according to her was actually shorter than her. He was bald with thick black coarse hair on the side of his head and rarely spoke other than a grunt and some mumbled comments. Without question, her parents made sure she never went over to his house, which was covered in overgrowth and grass that might have been cut once a year by a frustrated neighbor.

One day she was walking to the bus stop and took a spill a few houses away from her house. The way the street was laid out there was an S curve that blocked the view of the sidewalk from her house for about fifty feet. As she sat on the concrete picking at her scraped knee, out came Sampson with a smile and what looked like a band-aid. She remembered that she was not supposed to talk to him, but he came to her rather quickly and looked so nice. He said softly, “Are you okay, sweetie?” and touched her knee to check it.

“I fell and scraped my knee but I’m o k-k-kay.” (She used to have a stutter whenever she would get nervous.)

“Well, at least let me take a look at it to be sure, okay?”

Hesitantly she agreed and watched carefully as he wiped her knee clean and put a Little Mermaid band-aid across the scrape.

Then he kissed her knee and suddenly she felt his hand slip down her leg and under her skirt.

Instantly, she began to cry and scream, which Sampson tried to quell “It’s okay, I’m just making sure you are okay.”

She got up and ran crying back to her house where her mom received a scared little girl flinging tears and hearing a story that caused her mom to punch a hole in the wall and call the police.

Within the hour police showed up and took Sampson away.

After a few months there was a trial where she was called as a witness to the incident. It was horrible because he was only given probation and had to post a sign in his yard; no jail time or fines – just a stupid plastic sign and a phone call once a week.

In many ways Frankie never really got past that incident and took every man with constant caution like she was examining him from ten feet away in her heart. Somehow, I passed the test.

We left the little gas station and with less than an hour to get to the beach we both became increasingly excited over getting out of the roadster and sprinting to the beach. I loved our spontaneity and her ease of excitement – especially as we finished our trek to South

Carolina. We played those stupid driving games like: I Spy, and The Alphabet Game, and that game where we tell a story one interchanged sentence at a time. Arriving at our little hotel was uneventful; and before our bags even touched the carpet in our room we were already ankle deep in cool sand. She would walk softly so as to not step on the little crabs that would bounce in and out of their holes while I would walk and kick up the sand in front of my feet and watch it blow in the wind. By far the greatest thing was the water; it was just warm enough to not be miserable and was cool enough to hide in from the sun.

We hung around the beach and walked for miles watching the sun dip behind the sand and cast its warm deep orange glow across our faces. Talking about everything, like, where we were going to eat that night, any shells that Frankie would find along the way and most importantly, us, which required my deep attention and instantaneous pleasure. What the wedding would look like, what our kids would do, how she would organize the kitchen, our retirement years where we would have a little cabin somewhere in the Caribbean and all the other imaginary ideas that young couples conjure as they walk together.

I will never forget one part of our conversation as we were walking. She reached down and picked up this small grey shell that curved within itself. She held it to the low and fat sun with this gentle smile that let me know she was thinking deeply about something more than the shell.

“Where do you think this shell came from, Josh?” She called me by my middle name.

“Probably right over there,” I said, pointing to the water with that dumb smile smacked across my face.

“No,” with a smirk, “how do think this shell found itself on the beach?”

“I have no idea.” I was surprised at my own blatant honesty.

“Did you know that these shells were to protect all sorts of

little critters in the ocean?”

“Well, I figured that.”

“Right. Well, whenever the mollusk or whatever other critter dies or grows too large for the shell, he discards it and it sits on the ocean floor.”

“Okay.”

“But since they sit on the bottom of the ocean, there is no way that these tiny shells can make it up to the beach for me to grab and hold up to the light.”

“So, how do they get up here?”

“Storms. Whenever there is a heavy storm or a hurricane, the wind and the waters churn up all these shells and fling them on the beach. It seems to me that the only way we could ever see something like this shell – unique, fragile and beautiful – is for some storm to bring it to the surface.

“So – we can never see something beautiful like this without a storm?”

“Exactly. You see, without some storm this little shell would have been buried forever and I would never be able to hold it and appreciate it.”

The sun was now dipping quickly and we could feel the coolness begin to sweep at our feet – so I grabbed her hand and took her fast. We ran off the sand and found our hotel with a nice fire-pit roaring with the smell of chicken wafting over us. As we sat close to the fire and ate some chicken, I looked in her eyes and said with greasy lips, “I hope every storm is worth whatever shells I find with you.”

As cheesy as it was, it felt right; like the greasy chicken flavored kiss that soon followed.

If only it ended there and then – sitting on the patio of a hotel with sand still crunching between our toes, feeling young and innocent. If only my mind could go back and pause the rest of that moment. Sadly, time continued and there was soon a storm.

Part Two: Broken

Chapter Four: Cy “They beat me, they bruised me…”

Did you know that margarine has only one molecular difference that separates it from most plastics? Yet we slather our food with this fake yellow paste and hope to God that it doesn’t turn our stomachs to rot. If you took a container of margarine and left it next to a stick of butter in your garage for a month, the margarine, untouched, would be exactly the same. You will not find a single fly or bug hovering around, nor will there be any discoloration to it – while that stick of butter sitting next to the margarine will be festering and probably crawling with all sorts of tiny creature who made it their home. The point I am trying to make is that while at first there may not be too big of a difference between the original and the copy – after some time it will be very evident that there is a reason one is fake and one is not. I would say the same idea goes with that of men.

I have watched all the movies, I have read the entire Twilight series in less than a month and yet I have seen very few men who actually line up with their ideal counterparts. My question then is this: What is a real man? Is he supposed to be like Mr. Cullen or

some dude from The Bachelor or is he more like these boys with facial hair who have no money and live with their parents at thirtyfive? While I am sure that there are exceptions to every rule, I remember a time when I could not help but find myself asking that question over and over again: “Are there any real men?”

Saul, much like margarine, started off very similar to what I had pictured as the perfect guy. He would treat me to dinner and always have a new piece of jewelry to show me, but I sensed this blockage between us. It was almost as if there was a Plexiglas wall that stopped him from coming as close as I wanted. I figured he was just building trust and over time he would let me in, but sadly that never happened.

It always seemed to look amazing; we would have amazing times with one another. He would take me to these great places and we would find ourselves in these mini adventures; but when it came time to talk, everything fell silent. If anything he would change the subject to something about another trip to take or looking into getting an apartment back in NYC ∍ It was more than obvious he didn’t want to be too serious with me – other than renting out jewelry – and taking me out to dinner twice a week as was routine.

So here is how we broke up: It was a Tuesday and probably around the spring since I remember it feeling like summer was soon upon us and I could start wearing sandals again. Saul came over for a movie and I was going to cook dinner. I had planned to sit down, hold his hand and tell him it was over and give him time to cry with me over our departure. (None of which happened.) He was sitting on the couch watching TV before we were to watch the movie and I was in the kitchen getting ready to drop some pasta in a pot. In all honesty, I could have easily continued having this relationship where we would have this wonderful stagnation, but something inside of me said that I wanted something more.

So as the noodles were boiling away and steam was hitting my glasses, I leaned under the cabinets to look at Saul who looked so

cute with his hair tussled.

“Saul?” I said, waiting for a response “What’s up, babe?”

“Where are we?” dropping the hammer.

He paused and had this face of, “Uh oh, how can I get out of this?” and said something that actually made my stomach sick, “We’re right where we need to be.” He turned in the couch to find me staring at him, hoping to God for some answer of hope, “Where’s this coming from, Cy?” “Are you serious?!” completely astounded, “we had this exact same conversation not even a month ago!”

“Well, has anything changed since then?”

“No! Nothing has changed, Saul!”

“Okay, so why are you getting so upset?” He turned off the TV and leaned forward in the couch as his way of saying, “Let’s get this started.”

Looking like Charlie brown screaming with his head thrown in the air I heard myself scream, “BECAUSE YOU ARE AN IDIOT!” “So what? I’m an idiot?” he started to get upset. “I’m an idiot because nothing has changed in thirty days? You have got to be kidding me!”

“No Saul, I’m not. Allison has been engaged for months now while here we are doing the same mess we have been doing for almost a year.”

“What? You want to be Allison – have a bunch of kids lined up in your mind ready to go? You want to get married tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow, but I would at least like to know we are heading that way.”

“Well, I’m not ready for marriage, Cy.” “Neither am I, but it couldn’t hurt to start planning for it.

Would it be so terrible if we were married?”

“My folks were married for eighteen years and were completely miserable. Is that what you want?”

“I am not your mom and you are not your father, Saul. What’s the real reason?”

“I… just don’t want to get married. What is so wrong with what we have now?”

“Well, what we are doing is playing house and it’s getting old.”

“It’s going to be the same way if we do get married.”

We were at an impasse and it looked like there was no compromise. From the sound of our conversation it sounded like we both knew we were done and it felt like a good way to end things; he wanted one thing while I didn’t. Unfortunately, Saul did not seem to get the idea that we had just broken up and turned the TV back on. I suppose I was right for calling him an idiot.

“Ok, I think it’s time for you to go.”

(I had bought the house from Frankie after she and the Sarahs moved out.)

“What?” he said with this mix of confusion, frustration and weariness.

“Yeah, I think you should go home.”

“Cy, you’re acting –”

“No, you need to leave, Saul.” I stood up and began walking to the door.

“So you’re serious about this?”

“Uh…yes Saul, it’s time for you to go now.” By this time I had opened the door and he was standing by the couch.

I saw what happened next click in his mind. I should have just left the house, but I didn’t.

He lifted his head to the ceiling then turned toward me with a crooked smile, “I’m not leaving, Cy.” He said as he walked toward me.

“No, you are, I need you to leave.”

He walked to me and pushed the door closed against me trying to keep it open, “I don’t think I am going anywhere, Cy.” With that he grabbed my shoulders and moved me away from the door. I remember smelling the food burning and smoke beginning to fill the kitchen as he began to pull me down the hall toward my room and a great panic swept over me.

“Saul, let go of me!” was all I could think of saying. I tried to remain calm and hoped that what I feared was about to happen did not happen. Sure enough, he took me on my bed and pressed my wrists so tight I screamed from the pain.

“I am not going anywhere, Cy.” He said as he moved on top of me.

I heard my voice whisper in absolute fear and a feeling of complete abandonment, “my God, help me…”

℘℘℘℘℘℘℘℘ I woke up with this stillness and a feeling of falling. It must

have been three or four in the morning since I remember hearing absolutely nothing except the sound of the air conditioning clicking on and my crying into a pillow. I must have fallen asleep crying because I woke up crying. There were no words to be said that could change anything or make the shock soften and as I sunk my face deeper into my pillow. I felt this bellowing scream come from my gut and echo quickly through my room. How could he do this? Why would he do this? Every question I could begin to think of began flooding my mind like ten thousand people trying to cram through one door. I screamed again, except this time I yelled at the ceiling hoping something would shift, but nothing did. So screaming didn’t help nor did crying seem to do any actual good.

Therefore, the only thing I could think that would help me get through at least one night was to pick up the phone and call aunt Steph.

I hadn’t spoken to her in a while, but she was the only woman I could think of that could actually help me. Being around four in the morning, I doubted that she would answer the phone; but after five or six rings she did answer with a dragged – “Hello?”

I sat up in my bed and in the dark with bruises now fully formed across my face and marks around my wrists, “Aunt Steph?” I said like a kid preparing to ask for something she knows she shouldn’t.

“Cy? Is that you? What’s wrong?”

“Yeah it’s me…uh, I got to tell you something – something happened.”

I could feel her jostle up from sleep and affix tenseness around her voice, “Are you okay?”

“Uh, no,” with tears beginning to roll down my face again.

“Okay, okay – you will be, just tell me what happened.”

Biting my lip I began to tell my sweet aunt about what felt like a nightmare but was all too real to be fake. She had this way of

dealing with grief by saying my name over and over again as if she was rocking me back and forth on her lap, “It’ll be okay, Cy, you’re safe now, Cy, I love you, Cy.” We sat and talked on the phone together for close to an hour, crying and planning what we were going to do with Saul.

According to him, he said that if I reported him to the police, he would come back through my bedroom window and kill me. But aunt Steph pressed me to call the police so they can find him and, “beat every ounce out of him.” I told her that I would call them in the morning. By the time we got off the phone I could see the sun just starting to filter the black out of the sky and stretch a blue ribbon across the horizon. I knew what happened and I knew that I had every right to shut down and become one of those gun toting chicks who could not handle something as innocent as a hug. Yet something inside of me said it was all going to be okay and that I would get through this no matter how badly I wanted to jump off a cliff and fall forever.

I think I stayed in bed until eleven in the morning and finally picked up the phone and called the police, which was about as uncomfortable and mechanical as anything. First, you have to talk to the dispatch woman who has you tell what happened as quickly as possible with only supposedly pertinent information. Then she says that someone will contact you shortly, which they don’t. After a few hours somebody calls and has you repeat everything you said to the dispatch woman. (Who was typing while you were talking and apparently didn’t pass on the information.) That person then hangs up and says someone else will contact you and schedule a meeting with you. And when you think something is actually working, a cop car pulls up at your house and asks you the same questions the dispatch woman and some stranger asked you over eight hours ago. Then the cop who you told the same answers to for the third time says that an investigator will be in contact and would want to schedule a time to get together, which won’t be for a few hours.

After close to ten hours of phone calls and retellings, a tiny short man and a rather large woman with huge shoes came to my house in a dirty Crown Victoria. After watching Law and Order for

years – especially SVU – I suppose I had some preconceived idea of how the system worked. But these two people sitting in my living room with yellow legal pads asking all sorts of questions about things I didn’t even think would come to my mind.

“Did he wash his clothes here recently? Who was your last boyfriend before him? Did you bite him at all? Is he someone who has a website?”

Then they took pictures of my bedroom and my injuries and then asked if there was some place I could stay for a while.

“Yes.” thinking of Allison.

“You should go there for a few weeks and we’ll be in contact.”

They began to stand up and put things away, which caused me to jolt my voice in a panic.

“Are you going to go get him?” I said louder than expected with fear.

The large woman stood straight and slipped on her glasses, “That is where we are headed right now.”

I felt that fear begin to grow and build pressure in my gut.

What if he got away and came after me? He would think that I would be over at Solomon and Allison’s place and would kill us all. My head felt light and as I stood up to go open the door I felt my knees buckle and my eyes close. There was a loud bang and apparently a new chip in my coffee table and blood on my carpet.

The short man grabbed me tightly and held me until the giant cop lady managed to wake me up. Mumbling something about my aunt, I felt a hand under my head and the pain rushing to my forehead.

“My God, help me…”

℘℘℘℘℘℘℘℘

Waking up in the arms of a stubby man with breath smelling like hummus was interesting. The three of us were sitting on the floor while the two of them were asking me questions.

“Is there someone we can call? Your aunt perhaps?” the short man said.

“Aunt Steph?” I mumbled.

As I rambled off the numbers of Aunt Steph and Allison (just in case) I could feel myself returning to my body. The white noise pulsating in my ears began to die down. The lady cop with huge shoes – far too big to do anything but be gigantic – began calling aunt Steph then called Allison soon after.

“They’ll both be over here in a bit, but we need to be heading out in a bit, okay?”

I nodded still in somewhat of a daze. Then, soon after, the two left after propping me up in my couch. Within a few minutes I heard a soft/frantic knock on the door. It was aunt Steph with a cold compress at-the-ready and a stressed smile plastered across her face of worry. She ran over to me, which I had to attempt to slow her by closing my eyes and throwing my hands in front of her rushing body.

“Hon, are you okay? The police officer said you fell.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay, listen. I’ve been thinking about this since last night and I really think you should come stay with me for a bit, until things settle down. How’s that sound?” she said confidently and assured in my compliance.

“Maybe?”

“Is maybe a yes? Because we could pack you up right now if you want.”

“You’re sweet, but I just need a moment. I just need a second, if that’s okay?”

Standing up, to make her point perfectly clear aunt Steph said as calmly as she could, “That’s fine. Take all the time you need, but know I don’t think it’s best to stay here for much longer.”

Even though I know she was right and that I really should be considerate of my safety, the half of was all about apathy as if shock made me indifferent while the other half just didn’t care.

Another knock on the door quickly adjusted the conversation between a scared aunt and a woman with her mind shaken like Boggle. It was Allison. Aunt Steph opened the door and escorted Allison to me, like I was the sick show of the evening. With a bit more tact, Allison joined in with aunt Steph in prodding me to move somewhere else and after a back and forth, which can go without fully explaining, I decided to move in with Allison and Solomon for a short time and worry about the house later.

Moved in, left everything I had, and hibernated from reality.

Despite the absolute love I felt from my friends and Aunt Steph, I knew something fantastically awful happened to me and I would never be the same no matter what was said or done. I was different. I was twisted. I drank a heaping teaspoon of depravity and there was nothing that could be done. Perhaps that was why my depression was as severe as it was. Crying came easily at first, but was soon shut off like someone came and closed the water valve. Then there were the nightmares, which had me waking up throughout the night checking the locks on the doors and taking boiling hot showers to ease the fear. After moving in with Allison and Solomon, I was never entirely and actually alone. It seemed as if I felt a heavy cloak fall on me, like when a kid walks around with her blanket draped over her head. The loneliness would fall whenever I was around people, I realize that makes no sense whatsoever, The silence of it all would cause me to cringe and tense up, jamming my fingernails into the palms of my hands.

I hated being scared and I loathed the moments when

everything felt out of control. I hated the shame I felt pointed at me and the anger that had no place to go except into little things like biting the inside of my cheeks until they bled and making my fists as tight as they could be. I wanted to punch that lump of a nightmare. Knowing he was still on the loose after months of searching made this mix of fear and anger well up in my heart to the point of smoldered rage at anyone who crossed me. Allison never really understood. (I think this was about the time she started not feeling well, and it was probably this time when the disease started showing itself.) I never expected her or Solomon, for that matter, to fully comprehend it all. But after a while it seemed that they had moved past it and were waiting impatiently for me to move past it as well.

The anger was an interesting little monster, now that I think about it. Anything could set the small coal into a burning mess. I clearly remember times when I felt absolutely out of control and fully capable of hurting myself. Punching walls and slamming doors seemed to cool my rage, but there were times when slamming the table and gritting my teeth did not subdue anything.

It was like having a full blown raging lunatic held by a thin leash under my tongue. Whenever someone crossed me or appeared to come against me, I would release this wild thing and spew all sorts of filth while crying heavily and hoping that forgiveness would be easy to achieve.

Those months were dark like a heavy blanket thrown over your head, but no one could have seen the darkness that was about to be draped over everyone.

Chapter Five: Solomon “How beautiful you are, my darling! Oh, how beautiful…”

I think we left off at the beach where Frankie and I were eating chicken. That moment, as precious as it was, seemed to be far removed from reality, especially after Cy was attacked. Those six months were interesting, to say the least. We had to contend with the tiny bird-like creature that had no problem twisting Frankie around her finger and fighting me at every possible point. She was so fragile back then. Everything she needed felt miles away from her and all she really needed was to know she was going to be okay. I remember looking at her much like a hurt bird that needed to be held. She would fight and cry and would pace around the house all through the night checking doors and locks on windows.

There would be weeks where all Cy would do was sit around and eat; and other times when she would be gone all day and come back after I was in bed.

She was broken and hurting and out of that hurt came this lunging rage and hushed fear that would polarize her actions to the point of my own sanity. I had never expected to deal with such an intense situation so early in my marriage with Frankie, yet we both pressed through it. After a few months of sporadic behavior and sleepless nights, I saw a turning of the tides from a panicked little bird to a recovered woman with enough strength to move forward

in her recovery.) There was a spark that returned to her eyes and sweetness in her voice that began to flow again. It was such a blessing, now that I am looking over everything, to see my precious Frankie take her dear hurting friend and bring her out of this darkness that seemed to swallow her into some light.

They were complete opposites of each other. Frankie was loud and laughed hard and had bright red hair with blue eyes, while Cy was tiny and had thin black hair draped over her face. Her green eyes are what stood out the most. They were piercing but soft. One could get lost in the deep green of her eyes. Seeing the two of them together, during that time, was extraordinary. To see these two women, who had absolutely nothing in common, live beautifully together made something deep in my heart come alive.

I was so proud of my little wife becoming so strong and still remaining so sweet. In all honesty, if Cy did not move in with us for those few months, I don’t think I would have ever seen that side of Frankie; soothing the hurting and nurturing her friend. Her motherhood slipped through their friendship and it made me fall deeper in love than I thought I could.

Falling in love with Frankie was more than a one-time realization that I did indeed love her; rather, it was moment after moment of captivation that proved love was deepening for her. I remember one day when Cy was with us. It must have been only two weeks after she was released from the hospital because she was still so skinny and very weak. Cy began vomiting because of her emotional stress. Within a few hours of eating we would hear her, a room away, coughing and vomiting which jolted Frankie to run to her friend’s side and rub her back. She was a mother in those moments. I’m smiling, thinking about how proud I was of my sweet wife becoming a mother to her desperately hurting friend even when that involved her coming to our bed tear-stained and drained of all emotions.

I think that she was blessed to experience the role of a mother just as was I to see her step, or stoop rather, in the position of cleaning someone’s mess for the sake of love and protection.

Taking this tiny little woman in her arms physically and

emotionally, Frankie sought out ways to bring back her friend to the surface. If that took the very life out of my love, to her it was completely worth it.

During the months that Cy was with us, I began seeing signs of Frankie growing weak. Her hair seemed thin and when she slept her breath was short and shallow. I think she might have lost somewhere close to twenty pounds in a matter of two months. Her lush red hair seemed to fade; and most importantly, her smile appeared to weaken with tired eyes. Because she was so focused on Cy and being a “wife”, and helping Cy, she began ignoring her health, which caused my concern.

A few days after we helped move Cy into her new apartment, we went to the doctor to see what it was that made Frankie so weak. Of course we drove in my roadster, which now had new seats and finally, a built-in radio. Frankie loved to feel the air swirl around her face and throw her hair. She said it was like the wind was a kid flinging and playing with her hair. The wind would press this giant smile across her face, which I would happily reciprocate.

The doctor’s office was like most; neutral colors, old magazines and frosted glass separating the patients from the doctors. I had this one idea to get to the doctor’s office in the back faster than usual. I stole it from a very impatient older man that I remembered from a doctor’s visit when I was a kid. He knew he had to give a urine sample so he whined and complained to the receptionist saying he would go all over the floor if the doctor didn’t see him in five minutes. Sure enough, out popped a nurse within five minutes, holding his file and a small plastic container waiving him through the door. He stood up with a big smile, knowing he beat the system, and turned to face all of the other people still waiting with a face that said, “That’s right. I’m awesome and you still have to sit.” I’ll bet that while he made it past the first door he probably sat in the little exam room for the amount of time he would have waited outside. At least there are better magazines in the waiting rooms than in the examination rooms.

With Frankie sitting quietly, I asked if she would do what that

old man did so we could get moving faster. With a smile and a roll of her eyes she sat there flipping though an old Newsweek. After a few minutes and a couple more attempts to get her to cheat the system, the nurse walked through the door and waved us through.

We moved from one waiting room to a smaller waiting room.

While I mused over the general consistency of waiting to see a doctor, I saw that Frankie was growing nervous since she began pushing her thumbnail into the pad of her index finger and flopping her feet in the air as she sat on the table/chair. I was on the rolling stool and pushed my way to her and wrapped my hand around her calf gently as if to say, “We’re okay, babe, it’s going to be okay.”

She gazed down at my face with her faded blue eyes. There was a bright vibrancy penetrating the fear and trepidation as she reached out her hand, which I grabbed. Our eyes met and locked as we sat for a while in silence with soft smiles and a little bit of fear, not knowing what was ahead. The room was quiet, even the humming that you would normally hear from the fluorescent light was hushed. I stayed at her feet trying to telepathically take the thoughts of death and pain out of her mind and fill them with hope and love and memories.

“Do you remember that time I tried to make organic ketchup?”

She smiled and let out a brief laugh, “Oh, that was awful!”

“I did everything according to the recipe, but it tasted like –” “Babe, it was horrendous! I remember throwing away the pot that you cooked it in.”

“Yeah, I scraped off all the burnt paste from the bottom of the pot and stirred it in the rest so there were all these tiny black flakes in it.”

“Wait! Do you remember the whole wheat pancakes?” she said with a growing smile.

“Oh my God! It was like eating wet cardboard with syrup!”

“Ooh, and that time at Yellowstone where the bees –” I lifted up my pant leg to show the scars I still had from the attack. By this time we were both laughing loudly, and she was smiling brightly like she had always been meant to. The doctor walked in slowly, hearing our laughter with a confused face and wondered why people were laughing at a doctor’s office.

With a contagiously caught smile, he gave me a look removing me from his stool and introduced himself.

“Ms. Francis and… (searching on the form) Solomon, I am Doctor Abdul Muhyi. Francis, I see here that you are feeling weak, is that right?”

He began pouring over his clipboard as Frankie told him all of her ailments: losing hair, sleeping for hours at a time, loss of appetite, coughing, and severe headaches. Writing like a madman, his face grew concerned despite his attempts to hide it, until Frankie was done with what she felt was a good and thorough description of what troubled her.

With a pause and a look that meant he was searching for words, he set his folder and clip board down to speak to the two of us. I felt my heart begin pumping rigorously. My palms were sweating and Frankie dropped her shoulders and looked sheepishly – hoping that there would be some hope or at least an answer.

The doctor pulled his glasses off his face and said with a deep exhale, “Obviously, this is more than a cold and I will need to begin a battery of tests. Francis, I want you to head over to the hospital where we will watch you for a couple of days.”

I spoke up, not being able to bear the suspense of it any longer, “Do you have an idea what it could be?” I felt my heart clinch and my eyes beginning to water.

“Solomon, if I knew 100% what Francis is dealing with, I

would tell you and begin treatment tomorrow. Unfortunately, several prognosis fit her symptoms, some treatable and curable, while others are fatal if not taken care of quickly,” the doctor said, calmly but firmly.

I felt that this man was an honest and good man who knew we needed the truth more than we needed comfort. With a strong handshake he slipped out of the room leaving Frankie and I once again in silence. I helped her down from the exam table and the two of us walked slowly from his office toward the main hospital.

Walking possibly a half-mile, we went through the maze of elevators, similarly constructed hallways and random changes from carpet to tile, which were announced by the subtle click of our feet.

Her hand tensed up around mine as we made our way to the nurse’s station. As we stood together answering all the questions that the nurse was asking to admit her in the hospital, I felt her fear creep up my arm and into my heart. She was scared because I think she knew her sickness was bigger than she thought and just the idea of being relegated to bed with a gown was the complete antithesis of who she was. Frankie loved to go take long walks in the evening and would spontaneously decide to go in the city for some music and now she was wearing a little plastic bracelet and confined to a 10x14 room. I couldn’t think of anything more miserable than having Frankie stuck in some room drugged up and watching daytime television; but sure enough, that was where we were.

I stayed with her as long as I could as we sat together on her bed –thinking of all the things we would do as soon as she got out of the hospital. Frankie wanted to go back to Europe for a few months and I wanted to take one of those safari trips where we stayed in cabins surrounded by elephants and lions. But visiting hours soon ended and I had to leave her alone in some taupe hospital room with IV tubes going into her arms. My heart was broken. Walking down the halls I broke down and wept loudly, hoping that my crying could release some healing power within Frankie, but it did not. What was I to do? My love was sick and there was nothing that could be done.

I slid my back down the wall and dropped my face in my hands with a sense of finality and absolution. I knew as well as I think she did –that we would only have a short time left together, and it broke my heart. This creature with fiery red hair and eyes as blue as deep water now slept under a fear of death and her husband was without answers. In the middle of my cracking under the pressure, I remember having the image waft in front of my drenched eyes.

Frankie was in this garden. There were giant flowers exploding with colors of red and tangerine, dark purple and bright yellows; blue like her eyes and the softest whites. She was wearing a small white dress with a red sash wrapped around her waist with gold sewn in the hem and was walking slowly toward me. The sun was soft on her face, casting an orange light across her. All of a sudden, I heard the wind begin to rustle through the leaves and blow through the hem of her dress. She stood straight as if an alarm was ringing and began to say with a toothy smile, “I’m listening!” lifting her hands in the air the wind began to speak in a fleeting whisper.

“With all my love I have brought you back to me. With all my love I have carried you to my side. With all my love I have saved you from suffering.”

I knew then that my precious love, my fiery wife, was going to leave me soon and for that moment I had peace. Standing up from off the floor, I walked back to my car with a smile, a small one, and hope that maybe she would have no pain when she passed. The roadster was lonely on the drive back home; but something inside of me believed things were going to be okay. I guess all I needed was to know things were going to be okay.

∝∝∝∝∝∝∝∝ After about two weeks of tests and the emotional highs and lows involved, the doctor finally had a diagnosis for Frankie; Histiocytosis, a rare blood disease that is completely unpredictable and fatal. I remember Frankie sitting up in her bed completely bulldozed over the news with a stone face of shock and a complete

sense of helplessness that even I could not remedy.

“What are we going to do, Solomon?” she said knowing there was nothing that really could be done.

I sat up with her on the bed, “We are going to finish strong, Frankie.”

“I don’t want to. I don’t want to do anything.”

“What do you mean? If they’re right, which I don’t think they are, you and I have at least a few months left.”

“I don’t want to put you through all of that, babe,” she said, sinking back in the bed with a sigh.

“Frankie, what are you saying?” I replied feeling a tension slip out of my voice. “You aren’t thinking of hurting yourself or anything like that, are you?”

“No,” her eyes were dead pressed into mine like she was hoping to convey some message. “Maybe we should end this.”

“You want to leave me?” I said with a quiet shock. The room fell quiet as it settled in my stomach that she was considering leaving me all for the sake of protecting me when I should be protecting her. I could have never imagined such a statement falling out of Frankie’s mouth like a simple no, full of sadness, fear and confusion. “Frankie, I will never leave you. I will never let you go. Why would you think something like that?”

“If I am going to die, whether that is tomorrow, or two months from now, I don’t want to hold you back.” She tried to justify her idea as she spoke out of complete confusion.

“This makes no sense.”

“I know, but I think it is the best thing.”

“I will never leave you, Allison.” I said, staring deeply into her

sapphire eyes.

“But I will leave you.”

“Only for a moment and nothing more.”

With that I grabbed the top of her arm and kissed her shoulder.

Picturing her talking to the wind in her garden, I closed my eyes and tried as hard as I could to convince her otherwise – but she soon fell asleep and I had to leave for the night.

That drive home was brutal. I had the running image of going to see her in the hospital and being handed divorce papers. The shock, the pain, and even the heartbreak were tough, and it was made worse when I had another dream/vision.

Very much unlike the image of Frankie following the voice in the wind, this dream was dark and painful. I found myself climbing what I assumed was either a dark mountain or a giant coal pile.

Scratching and scrambling up this mountain I felt a weight sit on my shoulders, which made the climb increasingly difficult. Seeing the peak ahead I began to climb faster and with less caution until I had rushed to the summit. At the top I saw what appeared to be a separation from the sky and another place. There was a large golden field with wind flowing through it and Frankie running with the wind in her white dress.

I remember trying to go to her in the field but the separation was just out of reach. I could not jump to touch it but could see clearly Frankie and her joy in the wind. Shouting from the black mountain I called to her, “Frankie! It’s Solomon! Help me up!”

She ran over and reached down, but the distance was still just out of reach for her to grab my hand when I jumped to reach it. I kept jumping and leaping but I could not get to her and she could not come to me. Finally, in exacerbation and exhaustion, I shouted with a guttural wail, “Why!” and with that she turned back to the field weeping as I and quietly whispered to me, “Only for a moment and nothing more…” My heart sank as I began my descent back down the mountain and just as I turned back to see

her I would wake up in a sweat. She was going quickly and I did not have much time left with her. No matter what she said or forced upon me, I stayed near her and loved her.

It must not have been a month since the divorce conversation before I received the call that looked like she was not going to make it through the night. Rushing to the hospital, I began to replay our life together, as short as it was, and thought back to all of our sweet moments – hoping to press them permanently in my mind for the rest of my life. There was the time we played hide and seek in the grocery store. Another time we tried to eat nothing but organic foods and increased our food bill by 30% and lost a total of seven pounds between us. One time she bought the creepiest painting I had ever seen and hung it in our guest room as a joke so people wouldn’t stay too long. I thought about our long talks when the power went out and we sat around without TV; and our weekend trips in the roadster. Of course, I remembered the months helping Cy and watching Frankie mother and love her friend.

Everything came back in a flood as I began to drive slower and slower trying to process everything. Then realizing I had only a few hours left with this redheaded creature of joy and excitement, I ran every red light until I reached the hospital.

The nurse walked me into the room and showed me Frankie asleep on her bed. The evening was creeping in the window as the sun was setting and she still held the last little bit of sunlight on her cheeks. I reached down and stroked her chin and her eyes opened with a soft smile.

“I was waiting for you, Solomon,” she said in a whisper.

“I came as fast as I could, Frankie.”

She scooted over a bit in her bed as a sign for me to join her, along with a light tap behind her. I laid down next to her. She had lost a great deal of weight and was hooked up to all these machines and bags, but I slid under the covers and wrapped my arm around her waist, clutching her under her chest. With a sigh, I felt her heartbeat and her shallow breath and she then turned to face me as softly as she could.

“The doctor said I only had a few moments left.”

“That’s okay.” I had no idea what to say but I wanted to remember everything I possibly could.

“Solomon, I am so tired.”

“I know, it’s almost over.”

A grin fell on her face as she closed her eyes and rested in my chest, “I can’t wait to see you again.”

“I know where to find you, Frankie.”

“Where?”

“You’ll be walking in a garden.”

“How did you know?” She sounded surprised but did not move much.

“I saw you walking through a garden, talking to the wind.”

“And what did the wind say?”

“With all my love I have brought you back to me. With all my love I have carried you to my side. With all my love I have saved you from suffering.” By this time her heartbeat was beginning to slow and her breathing softening.

“I can’t wait to see you again,” she whispered in my ear.

“I will never leave you.”

“Solomon, only for a moment and nothing more.”

With that she breathed softly in my chest and slowly fell limp.

The machines began to ring out their alarms –but were silent in my ears as I cradled this bright love in my arms and watched –as tears flowed down my face.

Chapter Six: Cy “ All night long on my bed I looked for the one my heart loves…”

I don’t think I will ever forget my last conversation with Allison. I think it was some time around Easter and we were walking (she had her wheel chair with a sexy IV bag hook attachment) up and down the hallway of the hospital early in the morning. She was weak but still laughed hard and loud throughout our talk. We talked about nothing as usual; a cake I made the other day just for fun, how she wished she could get her hair colored again and, of course, the fact that she would not be around much longer. She was becoming more agile in her wheelchair as she and I scooted up and down the hallway of the hospital. We always were active in our conversations. Whether we walked, cooked, or simply drove to the grocery store, every time we talked it seemed to involve at least some sort of movement. So it was befitting that we walked together for our last conversation.

Allison was never one to be constrained or deal with pain, and that day she was experiencing both, which went unnoticed. I think she knew she was not going to be around much longer and felt pressed to have a wonderful moment with me. We went and snuck into the nurse’s station and stole some juice and sipped our thieved

CranGrape cocktails while she began telling me all about life in the hospital, and of course, showing me all her “sexy bruises” which were now looking like tiny black dots and ant bites. I rested my hand on the handle of the wheelchair, as she would talk softly, asking all sorts of questions. “How’s work going?” “Did you ever find that coffee shop I told you about?” “What are you doing this evening?” She just wanted to have a normal conversation; nothing heavy or packed with emotional goodbyes, and that is what we had.

After pacing the hallway a few times and talking for close to twenty minutes, she said she was tired and wanted to go lay down.

I helped her to her room and into her bed. I will never forget this for as long as I live, and possibly after that. We both had a moment when we realized that this could be the last time we would ever see each other. As she was wriggling to get comfortable, her eyes caught mine. She sat up with her arms locked behind her and whispered to me, “I love you, Cy.” Eyes filling up I whispered back, “I love you, too.”

“I love you, Cy.” She said it louder this time but still quiet.

Reaching for the door I responded, “I love you, too.”

“I love you, Cy.” talking louder.

“I love you, too.”

Close to shouting and smiling, “I love you, Cy!” “I will always love you, Allison!” Now we were both screaming and smiling.

With a click of the door I walked into the hallway knowing my dear friend was loved and at peace. That was the last time I saw Allison.

℘℘℘℘℘℘℘℘

Peace was something in the atmosphere surrounding Allison’s death. Her funeral was beautiful; full of flowers and sweet music and Solomon was so precious during the ceremony. He shook hands and hugged everyone who came with a genuine thank you and made sure I was okay while I was more concerned for him.

Crying for him seemed to be a strained thing and somewhat uncomfortable. In the past, I remember seeing him fight back emotions; but that day he let the tears flow freely –making no attempt to wipe them away. It revealed the deep and amazing love he had for her that was like nothing I had ever seen before. Allison and Solomon fit so well together, like the gears in a tuned watch.

Now since she was gone, he was free to have time stand still for a moment and allow his heart to break to its fullest extent and to be spread open for everyone in that church to see.

It was precious to find myself in a place of remembering my dear friend. Solomon told funny stories about how they met and decided to get married over chicken. I never knew this or at least she never told me, but apparently there was a time when they went down to New Orleans and she got a tattoo. The story went like this: Solomon and Allison headed to New Orleans to meet his family around August, during Jazz Fest ∍. As they spent time in the city, Allison wanted to go see Bourbon Street, at least drive by it.

So Solomon obliged, knowing it was going to be nothing but strip clubs and bars for a few blocks, then it would assimilate to match the rest of the French Quarter. Allison pleaded and one afternoon, since he would not take her during the night, they walked down Bourbon Street. As expected, there were strip clubs with posters of barely clothed girls on the windows of the strip clubs and bars with all the doors open and signs claiming to have the strongest drink in the city. It was dirty and smelled like cigarettes and urine as expected. What wasn’t expected was Allison’s fascination of the depravity of it all. She was taking pictures of people walking around with drinks while she kept this face of unbelief. Then there was a tattoo shop by a bar, for easy business. She insisted on getting a bulldog tattoo for her little brother on her shoulder, but Solomon wanted nothing to do with it.

This was before they were married and Allison slowed down a

bit. With hand being pulled, Solomon was forced into this dingy tattoo parlor and watched as his sweet little wife-to-be cringed and yelped as this giant man who looked like Bluto from the Popeye cartoon scratched an ugly “bulldog” on her shoulder. At first she was excited and probably running on dopamine and adrenaline still pumping through her body. Then after a few days of noticing how the thing was absolutely hideous, she quickly had it zapped off and hoped that everyone would forget it.

At that point in the story, Solomon had a picture of her with a livid face and a black smudge that was supposedly a bulldog on the big screen in the church. The audience was laughing so hard that he left the picture up for close to two minutes while all her friends and family relaxed in the memory of their friend. He was fantastic in handling the funeral; but, like I said, made sure I was taken care of. There was water under my seat and a girl in a brown dress sat next to me in the case I needed something.

Obviously, he and I grieved and cried over our dear sweet and out-of-this-world friend. He called her Frankie, which I found strange, but he felt the same way with me calling her Allison. After the service, he and I slipped apart. I remember hearing rumors that Solomon had taken some trip around the world on a sailboat, but apparently he hid out in Kentucky for a few months and grew a beard.

I didn’t do all that great after Allison died. She was the one who pulled me out of my depression after the attack and was my best friend. I remember thinking how it seemed impossible that we never met before college since we were so much alike. I tried as hard as I could to not slip into a dark place –so I made some new friends – which was not a great decision. These people were wild, to say the least.

We would drink, then take handfuls of pills, then fall asleep, not knowing if one of us would wake up in the morning. That must have gone on for about two months. Then I met Sampson. He was burly and loud. He was short and bald, had a thick beard and practiced what I called “Muslim light.” He did whatever he

wanted, but occasionally talked about Mohammed and his Sheik who lived somewhere in Pakistan – who was most definitely not a terrorist. (Even though the guy was not allowed to enter the US and lived in an undisclosed location.) Maybe it was just my way of grieving, going completely out of control, but I didn’t want to listen to some Dr. Phil housewife who knew how to properly grieve. I wanted to take all of my emotions and fear and shove it into a place where it couldn’t hurt me and I could escape the pain.

Sampson was good to me. He was strong and took care of me.

He would bring food to my house and would sit and eat with me as we talked about simple things. He was fond of his religion and told me that he was going to write a book on the new Islam and the mystical powers that it held. I never believed any of his garbage about his supposed “new Islam” since it sounded like a cult and the Ouija board mess that I used to play with at sleepovers before I discovered boys.

It wasn’t until I told him to prove all of his mess that I actually did have a moment of belief. He said that he could take a glass full of water and knock it off the table without touching it or moving it.

I bet him ten bucks he couldn’t. He closed his eyes and began to talk in this rhythmic gibberish. It started out like a whisper but grew louder and louder until the glass began to shake on the table.

My eyes grew huge and I felt so afraid but Sampson smiled and quickly assured me that everything was safe and good. He kept his chant strong and began to sink his head into his chest. Suddenly the room felt freezing cold and then a crash. The glass landed on the floor –shattered in a pool of water. Sampson sat straight up with a tired smile and raised his eyebrows to say, “See!” He told me that the only way to connect to the power was through opiates and drugs and that if I wanted to, he would lead me to a guide. I wanted nothing to do with it at first since I was so freaked by the whole thing, but after he explained it to me I saw that there might be something to that thing.

“We can heal people!” he said with a smile. “We can reach into their bodies and remove tumors! We can stop bullets and even read thoughts!”

“This feels wrong and dirty, Sampson.”

“It’s not. It’s completely safe. People will come to protect you from attacks and danger.”

“People?” I was confused.

“Well, not necessarily people. It’s like spirits or ghosts that come to you. You can hear them and they can hear you.” He was getting excited, but still serious about it. “The only way to start is to have a hallucination and wait for your guide to come to you.”

“Will I stop hurting?” thinking of Allison.

“It will be the most peaceful experience you have ever had and they will help you with all of that.” With that he handed me a joint and kissed me on the forehead. He began to stand to his feet when he turned to me in an honest moment. “You will lose who you are now and will never find it again.” He jerked himself toward the door and left with a sullen face.

At first I tried pot, which did it for a while; take the pain away, that is. Then Vicodin took pot’s place until one night, when Sampson came over to my apartment with a syringe. I had never tried heroin but figured if Sampson was fine and he used it, I should be okay if I took a little bit. The liquid was brown and looked just awful, but before I could consider anything, he had already stuck the needle between my toes. I felt an explosion run up my leg and slam with a force over my entire body like I was being washed in this feeling and I was hooked. Before I fell to the couch I saw Sampson have a huge grin grow across his face and he cradled my head as it sunk into the pillow. I felt my shirt lift off my stomach by his hairy hands and felt my eyes close with a weight.

It must have been close to four in the morning when I was awakened by an eighteen-wheeler driving by my window.

Sampson was asleep and didn’t have his shirt on and then I realized I didn’t either.

“What a surprise.” That was the first cynical and sarcastic thought that entered my mind followed by another thought.

“You dessserved it, Cy.” That thought was not mine and sounded slimy and dark.

“Hello?” I said to myself in some communication to my own head.

“Hello Cy, my name is Lo-Ruhamah and I am here to guard you.” The now clear voice said with a slither and a tension.

“Guard me?” You must be mistaken. Guard me from what?” I was confused but had a feeling I could use some help as far as protection goes.

“Those advantageoussss against you, Cy. You are powerful and are a threat to many people, but I was sent to protect you.”

“Who sent you?”

“A powerful angel sent me and commanded me to stay with you for all of your life no matter what comes against us-s-s. He is beautiful, the most beautiful thing you have ever seen and he wants you. He is the Great Light.”

The voice was loud in my head and almost felt like it was more than a thought, more like a shadow or humidity flowing through an open window. I don’t know why I trusted Lo – as she liked to be called – but I almost felt pulled to her. I was important and needed to be protected and if an angel wanted me, who was I to deny such a thing.

She told me that I could only connect to her through heroine since opiates were the supposed apples from the Garden of Eden.

God kicked Adam and Eve out because they were not supposed to connect to the angels and were to remain under his control. Also, sex was the way to discover the spirits within people and discern who they were and whether they were for me or against me. I

heard from Lo nightly and obeyed everything she said. She told me over and over, “The angel of Light needssss you.” And I wanted desperately to meet the Great Light since He held this knowledge of my power and wanted me.

I forgot about Allison and felt that my grieving was taking proper place through channeling and hearing from Lo. The only problem was the heroine. It was tearing my body apart and I was becoming some sort of creature. People looked at me in horror whenever I went to the store. Several times the police arrested me so I could get help. But Lo was so angry with them that she threw them against walls and beat one cop until he bled. She was so angry with me that she beat me, which I believed I deserved as a disobedient servant. She cut my wrists and broke my leg but there was nothing I could do at that point.

I was under her control since she was to protect me from those out to get me, although there was no one in my life at that time. It must have been a year into being protected when the Great Light sent more guardians to me. There was a light and happy guardian named Jezze who showed me how to gain power. She was gorgeous and wore flowing dresses that must have been thirty feet in length. I remember clearly one tiny girl named Lucy who ruled the three; she had the sweetest voice I have ever heard. She looked like Allison from pictures I saw of her as a kid but spoke in a smoky voice. She taught me how to fly outside of my body and communicate with other people like me.

As nice as they seemed at first, over the months they became tightly pressed around my life. Forcing needles in my arms, eyes and gut and refusing supposedly “poisoned” food for weeks at a time was normal for the torture. Lucy said that in torture I would be able to see the Great Light and become as powerful as it. It was horrendous and I remember saying to myself, when the guards left or were quiet– “Lost, hopeless, groping in the dark – I am no longer Cy. I am darkness. I am what I hate. My God, help me…”

Chapter Seven: Solomon “Listen! My lover! Look! Here he comes…”

Blue moon of Kentucky, keep on shinin’ Shine on the one that's gone and left me blue Blue moon of Kentucky, keep on shinin’ Shine on the one that's gone and left me blue I never actually heard that song after Frankie passed, since my friends assumed I had spent some time in Kentucky. That song was totally applicable during the year or so I spent in Thibodaux, Louisiana. You remember Mr. Beaux, right? Good, because he and I spent most of that time together. I remember the phone call I made to his house a few days after the funeral. Feeling myself slip into “shut-down mode,” I made sure I did not spend it in my house alone. I had a number of friends offer a room to me for as long as I needed. For a time I stayed with my parents in New Orleans. There was something that needed to be done that I knew could not be done sitting around in my old bedroom turned guest room. The

only person I could call for the perfect answer was Mr. Beaux.

At that time he must have been about seventy-five years old, but still ran his bait shop ten hours a day, six days a week. Still cracking jokes and flirting with all the women who came in the store, Mr. Beaux was probably one of the happiest people I had ever known. I figured I needed to be around happiness for a while.

So around six in the morning, after sleeping a total of ten minutes the night before, I searched to find his number. After fumbling through stacks of papers, I gave him a call.

The conversation went something like this: “Well, hey! This is Beaux!” He was shouting at six in the morning.

“Hey, Mr. Beaux, it’s Solomon.”

“Solomon? Who are you?”

“It’s Solomon! David’s son. I have the roadster that you make fun of every time I come by.”

“Oh! Sol’mon! How goes it, boy?”

“Not so great. My wife died a few weeks ago and I need some fresh air.”

“Well, it sounds like you are asking to come visit me for a bit.

Is that right, boy?”

“Yes sir. I figured I could help out at the shop and do some work for you free of charge.”

“And what do I get out of it, Sol’mon?”

“Uh…” I don’t think his hearing was all too great since I found myself shouting into the phone, “I said I would work for you for free.”

“Boy, that’s for you, what about me?”

Trying to figure out what he was getting at, I said, “You can drive my car?”

“Oh, that little roadster? You still have it?”

“Yes sir. You can drive it if you want?”

“There we go, boy. I’ll see you tomorrow at five.”

“In the morning?” realizing that meant an hour and a half drive before the sun came up.

“Yeah you right!” he said with a laugh.

“Alright,” I said with some hesitancy, “sounds good, Beaux.”

“See you in the morning!” He hung up the phone quickly like he was in a rush; as if guys like me called him for something like this on a regular basis and this was nothing more than ordering a case of Coke’s.

The drive was not inherently terrible as I made my way across the river with no traffic except a few trucks passing me. It was still dark and cool in the air. The roadster seemed to handle the old drive fairly well, as it had been a few years since she had seen it. I remember the cool air swirling around my hair, which was shaggy and uncut. The lights of the roadster, now named Frank, hung low in the morning fog and swung back and forth from their loose connections. I loved driving that roadster – especially in the morning. Except that morning I was exhausted from another night of no sleep. I remember lying in my bed, commanding my eyes to close and forcing my body to sleep. If I slept for two hours in a row, it was an amazing feat. I am surprised I didn’t fall over and die after months of sleeping most nights for only an hour or two.

For someone that night, it was simply impossible to get my mind to working and my body to stay still.

Whatever the reason, driving became increasingly tougher as I

drove across flat and straight asphalt highways with nothing to look at except the occasional farm or swamp or row of Cyprus trees. Pressing through the dread and hope of falling asleep at the wheel, I eventually found a Starbucks. Latte in hand, I made it back to that old gravel road draped with oak trees and haze. Beaux was already sitting on the little porch smoking his third cigarette of the day when I drove up to the store. He greeted me with a slowly lifted hand (like a wave but without any movement, probably like a lazy Nazi greeting) then he directed me to park in the back with a point of his Marlboro.

The tires still had that familiar sound of crunching as I drove over the gravel behind the store. I felt nostalgic as I saw a stack of 2x4’s underneath the building.

One time I had a blowout on the passenger side tire and made it to his store. Beaux came out with a jack and a few pieces of wood.

I could not figure out why he had the wood since the jack was all we needed, but he insisted on showing me the “proper” way to change a tire. He took one piece of wood and set it under the jack.

Then he took the other piece and pressed it between the car and the jack so it wouldn’t damage the undercarriage. (Smart guy) It was early and he quickly put me to work. First I had to sweep and mop the store and check the gas pumps. Then I had to make sandwiches for all the hopeful customers and stock the shelves. The day went on like that; do this one job, and then do this, after that, take care of this. I had a four page long to-do-list and was busy from sun up to sun down and never caught up with Beaux as far as pace and excitement went.

After a day of lifting boxes and washing walls, he and I went back to his place a few blocks away and had dinner together; hot dogs, hot dogs with mustard and onions. I had never worked so hard for that long in a while and it felt good to have a tired feeling when I went to bed. Dinner was gross, but I figured it was better than those sandwiches I made at five thirty in the morning. I hit the bed and fell asleep within an hour. For the first time in close to a year I slept hard and woke up refreshed – but sore.

The days were similar to each other with an occasional change, like fixing a loose hinge or changing out light bulbs. But the nights with Beaux were never routine. Some nights we would go to our separate quarters and say close to nothing and other nights we would be up watching movies and talking about everything. I showed him how to cook something other than hotdogs and noodles and he taught me this lifestyle of simplicity and willingness. No matter who came in or what time during the day, if someone had a problem, Beaux would straighten up and help them fix it. If a kid needed to be picked up, he would leave the shop and go get him. If someone needed a brand of soap he didn’t carry, he would go to the store and buy some just for that one person. One time he drove a woman and her cat (he hated cats) to the veterinarian –which was thirty minutes away–and waited for her and bought her and the cat back home.

“It’s all about being in a place where er’ething is possible, er’y need can be met and er’eone can be loved if only for a few minutes, boy.”

My life was simple; sweep the floor, stock shelves, clean windows then go home for an old movie and a conversation about the day. I could not be happier. I forgot about the fancy house in Boston, the business meetings and the conferences full of nametags and whiskey sours. As I focused on sweeping floors and cleaning windows, Beaux had something I needed – happiness with almost nothing to hold.

After a few months of routine, Beaux looked me up and down, like a coach would to a player to see if he was up for his plan. It was late and we were closing up. I was mopping the floor and he was closing out the register with a small notepad and a stack of old envelopes. Beaux had this look in his eyes that meant either mischief was afoot or he was trying to remember a joke that fit the moment perfectly.

With a grin he shut the drawer of the register and looked toward me saying, “Boy, you wanna head to da beach for a bit?”

“Which beach, Beax?” I said leaning on the mop, “Grand Isle?

Biloxi? Panama?”

“Actually, I was thinkin’ som’in like that beach you told me ‘bout. What’s its name again?”

“Myrtle Beach? You want to go to Myrtle Beach?” I really had no desire to go there and totally saw through his scheme but I indulged him for a bit. “Why would you want to take the drive all the way up to South Carolina?”

“I ain’t gonna be drivin’ boy, you are, and we’ll leave after we close shop.” Beaux said it with such confidence that I began to understand that maybe the old man had some plan and I should see what it is.

“Tonight? You want to go tonight?”

“Yup, we’ll leave in round twenty minutes, okay?”

He returned to moving the money from the register to his old envelopes and never said another word until he called for me twenty minutes later from my car. I closed and locked the front door and flipped the porch light on and joined him in Frank. (The roadster, remember?) He had the roof up and the heater on since there was a bit of a chill in the air that night. With an excited and wrinkled furrow of his brow he pointed ahead and said in a young man’s voice, “And we’re off! Now drive like the devil is chasin’ us!” I blasted the gas and spun the tires sending rocks flying through the air like tiny fireworks. With a “Go! Go! Go!” from Beaux, I drove as fast as I could through the road and hit the interstate with no plan of what was ahead –except Myrtle Beach– and a stop at a Waffle House along the way.

We drove for hours until the sun started blinding our eyes as it rose in front of us like a giant orange ball of fire. No one was on the road for hours and the two of us said almost nothing. I had never experienced what Beaux called, ‘The Spirit of Adventure’ before, but he assured me that this was all a part of the life of simplicity he came to love.

“When you want to drive, you just drive. When you want to sit and think for a bit, you just sit and think. And when you need to save someone’s life, you go and save their life. You are the only one who will be the willin’ person in most cases and should look at it like this: No one is goin’ to do it ‘cept you and no one is goin’ to get the reward ‘cept you, too. See, if I am the only person who’ll do, then I am the only person who can. Sol’mon, sometime you need to begin to understand that you’ve gotta be the only person who’ll do som’in because once you get that you are it, then you’ll see that it’s all you.”

For your sake, I’ll try to say what he said in a way we can understand it.

“Be willing to do anything you can, because if you are the only person who will, then you are the only person who is able. As the willing person, you will find that role constantly called upon, but that is fine because you will gain the greater reward than those who do nothing. Once you see that it’s up to you, and you are the only one able to fulfill the task, you will understand the purpose of willingness and your purpose in willingness. “ I hope that made sense because, honestly, I still don’t understand exactly what he meant. He said it with such fervency that I felt it was important to mention our conversation for his sake.

After hours of driving –somewhere around fifteen hours straight–we made it to the beach. The sun was directly above us, shrinking our shadows beneath our feet. The heat of the afternoon felt good after sitting in a stale car with musty seats from midnight till one o’clock in the afternoon. We were both sore from sitting and tired from driving; we parked the roadster and walked to the breeze-swept beach and rolling ocean. He walked to the water and almost ritualistically began to dunk his head in the water. He must have dunked somewhere around seven times before he waving me over to him.

“Get on your knees, boy,” he said drenched in water, “right next to me.”

I knelt down and he grabbed the back of my neck and began to dunk my head in the water. I was confused and shocked, mainly from the cold water but also from this old man drowning me in the ocean in the middle of the day. After the seventh dunk and mouthful of salt water he propped my body back in the kneeling position and looked at me with seriousness and fire.

“Why’d you want to work for me?”

“To get away.”

“Wrong answer, boy.” He dunked me again.

“Sol’mon, why’d you want to work for me?”

“I didn’t want to deal with the pain.”

“Wrong again.” Another dunk.

“Now boy, why did you come and work for me?”

His hand was strong on the back of my neck and I did not want to have a face full of sand and saltwater again, so I took a second to think about my next answer. Nothing came to mind. I really had no real reason to go and see Beaux – or at least I thought so.

“I wanted to be happy.”

Beaux’s hand tightened around my neck and I braced for another dunk in the water. He began squeezing my neck until the pressure was unbearable.

“You wanted to be happy. That is a good answer, boy.”

I felt a smile come across my face and saw one on his. Then he threw me in the water one last time with a big laugh.

“Boy, you think I’m happy?” he said, standing up from the sand.

“Yeah, you are always happy,” I replied standing from the water torture and picking the sand out of my teeth.

“Not always, Sol’mon, there was a time when I was a lot like you.”

“How so, Beaux?”

“Let me tell you a story I never told nobody before.” He began walking down the beach at the water’s edge and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “You know I was married?”

“No. You never mentioned it.” I started walking next to him.

“Her name was Rebecca. She was a tiny girl. So short I could lift her off her feet every time we held hands. I ain’t the shortest man in the world, you see.”

“Yeah? What was she like?”

“Well, we met one night at a dance and I was wearing somewhere around three dif’rent colognes that night just in case one girl didn’t like one. I smelled awful, come to find out. She was wearing this little white dress with a red sash around her waist and was standing with some friends waiting for a guy to ask her to dance. I guess I was bold, or dumb that night because I walked directly over to her and pulled her to the dance floor. She didn’t hesitate for a second and we must’ve danced for most of the night.

Being young – I was maybe sixteen – we both had to be home early, so I walked her home. I tried to hold her hand but my palms were too sweaty and she seemed kinda grossed out by that. Sure ‘nuff, we began dating and became engaged after high school.

“College wasn’t for er’one back then and her and I was perfectly content living small in a little apartment near her job. She was a typist and wrote phone books for New Orleans and Baton Rouge. We were cute together, Sol’mon, and lived small for ‘bout five years until I started the bait shop. Rebecca insisted on calling it a “boutique” so women would come in despite there being nothing but food and fishing stuff in the entire store. After some

time, we started livin’ comfortably, we thought about a family and havin’ small chil’ren.

“Maybe it was the timin, but we never could seem to have any kids. For a few years we tried er’thin’ we could. Now there weren’t all the gadgets and medical stuff like today, but there was plenty that could be done and we tried it all at least twice. Finally after ‘bout four years she got pregnant. I was so excited to see the little lump get bigger and bigger as time went on and she was just fascinated over the baby flipping and flopping inside of her.

“Sol’mon, it was a beautiful thing to see the woman you love be so happy and so full of life.

“Then the time came for the baby to come, but as she was deliverin’ the child there were complications. She began bleeding real bad and the baby seemed to be stuck in the birth canal. The only thing that could’ve been done was for her to push, but there was so much blood. I think the doctor knew that one of the two weren’t goin to make the delivery, but he tried as hard as he could to save both of ‘em.

“Sol’mon, I lost both of them.” Beaux began to cry soft tears as he remembered that moment. He gripped my shoulder for support and because he had something to tell me.

“Boy, there was nothing you could do but the hurt was still great. Now I stayed and hid in the store, hoping to forget the pain and distract myself from the fact that my precious daughter never saw her father and mother love on her. Boy, I work hard and have worked hard like I do for over almost fifty years. Yeah, I get happy, but my happiness is gone because I hid out and tried to block it.”

“Block what? I grieved, Beaux.”

“No boy, you cried and crying’s good but it ain’t grieving. I cried for months and months but kept away at the dumb shop and I can’t let that happen to you.”

I saw what he was trying to do, but could not see why he had to bring me all that way back to Myrtle Beach. We could’ve had this conversation at the store or even in New Orleans, but the old man chose the last happy memory I had of Frankie and rubbed it in my face.

“Dammit, Beaux! Why’d you bring me here? To tell me I am never going to be happy? To show me that she’s really gone?

What? What are you trying to do, old man?”

He was quiet and calm as I began getting louder and louder until it wasn’t even about Frankie anymore.

“You win, Beaux, she’s gone. She’s gone and she’s never coming back. I get it! Now let’s go. Let’s get out of here.”

“We can’t leave just yet, Sol’mon.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little envelope with a bulge in the middle. “We need to do something with this.” It was a tiny seashell.

“I already buried her, Beaux.”

“I know.”

“She’s been dead for over a year now, I don’t need to bury her again.”

“I know. I don’t want you to bury her, son, I want you to release her. Let her go.” He reached out his hand and slipped the seashell in my hand.

I gripped the shell in my hand so hard that it cut into my skin and I felt my eyes water up at the idea of it all.

“Boy, you’ve been holding onto her and it’s killing you. You can’t sleep, you have concentration problems, and I bet you think you’d be better off living like a hermit in some shack in the middle of the swamps where no one can hurt you again. But you can’t, I won’t let you be like me. Let her go, boy. Let her go.”

I pulled away from him and let his hand slip off my shoulder.

With shell in hand, I walked away from him, down the beach, with the sun setting behind me. I had never thought that I was holding on to Frankie and it was killing me, but then I looked at Beaux; good guy, but nothing outside of the bait shop. I didn’t want to be him, but I didn’t want to forget her either.

The wind picked up and began circling around me like a minitornado as I stopped along the beach. The water was washing my feet and pulling the sand out from under them. I felt the wind and my mind went back to the dream I had in the hospital. There she was, wearing that white dress with the red sash – and there again she was listening to the wind.

Maybe the wind was talking to me like it did to her. Maybe there was some beauty to be found in the middle of the storm.

Maybe I just needed to listen and see the beauty of it all.

I dropped the seashell in the water and watched as it was carried away by the pull of the tide. The wind was now hushed; I felt inclined to listen and thought maybe I could hear something.

“With all my love I have brought you back to me. With all my love I have carried you to my side. With all my love I have saved you from suffering.”

After that moment, Beaux told me that it was time I headed back to Boston, and that because of me, he thought he was able to let Rebecca go as well. I never saw him again after that day. We hugged each other for a while. He insisted I drive the roadster up to Boston and he would fly back to Louisiana. After some sleep, I drove back to Boston with high hopes only to find something; something that nightmares are made of. I found Cy, or maybe she found me.

Chapter Eight: Cy “Like a lily among thorns is my darling among the maidens”

“From NPR and Chicago Public Radio, this is Wait, Wait -Don’t Tell Me, the NPR News Quiz. I’m Karl Castle…”

This was all I heard as I woke up one Saturday afternoon. My head was pounding from the headache I had been dealing with for close to five or six days. My mind was spinning as it tried to reconcile time from the night before. My whole body seemed to ache. I had absolutely no desire to get out of bed; but I eventually forced my feet to the floor and tossed the blankets off my body. I remember the house being cold because I left all the windows open. My feet were freezing as they shuffled along the floor to the bathroom.

Looking in the mirror I saw, what was then, a monster. I had bruises and scars up and down and all over my body. My face was sunken in and it looked like I hadn’t seen the sun in months. There was still blood on my teeth and the smell of smoke in my hair. I looked like torture smeared on skin. With a turn of the handle I got in the shower and felt the water rush over my sores and cuts, cleaning out all of the dirt and funk, but even after that never really

felt clean. By that time I think I took showers in the dark with the door wide open so the light wouldn’t be so bright, used a lot of cold water because the hot water stung too badly.

The voices were comfortable in my mind and had complete control whenever they wanted. I knew I was trapped and a slave to all of them, especially Lucy. The once sweet girl who spoke so kindly turned into this creature with leathery skin and piercing blue eyes. It still spoke in Lucy’s voice but must had been around eight feet tall and wore a copper chest plate. Jezze was still beautiful and wore her gorgeous dresses, but after time her face seemed twisted and contorted. Her voice dropped several octaves and sounded like smoke. Now Titus was a creature like none other. The more I got to know him the more he appeared like an old professor type with a flowing beard that was grey and seemed to move like hot air. He spoke sweetly but with darkness and a tension, almost like he was waiting for someone to interrupt him or like he was hoping not to get caught. Lo, on the other hand, became increasingly violent as she spent more time with me. She would choke me until I passed out and sit on top of my chest whenever I would try to sleep with such a great pressure. I never fully saw her as I did the others during my hallucinations, other than a glittering shadow. Over time I was convinced that she was trying to kill me, but would never complete the act. She wanted me to kill myself.

You see, their thinking was that if I killed myself, I would be able to achieve some higher level within the Kingdom of Light; but they would never kill me. They would always lead me to the threshold of death, where I had just enough energy and will to do it since the pain was so great. I never would go through it for some reason, which caused the torment to go on for hours on end. They would laugh and tell me how beautiful I was as they beat me.

I hope there is no confusion here, but if there is, let me help.

These were not real people; they were like spirits and voices that had power to manipulate me as if they were real people. During my hallucinations, I would see them and that was when most of the activity between us occurred. It was real, but not in the way that could easily be explained. Understand, they moved on a different level then we humans do. They were spirits and moved in the spirit

world.

The three came and went as they pleased, always finding ways to torment me and convince me that I was close to seeing the Great Light. I was helpless whenever they would bring people over to my house; people I had never met but was told they were on our side.

These people were in a similar situation like I was; emaciated, tired and without any hope. They would stumble in the door and would share pills and whatever else we could find to connect. Then at some point our animalistic desires would take over and I would wake up days later in a daze. One time I am pretty sure this one girl threw me down a flight of stairs because Jezze said it was time for my dreams to come into fruition. I was hoping that either I would not be hurt or that I would fly as the other girl. This girl, who was no bigger than me, picked me up and hurled me down the flight of stairs outside my apartment. I broke several ribs and had a nasty concussion; I was left for dead until another tenant found me and took me to the hospital.

Apparently, I was well known at the ER as the heroin chick because every time I went there I was unconscious. Lo stayed with me through the whole ordeal, telling me what was happening and what I should prepare to experience.

“We will now take you and cut your wristssss. It is for our gooood, Cy.” She would slither around her words like flies buzzing around a fire. “Thisss will only hurt the evil inside of you, which MUST be destroyed.”

Every time I tried to escape by going into rehab or getting myself arrested, they would come after me and “discipline” my body because of its disobedience. As they would come at me with fiery violence, they would always remind me that if I would simply take my life all of it would be over and I could be like them. It was tempting more than a handful of times, and I even considered going through the process. But something deep and restrained inside of my mind would tell me that this was a trap and these spirits were going to destroy me. So I would refuse and refuse until one of them knocked me unconscious, usually Lucy.

Then there was that day when I tried to run for it. I figured if I left the city they wouldn’t be able to harm me, and if I stopped shooting up I would never be able to connect with them. So, early one morning I woke up slowly and went to my car. With a whirl of the engine I put the car in reverse and tried to leave the city. Just as I made it to the street, Lo came into the car with a smell of burnt wood.

“And where, pray tell, do you think you are going?”

“To the store, I wanted to buy some cigarettes.”

“Really? So you aren’t planning on leaving ussss are you?”

“I would never leave. Where would I go?”

“Maybe to a bridge somewhere?” she said as she slipped into my body.

“Bridge? No, I’m not leaving, just going to the store.” I felt afraid – like a little child being caught taking cookies out of the cookie jar.

“Well, I think you are going for a little drive.”

Lo took control of my hands and feet and drove the car to the interstate heading for the Charles River Bridge. I tried to fight her but she was so strong. She did not set me in a trance but kept me fully aware of what was happening. It would look like a suicide and there was nothing I could do but sit back and watch as this was happening. She drove the car recklessly and fast while I prayed to whoever was listening, “my God…help me.”

Sssstop all of that praying, my little lady. We are the only ones who can hear you. Don’t you want to be like one of usss?”

“No I don’t, you are liars and murderers. You said I was powerful and great, but I’m nothing but a shell. You are tricksters and snakes, Lo. Why? Why did you lie to me? Why did you trick me and turn me into this creature? Why? What do you gain from

my misery?”

I began crying as I saw the two peaks of the bridge coming closer and closer. This was how I was going to go – thrown off a bridge with no one to care except a two minute segment on the news showing my car being pulled out of the river. I heard Lo laughing and cackling at her great trick coming to a close. She began swerving the car wildly as we began to climb the bridge to the top; she was laughing louder and louder.

“Someone hasss to die today, Cy.” She was laughing hysterically in my ear and in my head.

“Must it be me?” I pleaded with her.

“Yesss, you must die!” she bellowed.

She began to chant, “You must die!” over and over as the car drove faster and faster. The other cars were trying to dodge my car as it swerved across the lanes of traffic. Lo grew louder and laughed harder as I realized my demise was eminent. I was weeping and screaming – pleading to live – saying I would do anything and would never leave again if she just let me live. The noise was stinging my ears; I was spinning toward the edge of the bridge with the car completely out of control.

My eyes closed and I said to myself, “If there is anyone who can save from this, please come and help. My God…help me.”

With that I felt my grip tighten on the steering wheel and my foot pressed on the gas. I had complete control, but it was too late. I was going to die and nothing could stop me. I breathed deeply and thought about Allison. This was it. With a final scream I slammed on the breaks as the car headed for the guardrail and I braced for the impact.

Suddenly the car slammed into another car. It was a tiny yellow roadster with a black roof and a familiar face bracing his body at the wheel.

In the midst of the spinning, screeching and screaming, I kept

my eyes dead set on Solomon’s face; grimacing and cringing at the pain of being tossed around in his little car. I could see all his pain as the car crumpled around him. My car didn’t fare very well either. The airbag exploded out of the steering wheel and the driver side doors crunched all around me so I could not open them.

Hitting him from the side caused my car to spin into the guardrail and his car to twist around mine into the highway, which was then hit by another car. I was able to walk away from the crash but Solomon was left unconscious, in critical condition and bleeding badly.

The paramedics said it didn’t look good as they laid him on the gurney and rolled him to the ambulance. Another ambulance came for me; I slowly climbed inside with the help of a big black man leaving the wreckage and Lo on the highway.

℘℘℘℘℘℘℘℘ Waking up in the hospital was very different the second time around. My body ached and apparently I was severely starved and wounded. The nurses said it looked like I was locked in a basement for years and it was a miracle that I was even alive. They said that if the accident didn’t kill me then I would have eventually fallen apart and killed myself. More than the pain of the little bruises and scrapes was the unbearable suffering of withdrawing from heroin.

After I was checked for any major injuries, I was admitted to the rehab facility the hospital ran. My fear was gone, but I could feel my body beginning to crave a shot of peace running through it.

At first I was tense and felt achy all over my body, but after a few days I had muscle spasms, nightmares and anxiety attacks.

Honestly, my blood felt itchy and I would scratch all over until I bled. It took about a month to fully recover. While my recovery was intense and incredibly painful, the voices were gone and I felt rested for the first time in almost a year.

The worst part about the rehab was the loneliness. You have to understand; the voices were with me all day, everyday, for over a year. I never had a moment of silence. In my dreams they would

talk to me, when I shot up they would be with me and even when I tried to escape they chased me like dogs chasing rats. When I would sit and read or throw up in the bathroom there were no voices, there were no nightmarish dreams where my life would hang by a thread. I was alone and quiet for those days. I remember sitting on my bed waiting for the voices to come and scream at me for abandoning them, but they were quiet. Everything was quiet.

Everything was clean and I felt rested.

Solomon, on the other hand, was in critical condition for about a week and was completely unconscious for three whole days. Not sleeping, not in a coma, but unresponsive for three whole days.

From what I heard on the third day, he woke up with a sweet smile and a laugh. The doctors said that a piece of metal stabbed his side and he bled to death, but was revived miraculously with only a few pints of blood remaining in his body That man saved my life and I never saw it coming. He rescued me from dying by taking the impact of it all. I was completely helpless and out of control, but he stopped the spinning and torment by taking the full force of the car’s impact, leaving me whole. He died so I might live. He rescued me from myself and took my place. This man, this big man, came jumping over everything so he could stop my life from ending without him. My God, he helped me.

Part Three: Searching

Chapter Nine: Solomon “Who is this coming up from the desert like a column of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and incense made from all the spices of the merchant?”

I never imagined what it was going to be like when I experienced such a tremendous accident. It was like flying through a ten-minute nightmare in fifteen seconds. Sadly, the roadster did not fare very well; it was crunched to a heap, and then hauled off by an uncaring tow truck. That was not the way I planned to enter normal life – being involved in a brutal accident and waking up in a hospital bed. However, up until the crash, things were going quite well.

Leaving the beach with Beaux’s words pushing me to life, I felt courageous and strong, although I did nothing but drop a shell in the water. There was something profound in that last moment I had with my friend. He was quiet and smiled lightly as we parted ways.

With a heaping spoonful of peace I left that beach a new man.

The drive was tiring since I had already driven from Louisiana and was heading back towards Boston. As tired as I was it was a sweet drive up a literal memory lane that I held dearly in my heart.

It was almost as if Frankie was sitting in the passenger seat once again and pointing out all the places we had dotingly remembered.

“Ooh! There’s that restaurant where we stopped for lunch!” It was like I was hearing the wind that she spoke to so clearly, “Do you remember that waiter’s name?”

I felt a laugh on the tip of my tongue, “Keith.”

“Right, Keith! He practically sang and danced for a tip!”

“I know. The food wasn’t that great but Keith made up for it by calling me Chief.”

“He was sweet!”

I remember thinking out loud, “Is this really happening?” If I just let her go, how can I hear her?”

She quickly answered, “Because now I am free…”

“How is that?” I said waiting for a response with excitement.

“Because now I’m with the Wind.” And with that, she was gone for a while – but not departed.

I felt my smile return in a gentle way and happily drove the entire highway until I got back to Boston (another fourteen hours∗).

By the time I arrived in the city it was early in the morning and people were cramming the roads to get to work. My little roadster and I were definitely exhausted from driving halfway across the country, but the two of us pressed on until we reached the bridge.

Beginning the approach to the top of the bridge I felt my hands start to sweat and my heart rate begin to speed. Something was wrong, but I could not figure out what it could be. “I’ve crossed this bridge plenty of times. Why do I feel so tense?”

Suddenly, I felt a weight on my chest, like a stack of phone books dropped on me from a second story window. This fear

gripped my heart and I literally felt a cold hand slip in front of my eyes, blinding me.

“What is going on?” I said as I slammed on the brakes.

“Are you The Willing Sssssolomon?” said this voice I had never heard before.

“Who is this?”

“Not a matter to discussss now. Are you The Willing One?” My heart jumped at what it said and before I could even consider what I was about to do, the voice spoke again.

“Do you dare to take the place of death for the one you love?”

“Yes” “What about the one you hate?”

“Who is dying?”

“Cy is ssssentenced to death.”

“Cy is going to die?”

“Are you not The Willing Ssssolomon?”

My heart choked in my throat as my mind flashed back to the conversation I had with Beaux. I saw images of Frankie holding back Cy’s hair when she was sick to her stomach.

My eyes were burning and I was sweating heavily. I knew I was the only one willing and the only one able, so before I heard any other voices I screamed – “Yes! I am! I am The Willing One, Solomon!”

The voice was suddenly gone and I felt peace. I heard Frankie

calling for me in the garden and with a booming crash I jolted into a concrete wall with a smile on my face. Before I lost consciousness I saw my blood spilling from my side and Cy crawling out from her car in shock and fear. My eyes began to close and my body felt like it was severed and crushed.

I heard Frankie in the Wind speak again, “Only a moment longer dear. Then you will return.”

The crash lasted but a moment and the pain was great – but I endured it all. Before I finally slipped consciousness, I cradled my head in my arms with jagged metal all around and quietly said, “It is finished…”

∝∝∝∝∝∝∝∝ Dying is an interesting thing. You feel yourself slipping away from reality and you have the peace of knowing that you are leaving. I remember seeing my body being lifted out of the wreck like a limp mess and the peace that was smacked across my face.

I’m not entirely sure if I was “dead” –medically speaking– at that moment; but I do clearly remember hearing, “He’s not going to make it.” That was quite a shocking thing to be heard, although I knew it was true. There is actually some peace in knowing that you are indeed dying. To die for nothing is a terrible idea, but to die for a cause or for an innocent victim has such honor attached to it. It was as if I died for something greater than Cy or her life. I died for the sake of saving her life. It was more than just dying for the woman, I died to save her, to rescue her, to reach out and pull her from death.

Now I want to talk about what I saw and experienced after I died that day on the bridge – and the few days of being unconscious. While it might have been only a few moments of death to the medical staff and paperwork, but for me, it felt more like a journey of journeys.

Dying was sweet and frightening. I heard Frankie calling for me as I tried to keep my eyes open and stay awake like the

paramedics asked. It was such a drain to hold myself from entering into that realm that I eventually let go and entered into the afterlife.

Death, those few moments, was quite unexpected. I had hoped to go to that precious little garden tucked away in a grove of trees where my love would be. Instead, I ended up in this dark place with no seen boundaries. There were great shouts of pain coming from far away and a gripping fear that tried to surround me.

Figuring this was Hell; I was surprised there were no little demons running around in red leotards poking dead dictators with tridents.

Instead, it was silent and empty all around me. There was nothing to be seen, nothing to feel, not even ground under my feet.

Then out of the emptiness appeared a small blue light that flickered like a lightning bug. As it came closer, the vibrancy of the color faded and the light became larger to reveal a creature hidden inside of it.

“You are the Willing One!” “Yes, I am Solomon.”

The blue light flashed and I felt a jolt in my stomach. The creature swung his fist as hard as he could into my stomach, but I felt no pain. Instead, he screamed in agony as he gripped his hand like he had thrust it into a fire. I was confused but slightly amused at the spectacle before me. The creature must have been ten feet tall –and as muscle bound as an ox– but was completely disarmed in his attempt to prove his strength.

“You do not belong here, Willing One!” He said as he nursed his injured hand.

“Then where do I belong?”

He simply pointed upward into the darkness, “You are not one of us.”

“Obviously.” I felt that I had some authority over the creature since he was completely harmless to me. “What am I doing here,

then?”

The creature did not answer me but simply said, “Follow me, Willing One.” Then he turned and began walking into the darkness.

I walked closely beside him, which seemed to make it uncomfortable. His light faded back and forth from blue to grey and whenever it spoke it would move with the inflections of his voice. After a moment of walking we came to what looked like a fire in the distance. At a certain point, the creature had me walk on alone toward the flickering light. As I came closer the heat began to increase greatly until it was unbearable, even though the fire was far away. I felt like I was being cooked, but I continued to press on. “I’m dead anyway,” I thought as I began crawling closer and closer to the fire.

Suddenly another creature appeared. It was small and had a yellow light glowing in its stomach like an ember. Unlike the large creature before, this one seemed less hesitant about talking to me and actually appeared to know me quite well.

“So how was the car ride, Sssssolomon?”

That voice sounded familiar and sent a chill down my back.

“You? You are the one who caused the crash.”

“Causssed more than that, Willing One.” The creature seemed to want me to ask it what else it did, and considering the circumstance, I obliged, “What else then?”

“I’ve killed thousands, tormented millions and destroyed countless others. My name is Lo-Ruhamah and I have stricken the hearts of all who allow me.”

“Allow you? Who would allow such an evil creature like you into their lives?”

“Your friend indeed allowed me in and she loved every second of it. I have complete control over her and there is nothing you can do!”

“Nothing? If you mean you have full control over Cy, then I think I can do something about it.”

“Oh how wrong you are, Willing One! See thissss!” With a laugh it pulled out a form of sorts. On it were several names – including Cy’s– along with a small paragraph:

By this, all legal rights of the Kingdom are now in full affect on the person and spirit of one, Cy. By her word she has given full control over to the Great Kingdom, therefore binding her for eternity to its desires and rights of ownership. Only through the shedding of willing blood can these rights be revoked and stricken.

Praise be to the Prince of Light

The creature began to laugh and cackle as I read the piece of paper when I felt a burning anger release in me. I grabbed the little creature by the neck and pulled it to my face. She began to squirm and fight with kicks and punches, which caused the same effects as the blue creature.

“You cannot have her!” squealed the creature.

“My blood was shed for her, therefore she is no longer yours.”

“Sssshe is mine and I will not let her go!”

“You must, because I died in her place.”

“No! Sssshe is mine! Now let me go, Willing One!”

“Let her go before I choke the life out of you!”

The creature began to laugh as my grip tightened around its throat. It looked at me dead in the face and cackled.

“My life? I died an eternity ago! You cannot kill something that had its life ripped apart and torn to shredssss!” It relaxed in my grip and breathed with gasps of air. “I will not let go of her so easily, Ssssolomon.”

“You will, you have no right to her.”

“You see she cannot go unclaimed. Even if I do not have any true authority over her, she is not claimed by anyone else.

Therefore she is mine until claimed.”

“Then I will claim her as my own.”

“Ha! How nice! How sweet sounding!” it said as it pulled itself up by grabbing my wrists, gasping for a deep breath. “Even if you claim her, she must choosssse you in order for the ownership to change. She is still mine, Sssssolomon!”

“She will choose me.”

“How? You are here with us. Right now your body is dead, lying on a table.”

“She will. I do not belong here and am not one of you. I am Solomon, the Willing One. I am here to set Cy free. I am the one who shed willing blood. I am the one who will deliver her.”

A light began to flood around me and I felt a rush of wind blow through the heat. The creature shuttered and pleaded that I let it go but I refused as it screamed in agony. The wind was cool as it circled close around me and the light began to grow brighter and brighter until all I could see was light. After cries and wails from the little creature, I released it and dropped it to the ground.

I felt myself rise from the darkness and the heat into the light.

Never feeling such power before I shouted as loud as I could, “I am going to deliver her!” and heard it echo throughout the darkness with a shiver and a clash of words. The light pulled me from the darkness and I was lifted to another place, a cool place where the wind was sweet. It felt good to get out of the unbearable heat and the loneliness of the darkness. This place was bright and boundless like the darkness –but I felt clean and relaxed. I lifted my head and waited for the wind like I remembered seeing Frankie doing in the garden. Instead, there was no wind, no ‘guide’ – nothing exactly tangible – yet something inherently beautiful, something worth capturing – if one could.

Then I felt someone speaking to me, not in my head like some voice, but more like a deep inner voice speaking to a deeper part of me.

“Solomon…” the deep voice sounded like a whisper.

“Yes?” “How are you, my love?”

“Frankie!” I began looking for her in the light but saw nothing.

“Where are you?”

“I am here with you, Solomon. Can you hear me?”

“Yes, but I would love to see you if I could.”

“Sure, just close your eyes.”

I shut my eyes softly and pictured her again in the garden walking in her flowing white dress with its red sash. I felt the warmth of the sun hitting my back and the breeze flowing through the trees.

“Now open them.”

Sure enough, as I opened my eyes I saw her bright blue eyes

set like sapphires in her face. Her hair was radiant and bright red and her smile grew bigger as my eyes adjusted to the sun.

“Hello my love.” I said with a grin and reached out to hug her.

She felt light as if the air could blow through her like a sail. Her body was warm and soft as I held her close to my chest.

As she snuggled into my chest she said with a laugh, “Hey, babe.”

“It is just like I imagined.”

“You mean your vision?”

I never told her about the image I had when she was still in the hospital and was surprised when she mentioned it.

“How’d you know, Frankie?”

“I had the same dream before I came up here.”

I was amazed at the fact that I was holding my dear wife so close to me in her special garden and felt the beauty of peace washing over us as we walked together through the garden. She told me all about the flowers –and how she takes care of them– and all the different animals and other people that come through the garden.

“Really? Anyone famous?” I figured some dead person had to have come through there.

With a laugh she said, “Yeah, there are a few people who were famous back on Earth, but we all know each other now.”

“Well, give me some names.”

“Alright. Uh, there’s Mickey Mantle. He comes by every now and then; we talk for a bit before he heads down to the lake. Oh! Abigail Adams comes occasionally and helps me trim some of the shrubs. And of course, my dear friend, Amy – she is so much fun.”

“Who’s Amy? Is she famous?”

“Solomon, does it really matter? Are you really up here to talk to me about celebrities who walk through my garden or do you want to know why I brought you up here?”

“Sorry, baby. Wait! You brought me up here?”

“Sure. I saw the whole thing down there with that wicked thing, Lo. If you are going to do what you said then you need to know some things,” she said rather matter-of-fact.

She stopped walking and leaned against a tree and pulled me to wrap around her for a quick kiss.

“So, what is it I need to know?” curious and drinking in every single moment because I realized I was not going to stay but a moment.

“There will be a great fight. Yes, you paid her price – and you claimed her as your own – but now she must choose you. It will not be easy because the Dark Kingdom has her wrapped around its fingers. You must show her that you are her salvation and that you bought her and claimed her, but the only way for her to be free is for her to choose you through your love. Solomon, do you love her?” She straightened her back and looked directly at my eyes.

“Yes, I died that she may live.”

“Yes, but are you now willing to chase after her?”

“I can save her, Frankie. I saw the evil of the darkness and she is helpless without me. She will die in absolute horror and fear. I cannot have that on my conscious and do nothing about it. So, yes, I am willing.”

“Yes, you are willing one, aren’t you? I like your new nickname, Solomon, the Willing One! How fantastic!”

“So – am I to head back down and save her?”

“Just a moment more with me, my love, if you can stand it!”

“I’ll be back soon, right?”

“Only a moment… my love…only a moment more” The light grew bright around the two of us. I reached for a kiss and felt her lips press lightly against mine before she was gone.

The light flashed in beams of white and blue, reds and bright greens. And as the array of color surrounded me I felt my body again and it felt sore. The light slowly dimmed to nothing more than a florescent light above the hospital bed. It was over and I was alive again, with a mission: To save Cy from the Darkness, no matter the cost.

Chapter Ten: Cy “Show me your face, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely…”

“Sssso you thought we were gone, did you now, little Cy?” It must have been only a few hours after I was released from the hospital. The voices came back, but this time they were hard pressed to keep me.

“You sssee, it was all a test to make sure you were ready for the higher level and now that you passed you are able to speak with great power. Cy, you are now full of power.”

Lo spoke so softly to me that it felt like water washing over my body. There was still tenseness in the atmosphere around her whenever she did speak – but it was subtle and difficult to pick up.

Returning from rehab was difficult since I knew I was still in treatment and that I wasn’t ‘cured’ from anything. The problem with rehab or rather rejecting rehab and returning to the old ways is that you forget that your body cannot handle the same potency as it once could. So the first shot of heroin I took as I settled into my house nearly sent me to the grave. After a few weeks my tolerance built up and I began using more heroin heavily than ever.

The drugs opened me up to so many things I had never experienced before. Like Lo promised, I was able to speak with great power. Just as Sampson showed me that one night, I could move things with my mind and even read people’s thoughts as they passed by. My dreams were vivid and tightly wound around the voices prodding to further seek my abilities through shooting up and meditation. I had dreams where Lo would wrap my body in chains and present figures in front of me. These shadows seemed to be people who were full of fear and trepidation and I was commanded to speak to them “prophesies” which seemed to melt their fear and soothe their worries.

Despite my understanding that I was killing my body with every dose of drugs, I felt that I was actually curing these “people” I had seen in my dreams and hallucinations. Although after some time I realized these people were not real and I was simply a puppet in their hands. The power I had was incredible. I could go days without eating and sleeping. I threw a man ten feet when he tried to attack me. Another time I jumped off the top of a building and landed completely unharmed. It was insanity and it was all because the voices were sucking me into their world and I was in complete oblivion.

There was one day I remember clearly when my friend Sampson came over. By this time I was able to read people’s thoughts before they said a word and could manipulate most things in my house. He came over around three in the morning and woke me from sleep. I had no idea how he got into my house since I locked the door.

“Cy, wake up,” he said abruptly as he shook the covers off my feet.

“My dear Ssssampson, what is it?”

“There is a man after you! He is coming to get you!” We must leave now before he finds you and takes you away. Hurry! We must leave now!”

“I am not afraid of ssssome man Sampson. If he wants me then

he will have to take me and trussst me, I do not leave easily.”

“You must leave now! It is Solomon!”

My heart jumped as he said that name. How could he know of Solomon and why would it cause such a panic to him. Lo seemed nervous as well when I consulted her. She was quiet and said that I must resist him at all cost for he will destroy me completely. I saw images of that peaceful face saving my life that day on the bridge and the times when he and Allison took care of me. My heart was completely vulnerable at the very idea of Solomon coming after me. Even though I was trapped and racked in chains by Lo and the other voices, I felt like a flickering ember was glowing inside a deep place I had hidden, or had been protected.

I was panicking and trying to pack my clothes in some bags; Sampson demanded and pleaded that I leave with him.

“You don’t understand this guy Cy. He is not normal. He is not one of us and does not belong here.”

“Lissssten my child. If Sssssolomon wants me, then he must come and claim me, which will not be an easy task to be taken. He will fall or we will fall. There is no need to run, my dear. What is gained in fleeing if it is mandated that he and I meet?”

“He is not like us. He will come for you and will not stop until he has you.”

I heard the words spew out of my mouth calling him all sorts of vile things – but my heart was hushed in its excitement. When I heard his voice my heart began to yearn for him to come and save me. Though I slept in my sin, my heart was waiting. It was a long night and I was weary – but my heart was waiting for the arrival of Solomon.

Despite my heart, I ran. I honestly don’t know what came over me. I ran with Sampson to this run-down theatre outside of town.

He pulled me out of my house and into his beat up truck, which we then drove to the run-down theatre. A large wooden sign with The

Horizon painted on it barely hung above the marquee of the dilapidated building. It was faded and dark but Sampson insisted that we go inside and hide out for a few days. I felt the familiar pull of the voices begin to call out to me from inside the theatre and with a burst of the door we walked inside.

The place smelled wet and moldy, like there had been a leak on the carpet for thirty years and no one cleaned it up. It was hard to see as I was pulled inside, but after a few minutes my eyes adjusted to make out the faint rows of chairs and the aisle as Sampson and I walked toward the stage. He was quiet but continued to pull me deeper into the theatre until we made it to the pit in front of the stage. Coming up to the stage I stretched out my hand feeling the wood, still not seeing very well. Then he grabbed it and said with a tense voice that was full of fear – “You need to be very careful, my princess.” He began to squeeze my hand until I felt my veins throbbing. “This is not a place for exploration.”

“Sampson, why must we hide from someone I have known for years? I am not scared of Solomon,” I said, pulling my hand from his grip.

“You most certainly do not understand him. He is not who he used to be. This man is after you.” He paused and called out for the voices in a loud and booming shout with his head stretched to the ceiling so it echoed throughout the entire theatre. “I call forth the voices, those who guard and guide our Cy.” Then with a burning in my gut I felt the voices approach again.

They were stronger than I had ever felt them before. And like a flow of water coming down the aisle of the theatre, his deep voice belched as I felt cold wrap around my body, “Cy! You must kill Solomon!”

“Who is speaking to me?”

“I am the one who you fear, the one who causes you and the whole world to tremble. I am the Great Light. I am the Light of the

World.”

The voice sounded like it was screeching in my ears and filled the room with its breath. I felt my body shake with an absolute fear and coil like I was shoved into a freezer. By that time I forgot about Sampson and was finding myself being swallowed into this thing, this beast of a voice, this turbulent echo inside my body that shook me. I was terrified.

“What is Solomon to you?” I asked the Great Light.

“He is a criminal; claiming things that are not his as his own and fighting my kingdom. He must be destroyed. He must be destroyed tonight.” The Light began pounding my chest with his words and growing larger inside the theatre until it seemed that his shadow filled every crevice of the building.

Sheepishly I asked even though I knew the answer, “You want me to kill Solomon?”

“Cy, you are the one to destroy him. If you do not, he will destroy you.”

“Solomon is coming to kill me?!”

“You killed him, now he is coming to kill you. You ruined his life by taking his wife and now he will cut you with a knife.” He sung with a creepy laughter.

My face turned pale realizing that the Light could be true in what he was saying. I never thought that I could be considered as the one who killed Allison, but maybe Solomon thought otherwise.

It fit together and at that moment I was actually more afraid of Solomon than I was of the Great Light and all the other voices swirling around me. Was he really going to come after me? If he did try to kill me, I would have no choice but to defend myself, even if that meant killing him.

Terrified and lost in that great old theatre.

The voices were constant as I tried to sleep through the night with Sampson sleeping close to me, revolver in his hand. I felt the fear continue to percolate until I saw the sliver of light blue peaking through the darkness as the sun began to come up. My head was pounding from the conversation that night and possibly from hitting my head on the stage after trying to walk in my state of delirium. Despite the peace of that moment and waking up on the balcony of that old movie theatre, I clearly remembered the fear of Solomon coming to make justice.

Shoving Sampson off of me, I sat up in a panic waiting for someone to tell me what to do or where to go. I figured I would start off on some outlandish adventure across the world running for the rest of my life from the man who wanted to kill me. Instead I sat waiting for something to happen, cold and hungry. Eventually Sampson woke up like a slob.

“You hungry?” he asked as he rubbed his eyes.

“Actually, I am starving.” I was craving a nice big stack of waffles; or, if anything, a cigarette and some coffee.

“Good.” He stood up and pulled my arm, lifting me to my feet.

It was still very dark in the theatre and I still could not clearly see much of anything, but Sampson seemed to know the place pretty well. He held me by the arm and walked me through the building until we were outside. It must have been somewhere around five in the morning since I saw no cars and the sun was just barely filtering through the sky. The wind was still but there was a chill in the air. Without my jacket I burrowed my hands into my pockets and shrugged my body trying to maintain some heat.

Sampson, on the other hand, was wearing a thin shirt and sandals but seemed unaffected by the weather. Maybe he was too focused or scared to be cold.

After a few minutes of fast-paced walking, we made it to a little gas station where we grabbed a few of those burritos by the cashier that sit under heat lamps all day. I was so hungry I really didn’t even care as the hot grease dripped down my chin and

soaked my hands. The cashier gave us a funny look and saw that Sampson was still holding tightly to my arm.

“So – where are you two staying?” He asked politely with concern pressed behind his attempt at remaining nonchalant. For some reason, I thought I recognized him, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. His beard was thick and covered up much of his face, but his eyes seemed to catch me.

‘We’re just moving through town,” Sampson said, bluntly refusing to make eye contact.

The cashier leaned over the counter, “Miss, are you okay?”

“She’s fine.”

‘Perhaps she might like to answer the question, sir?”

With that Sampson lifted his shirt revealing his pistol, “Perhaps you shouldn’t ask so many questions, you punk kid.”

The cashier’s face fell as he glanced at the gun and lifted his hands off the counter, “I don’t want any trouble, okay?” He said in a rushed voice.

“Good.” Sampson lowered his shirt, covering his gun. “You shouldn’t be so inquisitive.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t want any trouble.” The cashier said, looking at me like he was examining me with pity. “Why don’t you just go on, okay?”

“Sorry, he’s just tired,” I said, pulling away from the counter as Sampson began tugging on my arm.

Leaving was rushed and silent as the cashier kept staring at my face and Sampson as we walked out the store. With a swish of the sliding doors, we entered into the chilled air. Quickly I turned around to see that familiar looking man lifting the phone off the counter and putting it to his ear. “He’s probably calling the police,”

I thought to myself. We continued to walk back to the theatre as I saw the gradual increase of cars as it grew later in the morning.

“That dude gave me a bad feeling,” Sampson said as he pulled me along the sidewalk.

“It would have been fine if you didn’t show him the gun, Sampson. You don’t think very quickly, do you?”

“You don’t talk to me like that, Cy.” He stammered as he threw his hand across my face. “I am here to protect you and no old man is going to get in my way. Watch your lip.”

My face stung and I felt the heat of my face burning as it met the cold air. I felt trapped. I remember thinking of just running over to Solomon so he could just get all this over with so I could stop hurting and being hurt. With another strong pull, Sampson yanked me into the theatre again. The smell of mildew and smoke hung thickly in the air.

Sampson and I walked past the chairs and onto the stage. It was still dark but light was beginning to filter into the room as the sun rose. I heard some noise up ahead of us as we walked across the stage toward the backstage. Behind the ripped curtains and stacks of metal pipes and wire there was a group of people sitting on a few old couches. Smokes was swirling around their heads and on the small table in front of them were bags of heroin and anything else that they could have used.

“Sit here” Sampson commanded as he pushed me onto one of the couches next to a man who was covered in tattoos and had his eyebrow pierced. “This is Cy, the one we are looking after,” he said to the tattooed man.

“So you are the great Cy,” he said as he handed me a cigarette.

“Yeah, I’m her. And who are you?”

“I’m the guy who’s here to help you kill Solomon.”

“How do you know about Solomon?” I said, sliding away from him in shock.

“Same way we all know you, Cy.” He laughed. “This is how.”

With that I felt the familiar sting in my arm as he shoved a syringe in my arm. I felt the surge of passion flow through my body and my eyelids fall over my eyes.

Mumbling softly, “I don’t want this anymore.” I felt my body convulse and shock as it slid deeper into the dirty couch. Then as expected I felt hands begin to crawl over my body and then I blacked out and stepped into the world of the voices again.

“We are trying to protect you, Cy. Why are you fighting ussss?”

It was Lo, and she seemed calm but pent up with fear and power. I had no reason to answer her, nor did I really have anything to say. All I knew was that I was tired of fighting, tired of getting inches away from death and tired of the idea of being dragged around for the rest of my life. Lo was waiting for an answer and grew impatient as I waffled, thinking of something to appease her.

“I am so tired.”

“Thissss can all be over with and you don’t have to worry about Solomon ever again, Cy. I don’t know why you are sssso difficult with me.”

She pulled herself closer to me like a shadow growing larger as the sun set in front of it. I felt the fear but realized I had nothing to lose, which she knew as well. I knew she would not kill me, and even if I were murdered, it would matter little. I knew I was a worm; no good and completely worthless. I would actually be helping out the human race if I died. I was a strain on the world and added nothing to it. There was no good inside of me. My goodness was like a pile of filthy rags just waiting to be thrown into the garbage.

“I am here to save you from Ssssolomon. If you let me.”

“I don’t care anymore. I’m going to die anyway, so just go ahead and get it over with.”

I felt my body grow limp and weak. Everything was growing into a blur of grey and white as I waited for her answer. Suddenly my mind snapped into clarity as I heard the loud crash and screaming of police officers.

“Freeze! Everyone on the ground!”

Then a barrage of shots was fired as I was thrown behind one of the couches. I heard more screams and shouting, as the place was flooded with police and flashlights. I looked around and saw Sampson standing still and drenched in blood. The same fate fell on the other people, a few cops and the tattooed man still gripping his pistol. As the gunfire was silenced I heard loud stomps of police searching the stage and the seats.

“Is anyone still alive? Is there a young woman alive?”

“I’m over here,” I whispered, still in a daze from the drugs.

“Is anyone alive?”

“I’m over here!” I said louder and attempted to stand.

“There she is,” one of the cops shouted as a flood of flashlights beamed in my eyes. “Miss, you’re going to be okay!”

℘℘℘℘℘℘℘℘ If I am remembering correctly, I woke up in a police station. I wasn’t handcuffed, but I knew I did not want to be there any longer than was absolutely necessary. Apparently, the cashier called the police and followed Sampson and me back to the theatre. The cops crashed the place to get me as well as arrest the man with the tattoos. They said he was the main drug dealer of the area and had

hundreds of pounds of drugs stashed in the theatre.

I hated the police station. The place was cold and bright. The chairs were so uncomfortable that, I don’t know how, but they actually seemed like they were fake chairs. I was given a pair of shoes and a loose jacket, and next to me was a sandwich wrapped in cling wrap. While it was better than being in the jail part of the station, being in a police station for any reason is uncomfortable.

Waking up was awkward since, at first, I had no idea where I was and what time it must have been. I knew that Sampson was shot and I wasn’t in the theatre anymore, but I had no idea that I was in a police station until I saw all the uniforms.

“Miss?” A woman officer said, crouching down to see if I had awakened. “Do you know where you are?”

With a struggle, “Uh… in a police station, I assume.”

“Good. Do you know your name?”

“Yes, Cy.” “Do you think you can walk or would you like something to drink first?”

“I’ll take some water,” I said sitting up straight.

“Sure,” The officer said handing me a ready-made glass. “Can you come with me now?”

“I’m not under arrest or anything, am I?” “No. We just want to ask you some questions,” she said, turning and waving me to follow her.

I felt my gut tie in a knot around my throat and my hands begin to sweat as I slowly stood up from the chair and crept behind the officer. She was kind, but seemed on edge, like she was trying to keep herself from saying something sharp. We walked around some plain desks and old swivel chairs. Then we came to a small

room with a heavy metal door painted with thick green paint. The room must not have been much bigger than a closet, but managed to contain a small desk and two chairs. Just like the rest of the station, the walls were cinder blocks with thick neutral paint and bright florescent lights beaming down linoleum floors. Not too many questions were asked since I was so tired, but she did ask about Sampson and the man with tattoos. I told them I knew nothing about anyone being a drug dealer. I had nothing really to give other than the telling her that Sampson took me to the theatre and about the cashier at the gas station.

After a few minutes sitting in another uncomfortable chair I was released. I didn’t want to head back to my apartment and I knew I wasn’t supposed to go back to the theatre. So I picked up the phone and called the one woman who I hoped would be able to help me. I hadn’t talked to her in well over a year, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to give her a call. The worst she could do was tell me no.

The phone rang three times before an answer. “Hello?” My aunt said sweetly.

“Aunt Steph?” waiting for a response that never came, “it’s Cy.” Then there was another long pause. “Aunt Steph? Are you there?”

“Cy?” her voice said softly.

“Yes,it’s me.”

From over the phone it sounded like she was gasping for air, but I knew she was crying. “Honey, I thought you were dead.”

“I was pretty close.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m leaving the police station. They brought me in to ask

some questions about an investigation.”

“Which police station?”

“Are you in Boston?”

“Close enough, which one?”

“Uh, I think the one by Meridian Street, across from the Mexican Restaurant and the Shell station.”

“Wait there, I’ll be there in thirty minutes!”

Sure enough, in thirty minutes I saw Aunt Steph’s little BMW pull up in the police station with her big grin pushing its way through the window and the street lights.

“Get in.” She gave me a look over and her face turned pale.

“Cy, you look dreadful.”

“It’s been a rough few months, Aunt Steph.”

She smiled softly revealing a little bit of hurt under her façade; making sure not to say what she must have been dying to say like – “Why haven’t you called? Where have you been? What have you gotten yourself into? Where was the Cy that left my house for great things? Why are you such a wreck and such an unfixable mess? Do you realize how much pain you have put me through? Did you even consider other people when you decided to toss your life down the garbage disposal?” But she said nothing and quickly drove away from the station and back to her place in Quincy ∍.

As we approached her house –maybe five minutes away– she turned to me with a look of sweet concern and said, “Do you know Solomon has been looking for you?”

Chapter Eleven: Solomon “Who is this coming up from the desert like a column of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and incense made from all the spices of the merchant?�

I believe that we are not meant to sit idly by when destruction surrounds us. While I am not a proponent for extreme activism, there is no room for pacifism when there are people walking blindly to their deaths with smiles smacked across their faces.

There was Cy, being pulled toward a roaring furnace by voices and needles. She had no idea of the devastation about to beset her, but I did. Was I going to do nothing and just let her fall into death without even trying to help? Is there someone in your life who you know who you think is heading in the wrong direction? Let me say very clearly, if you think someone is falling away, they are not merely taking a stroll toward their demise; they are running a hundred miles an hour away from safety. Are you going to do nothing? Are you not going to reach out a hand? She was dying everyday and growing deeper into the darkness. I knew that I was going to be the one to grab her and pull her to the light, even if that meant dying all over again.

I woke up from the hospital with this thought running through

my mind, “Find her, save her, and love her.” I suppose it was the painkillers they were giving me, but I felt completely disconnected from my body. My arms were in casts and my ribs were tightened with wrapping. My head had bandages stretched across and my right leg felt completely numb. The only pain I did feel was the wound on my side and the cuts in my arms, but it was subdued and disconnected from my head.

“Oh! Good, you’re awake!” said a nurse leaning over my bed as she was dressing my bandages.

“What day is it?” I mumbled.

“Sunday, April 12th.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Oh, my, a few days. We thought you were gone about three days ago, but here you are.” She was strangely effervescent and nonchalant as she said that people thought I was dead for about three days.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Mary.”

I smiled as much as I could. “What a pretty name, Mary, you have a wonderful name.”

She smiled and blushed a little as she removed gauze from my side. “Well, you are healing quite nicely.”

“Really? So when do you think I should be able to get out of here?”

“Soon, the doctor will be able to give you a better idea. You were in pretty bad condition when you first came in.”

“Yeah, I remember that.”

“Well, I’d better let you rest, Solomon.” Mary said as she wrapped up a new bandage around my waist. “You get some sleep, okay?” Then she slipped a kiss on my cheek.

“Whoa! Thanks!” I laughed.

She smiled big and left the room quickly. (Apparently nurses kissing patients is frowned upon, albeit thoroughly enjoyable in the medical profession.)

Her name was Mary, and she was a sweet fresh breath as I entered my new life.

The pain of recovery was nothing in comparison to the anticipation building as I longed to go find Cy. I tried to call her house phone but there was no answer. The same was for her cell phone. I began asking around the hospital, as I grew more adept to being a recovering patient. I figured someone had to have seen her after the accident or at least heard of her; but no one had any information about her.

“She’s a small woman with dark hair and skinny. You haven’t seen anyone like that, have you?” I asked Mary.

“No, I pulled the records from the ER for that day and the only people admitted were you, a man with a crushed leg from a construction accident and a heroin addict.”

“Tell me about the heroin addict.”

“Well, I can’t tell you much, but we know that she was admitted about a half hour after you.”

“She?” “Yes, a young woman, Caucasian, and from this report, pretty beat up and high on heroin.”

I sat up in the bed, which caused excruciating pain, “That’s her! That’s Cy! Is there a name?”

Mary scanned the clipboard. “No, she’s a Jane Doe.” “That’s her. I know that’s her.” “ I doubt it. She was taken to our rehab facility and stayed there for about a week. She didn’t look very healthy and we actually had her on suicide watch for a 72 hour period.”

I grabbed her hand. “That is Cy, Mary. That is the one I have to find.”

“Solomon, you are no Superman,” she said as she rolled her eyes. “She might be dead. We don’t even know if that is Cy. How can you even think of going after this mess of a girl? She could get worse. She could hurt herself. You don’t have the strength to help someone like her. Do you really think that your love is going to save her, help her or get her out of her mess?”

By this time she was trying to hold back tears in her eyes. I could tell she was not talking about “that heroin addict” anymore.

“You can’t help a mess like that. You can’t save someone who doesn’t want anything to do with you. You can’t save her, Solomon. You can’t save her. She is lost.”

I felt my heart break for Mary. She was kind, and over the hours we spent talking to each other during my days in the hospital, I grew to enjoy her. I figured from our conversations that there was a point of pain she kept circling around as we talked, but she never addressed it. There was always that glaze of heartache sitting behind her eyes. You could only see it if you stared deep into those bright green eyes. She wasn’t talking about some girl, or just some lost soul. Mary became vulnerable; open, honest and scared –but she didn’t stop. She didn’t hold back. She was talking to me, talking to the man who was out to rescue someone.

“Mary, Mary, who says I can’t save her?”

“I can’t be helped. I can’t get out and I’m stuck. You have no idea, Solomon. You can’t save me.”

“I can, Mary.”

“How? I don’t know where to begin.”

“That’s okay. You can stop fighting now.”

“I’m just so tired, Solomon.”

“I know. But now I can help you.”

“How? You are wrapped up and beat up. How can you possibly help me?”

“Mary, Mary, I can help you because I can love you. I can be the one to take that pain. I can be the one to grab hold of your heartache and set it on my wounds. All you have to do is give me that pain, give me all the agony and lonely nights. I can handle it.

Mary, I can love you, if you just believe. Do you want to believe, Mary?”

“I do.”

“Mary, today you are loved. Mary, you are loved.”

She began to weep and threw her face in her hands. She sat on my bed and held out her hand, which I took and held. Again I said, “Mary, today you are loved,” feeling a great sweep of energy in my voice and a peace flow out of me and on Mary.

“Mary, today you are loved.”

Now I was ready to find Cy.

∝∝∝∝∝∝∝∝ Leaving the hospital was so strange in comparison to the last time I left. Before I was crushed and shattered after realizing I was going to lose Frankie. I left on this particular occasion with a new hope and lightness. After helping Mary, I knew I was to go and

find Cy without any question. It simply became a matter of how and when I was going to do it. Was I to pin her down and demand her to come with me? Or should I sneak into her world under disguise and suddenly surprise her with who I really was∗? Then I realized it did not necessarily matter how I went about it as long as I knew I was going to find her and she knew I was coming to save her. I felt a rush that night when I began planning everything. It was more or less an energy that began to grow inside of me –like having legs that can’t stop moving or fast moving fingers on a keyboard. I had laid out a plan to go and search the last place I saw her, other than the bridge, and then start asking questions until I found someone who knew something of where she might be.

As I am remembering all of this, I can feel that excitement and nervousness again. My stomach is in knots and I’m breathing shallow.

I was biting at the bit that night, but knew there was an opportune time to find her. It would all work out perfectly. I remember saying over and over as I was in the hospital, “I’m coming for you, Cy. I’m coming for you.” While I knew that it was not going to be an easy task, especially after having to deal with those creatures that had control over her, my heart raced the morning I was released from the hospital. It must not have been an hour before I had rented a car and drove to Cy’s house with bright eyes and palpable energy gripping my steering wheel in excitement.

Then my heart sank as I came upon her house. When I first saw it –several years earlier – it was a lovely Victorian house with a small garden in the front and yellow paint on the wood siding. As I parked the car in the street, the yellow paint was now covered in dirt and was fading. There were large cracks and missing chunks all along the wall, like someone had ripped the wooden siding off to crawl under the house. The garden was gone and replaced with scorched ground barely sprouting weeds. Most of the windows either had boards slapped on them or giant holes and cracks. As I walked up the path to the door, a smell of filth and garbage grew stronger and stronger until it was unbearable. I grabbed my sleeve and covered my nose to block the stench.

The door was propped against the wall inside the main hallway letting whoever or whatever complete access –and it showed. There were deep gouges along the walls with trash strewn all over the floor. If one piece of furniture was knocked over or torn to pieces, every piece was as well.

The stench grew as I walked deeper into the house, hoping to find Cy in the midst of all the grime; it became difficult to breathe without gagging. There were burn marks on the floors and climbing up the walls and strange markings scratched deep into the wood floors. The word, Lo-Ruhamah, was scratched over and over along the walls and the floors, along with violent drawings. I saw trails of dried blood smeared across the main room and hundreds of syringes and needles thrown around. Her bedroom was covered with garbage and more carvings. There were images of animals with human heads and evil creatures spread over the walls and the ceiling. From the looks of it, there were straps on the bedposts and ropes looped over and under the mattress.

I was in absolute shock and horror at everything. The stench continued to seep into my clothing to the point that it was of no use to try and escape it. Then after seeing that there was no one there and leaving the house, I broke down and wept; I cried until my stomach hurt. My heart was broken as I pictured Cy being beaten and tortured by those creatures and whoever else could get his hands on her. I screamed in anger at what happened in that house. I began hitting my chest in grief and sadness until I gripped myself and stood straight.

I felt the anger and horror of everything growing wildly and violently in my stomach. I thought of the creatures in the darkness and their schemes to kill Cy. My mind raced in rage until I made clear to anyone who heard me. “I will search all through the night for her and when I find her, I will not let her go.�

In my state of fury I went back into the house, ignoring the smell and the revulsion of it all. I went to the kitchen and grabbed a small notebook on the counter. It was small and red and had

hundreds of numbers and names scribbled onto the pages. This was it. This was how I was going to find her. Immediately I bolted to the car and flipped through the notebook to see the name – Aunt Steph, and her number. My mind replayed the time we went to see Cy in the hospital and then meeting her aunt, Aunt Steph.

Her number was local so I gave it a call. No answer. I tried again. Still no answer. Then a third time, not even waiting for the second call to hang up. It rang and my heart began to race. It rang again. Three rings and then there was a soft voice on the line, “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Aunt Steph?”

“Who is this?”

“Are you Stephanie?”

“Yes, now who is this?” She said pointedly.

“My name is Solomon and I am trying to find your niece, Cy. Are you her aunt?”

There was a pause over the line then I heard a gasp of air. “I am. I’m her aunt. Are you Allison’s Solomon?”

“Yes ma’am. Do you know where she is?”

Another pause, then I heard what sounded like crying. Steph said the one thing I feared, especially after leaving Cy’s house, “She’s dead.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said she’s dead!” She yelped over the phone.

“Are you sure she’s dead?”

“No, but I haven’t seen her in over a year. I think she had a drug overdose and died.”

“So, you don’t know if she is alive or dead?”

“Son, what are you doing to me? I am trying to live my life knowing that I’ll never see my sweet Cy again; and you dare to call me asking if I am sure if she is dead? What are you trying to do?”

“Ma’am, I am trying to find her and save her.”

“You can’t save her. She’s so far gone I don’t think I’d recognize her even if you did find her. Solomon, she’s gone.”

“Steph, I am here to find her and save her. Now, either you can help me find your niece or you can’t. It’s up to you. Because I will not stop until I find her.”

“I’ll help,” she sobbed.

“Great. Now I am going to go through this notebook of numbers that I found and could use some help.”

“Come to my house in thirty minutes.”

She gave me her address. It was a little house down in Quincy.

I tried as hard as I could to not speed and arrived there in exactly thirty minutes. She was a sweet woman but obviously tired from the emotions and stress of thinking she lost her niece. Steph had light red hair and green eyes and was smoking the remains of a cigarette as I pulled up to her house, Cy’s notebook in my hand.

She was tall and thin and wore a lot of pink. Her house was simple and to the point, mainly functional with a little flowerpot hanging from her windowsill.

“Hello, I’m Solomon.”

“I know who you are, come inside and lets get to work.”

Without any hospitable offers of something to drink, she grabbed the red notebook and began tearing pages out of it and handing some to me. “Here, you call these numbers and I’ll call the

rest.” After hours of calling one number after another with few picking up or knowing anything about Cy, we both grew tired; but we kept pressing on.

“Sampson. I’ll call him,” I said.

The phone rang about seven times before anyone picked up.

On the other side the voice sounded big and smoky. “Hello?”

“Is this Sampson?”

“Si, who’s this?”

“Do you know a woman by the name of Cy?” I didn’t even bother giving my information.

“Yeah, I do. Who wants to know?”

“I want to know. Do you know where she is?”

“Yeah, she’s with me. Now who is this?”

My heart leapt knowing that he was with her. “My name is Solomon and I’m looking for her.”

“Solomon, you better stop looking for her, okay?” I heard fear creep up his throat. “She don’t want anything to do with you, okay?”

“How’s that?”

“She does not want anything to do with you, okay?”

“Sampson, I would choose your words very carefully if I were you. You see, I know where you live, what you do and who your friends are. So you can either help me or not. Either way, I am coming to save Cy. Am I clear?”

“Save her? More like kill her. I know all about you, Solomon. I know Lo-Ruhamah and she told me about you. So you better back

off.”

I hung up the phone and told Steph that she was with this guy Sampson. His address and phone number were in the notebook; she and I jumped in my car and headed to his place.

It was an old apartment complex, the kind with bars on the windows and gravel for a parking lot – but Steph and I didn’t care.

We walked right up to his door and knocked. I refused to carry a gun, but Steph was packing her .38 pistol. I did not want to be on the wrong side of that woman. No one answered; so we knocked again – louder. Still no one answered the door. “Cy! Are you in there?” Aunt Steph screamed through the door. Still no one answered.

I couldn’t take it anymore, especially after seeing Cy’s house. I could only imagine what was being done to her. Finally, I kicked the door as hard as I could until the frame cracked behind the deadbolt. Then I slammed my shoulder into the door until it broke.

No one was in the apartment, but the familiar smell of Cy’s place punched the two of us in the face. There were similar carvings and markings along the walls and the place was filthy. I went to the bedroom, but no one was in there. No straps or anything, but plenty of drawings and carvings like at Cy’s house.

“No one is here. Look for some hint on where they might have gone.”

“How do you know if they left? He might have run to the store?”

“Steph, he took her and might hurt her. I know the things that control him, and they are not going to run to the store when I am after them.”

I began searching the place and found nothing except piles of flyers for a movie theater.

“The Horizon is going to be demolished unless we do something.

Come tonight and find out what you can do…” The flyer read.

“Maybe they went here,” I said in a panic. “Do you know where this is?”

“I think I do. Should we go there?’

Without answering her question I walked out of the apartment toward the car. It was not a question of if anymore. It was how and when I was going to find her.

The place was in shambles. By that time it must have been just starting to get dark and the only thing that illuminated the building were the street lamps. It was boarded up and covered with posters and graffiti. There was a chain link fence wrapped around the entire building; but that did not seem to stop whoever cut holes along the fence to get in. Not wanting to go in, Steph stayed behind and let me crawl under the fence to see if Cy was there. Just as expected, the place was a dump.

The floors were buckled and the curtains were in shreds. The seats were broken apart and thrown into piles and the place stunk.

The smell was not as bad as it was in Cy’s place or that apartment, but it still made its presence known by stinging my nostrils.

“What are you doing here, Solomon?” said an unseen voice.

“You have no right to be here.”

“I’m looking for Cy. If she is here, I want to know,” I yelled.

“You had better leave thisss place, Willing One, or great dessstruction will beset your dear friend.” It was the voice of one of the creatures – the one with the ember glowing in its belly.

“I am here to find Cy, Lo-Ruhamah. Do not try to stop me.”

“If you come one step closer, we will kill her!” yelled another unseen voice.

“So – she is here then.”

“Do not try usss, Willing One. You have no right to be here.

This is my domain and Cy is mine as well.”

“You know I am here to claim what is rightfully mine and I know you will not kill her. So, either show yourselves or bring me Cy.” I heard the creature cackling, “You want me to show myself?

Do you honestly know what you are asking? Ha! I will crush you like a crumb that falls from a table! Fine, I will show myself, and you will be eternally sorry, Willing One.” The room became cold and quiet as sweeping sounds began rushing up and down the aisles of the theater. I saw the familiar glow of a creature in the darkness; but instead of it remaining in the form of a twisted man, the glow ran up and down something that resembled a great snake. The ember seemed to glow brighter and brighter as the snake grew from small and translucent to a large monstrosity that was clearly material. As it grew, it began to writhe on the floor, tossing chairs and garbage in the air as it slithered, but I stood still and strong, knowing I had power over this thing.

“Why are you here, Sssssolomon?” the creature said as it drew closer to me.

“Love.”

“Love?” the creature laughed. “Love is dead. I am dead. Cy is dead.”

“She is alive and you know it. Either show her to me or leave, but do not try to scare me.”

“Are you not afraid, Ssssolomon? You know I have the power to completely obliterate you.”

“Try your best, you filthy, lying snake.”

“If that is what you wish, then I will happily oblige you.”

The creature spun around in a fury and began speaking in some evil language, as it grew larger and larger. By this time it had reached the top of the ceiling and the once glowing ember became a fire racing up and down the body of the creature. The heat was intense and brilliant; but I did not move an inch.

“Come and try me, you weak nothing of darkness, you shallow hope of strength, you frail shell of life, you miserable waste of energy. See if I don’t crush you like the worm you are.”

“I will dessstroy you, Willing One!” The creature raised its body directly above me, swirling and spitting fire and wind as it climbed in the air. Then with a belch of terror, like trains colliding, the creature dove with great speed. The sound was loud and crashing, but I did not move.

“You are mine!” screamed the snake as it dropped its full weight down toward me.

Then with a loud boom, the snake made impact with the ground, shaking everything around it with a deep pounding crash.

The chairs flew in the air and the fire that was trapped inside the creature was released like a furnace blast. Then as the violence settled and the terror ceased I found myself standing on top of the snake with my heel pressed on its neck. The creature was writhing underneath me. Its tail was flailing to no avail.

“I am here to claim Cy. You will not stop me or destroy me.” I yelled to anyone left inside the building as well as the snake pinned underneath me. Then in a final driving force of strength, I pressed as hard as I could against the head of the snake until I heard a satisfactory crunch beneath my feet. The fire cooled quickly and the snake shrunk until it was nothing but a swirling trail of ash.

I felt the energy drain out of me as I felt the building return to its derelict state without its giant snakes and flames of fire. The weakness was great and it was a strain to make my way back outside the theater and to the car. Steph was sitting there quietly with a glaze of hope draped over her eyes. As I came to the car she

saw how weak I was and jumped out to help me into the passenger seat.

“Well?” said Steph as she flipped the key to start the car.

“She is not there, but I know I will find her.”

“What happened in there?”

“I won.”

“Won what?”

“I won. Take me home.”

With that, she turned the heater on so it warmed my feet and drove me back to her house. “You’ll stay with me from now on.”

She said without waiting for a response. My body felt empty but strong, like a cast iron pot. I knew I was going to find her; and I knew nothing was going to stand in my way until I did.

∝∝∝∝∝∝∝∝ My head was pounding as I woke up. Forgetting where I was, I felt the soothing shock of a heavy blanket covering me. The twilight of the night with grey streams of light began to creep through the window. I had never felt such a tiredness be relieved with so deep a sleep, and without a moment of consciousness passing did I return to thinking about Cy. I could not seem to escape my thoughts from Cy and going after her. Despite the warmth of the bed and the peace of Aunt Steph’s house, I began to prepare for another day of searching.

Steph was awake, sipping coffee and thumbing through the newspaper as I came into the living room. She had the light blue wingback chair positioned perfectly underneath a lamp and in sight of her bay window facing the garden in the backyard. From the looks of it, it seemed that she had been sitting there, comfortably, for a while.

“How’d you sleep?” I asked as I made my way to grab a cup of coffee and join her.

“I don’t sleep very well,” she said as she took a quick sip.

“No?” “Yeah, I might get a good four hour stint of sleep, but that’s usually it.”

Sitting down in the matching wingback chair – “Wow. How does that affect you?”

“As you would think. But I manage.” She set the paper down and turned to face me. “What happened last night, Solomon?”

“At the theater?”

“The entire night. Who are you, really? What are you doing?”

“I am who I am.”

“No, you changed since the last time I met you. I saw and heard all the noise in that building. You are not who you were when I first met you. Now, what are you trying to do?”

“Aunt Steph, I am trying to rescue Cy.” “Why? Why now? Why are you now taking interest in my niece’s life? Where were you a year ago when she started this mess and we tried to help her? Why now?”

I sat for a minute, wondering if I should tell her about what happened and what I saw. She seemed unnerved by what happened the night before, but I had nothing to lose by telling her.

“Steph, I died.”

“What do you mean?”

“The day of the accident, I died and was unresponsive for three days.”

“So? Because you died you want to find Cy?” “Just let me finish.”

She sat in complete fear and shock as I retold and relived those days in the darkness and in the garden with Frankie. I told her about the creature, Lo-Ruhamah, and its control over Cy. Then as I shared those sweet moments in the garden with Frankie I saw strength settle on Steph.

“You see, she is going to be lost if we don’t find her.”

‘But even if we do find her, she’ll still have to choose you in order for her to be free, right?”

“Steph, that is not a matter to be concerned with right now. We must find her and save her before we think about anything else.”

She sat straight in her chair and set her mug of coffee down.

“So what should we do now, Solomon?”

“I say, let’s go find Cy.” Swigging the last remains of my coffee, the two of us stood up and got ready to go and find her. Steph thought it best that we didn’t go another day without filing a missing person’s report.

I hated police stations; not the people there or the fact that the police kept the city safe, but more or less the feel of police stations.

There are desperate people waiting for answers to find out whether their family members are in jail or dead. The people behind the desk are either in a rush, or stressed, or considerably jaded by the whole process. I am always amused at how the area for the front desk is so much nicer than the rest of the building. The front lobby usually has nice ceramic tile and warmly painted walls with patriotic artwork and somewhat comfortable chairs. Walking past the lobby, there is nothing but linoleum and cinder block walls.

The lighting is harsh and the colors are thick and bland. People are constantly moving and talking. You can hear keyboards clicking away behind doors and one-way conversations on phones. It has to be the busiest place outside of a McDonald’s during lunch hour in Houston.

After a few moments of waiting and talking with the receptionist, Steph was handed a piece of paper that we had to fill out. We had to fit her description exactly and think of where she was last seen. Because of our belief that she was in great danger, we were sent to meet with a detective and one of those sketch artists. We knew she was at the theater, and at that apartment building; so they had plenty of information as well as reason to believe that, if she was still alive, in great danger.

“So what should we do now?” Steph asked the detective.

“Just wait and let us do our job.”

“So there is nothing we can do?”

“We will find her, but if you go out and try and find her, you could actually cause more harm than good.”

“Okay. We’ll just wait,” Steph said, looking at me.

“Yeah, we’ll wait,” I said, knowing I was going to do no such thing.

After a few more questions and swapping of numbers and information, the two of us left, hoping the police would come through for us. I knew that the police would do what they could.

They had hundreds, if not thousands, of people to keep track of, as well as the day-to-day activity of a normal police day. I was hopeful, but not content at that, and figured I would have to split up from Steph.

“I’m going to stay around the theater – you listen for the phone, okay?” I said plainly as we left the station.

“For how long?”

“Until you either hear something or I find her.”

“Solomon, it could be days.”

Something in my gut told me otherwise and that we should be ready to find her soon. I knew she was still alive and I knew she was being pulled deeper into the darkness with those creatures. I left Steph to take her car back to her house after dropping me off in the neighborhood close to the theater; from there I tried to find the best place to hide. Then after about an hour of walking around the blocks of the area I came across a little gas station. It was brightly lit but old. I figured that might be the best place to find Cy. There was a ‘help wanted’ sign in the window and an older gentleman standing behind the counter.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes sir, I wanted to know about the position you have available.”

“Well, do you have any experience working at a convenience store?”

“Yes, sir. I worked for over a year at a convenience store down in Thibodaux, Louisiana.”

“Can you work nights?”

“I can work whenever you need me.”

“What’s your name, son?”

“Solomon. When do I start?”

The man laughed. “Well, you’re pretty confident, aren’t you?”

“I guess so. I mean, I figure you’d offer me the position either

now or later. I’m just helping you out.”

He looked me over with a squint in his eyes and tapped his fingers on the counter. “You know what? Can you start tomorrow?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good, come in tomorrow morning at four, okay?”

“Can’t wait.”

I don’t think I ever found a job that quickly in my life.

The next morning I walked over to the gas station after sleeping inside an abandoned car. The old man was waiting there behind the counter, like he hadn’t moved since the day before.

“You ready?” he said as he handed me a red coat to wear over my clothes.

“Yes sir.”

“Good, I’ll see you in eight hours.”

He left the building, throwing me the keys to the doors and hopped in his old Buick that had seen its better days. I really had no interest in working at a gas station at four in the morning, but something deep inside me told me that I needed to be there waiting for Cy. Sure enough, within an hour, guess who would walk in?

I felt my stomach touch my Adam’s apple and my hands begin to sweat. It was everything I could do to resist jumping over the counter and hugging her, but she was with a pretty sketchy looking guy. She looked like Hell had slapped her with twenty years of age and fifty years of pain; and was held tightly by this guy. I tried to be casual but kept my eyes fixed on Cy. “So, where are you two staying?” I asked politely, trying to get as much information as I could

‘We’re just moving through town,” the tough guy said bluntly, refusing to make eye contact.

I leaned over the counter, “Miss, are you okay?”

“She’s fine.”

“Perhaps she might like to answer the question?” realizing he was the guy I spoke to on the phone –Sampson. I wanted to jump over the counter and beat him to a pulp, draining every ounce of rage I had built up.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t ask so many questions, buddy,” Sampson said as he showed his little gun.

Knowing I had to play it cool, I said, “I don’t want any trouble, okay?”

“Good,” Sampson lowered his shirt, covering his gun. “You shouldn’t be so inquisitive.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t want any trouble,” I said, keeping complete eye contact with Cy and ignoring Sampson’s little show of machismo.

“Sorry, he’s just tired,” Cy said, as Sampson gripped her arm and yanked her out the door.

My heart was beating violently and my hands were shaking after coming so close to Cy. She was alive and she walked right up to me and didn’t recognize me. She was alive!

With my hands shaking I pulled the detective’s business card from my back pocket and called him. I told him that I just saw her and she was with a man by the name of Sampson. I knew they were still at that theater. Despite the detective’s obvious frustration with my “unwarranted assistance,” he said he would call in a few patrol cars to check out the place.

“That’s a pretty rough part of town, Solomon. You’d better be

careful, but we’ll go check it out,” he stated bluntly and hung up the phone.

I knew I had made a commitment to that old guy, but I closed up shop and shut the entire gas station down and followed the two, keeping a safe distance between us. Just as I thought, he took her back to the theater and kept a tight grip on her. Out of safety’s sake, I stayed outside the theater as the cop cars arrived. There was even a SWAT vehicle.

“We have reason to believe one of Boston’s biggest drug lords is in there and that they are pretty well armed,” the detective said to me as he strapped on a bulletproof vest.

Then with a blast of gunfire, the building erupted and cops swarmed the theater. I heard shouting and shots being fired, but then after a few minutes, silence fell over the area. Dispatchers were calling in through the radios in the cop cars and more police and firemen were arriving on the scene. I heard one person say over the radio, “Twelve dead-one woman unconscious-we’re going to need medical,” and I knew they meant Cy. Ambulances started flooding the place. People were moving in and out of the building like frantic ants after you knock over their pile of sand.

“Is she alive?” I asked the detective.

“She is, but from the looks of it, she was given a massive dose of heroin right before we went in. She was lucky. Most of the shots fired came right at her, but she was behind a couch and managed to miss them all. Solomon, it’s amazing that we even found her; for her to be alive is an absolute miracle.”

“Thank you, detective,” I said as tears began filling my eyes and the weight of it all lifted. I found her and she was alive. It was almost over.

After a few moments, I picked up the phone and called Aunt Steph. She screamed so loud it hurt her voice; but then, just like me, she began weeping with joy and relief over finding her.

“It has been so long, Solomon.” She wept as she finally felt rest washing over her for the first time in a while.

“They are taking her to the police station until she wakes up.

Then I want you to pick her up.”

“Wakes up?”

“Yeah, they said she took a large dose of heroin right before they found her and she’s pretty much out of it, but you wait for her to call you, then go pick her up.”

“What about you?”

“Tell her I’ve been looking for her.

Part Four: Being Found

Chapter Twelve: Cy “Draw me after you; let us run…”

“What do you mean, he’s been looking for me?” I asked Aunt Steph in a panic.

“Easy, Cy, he and I both have been looking for you.”

“Really?” doubting her. “for how long?”

“Well, I don’t know about Solomon, but I’ve been trying to find you for some time now.”

“How long have you been looking for me, really looking for me?”

She paused. I think she knew what I was really asking. “When did you give up on me?”

While I realize I did not make it easy on her, there comes a point when you simply give up on someone. Listen, if you truly love someone and consider yourself family or at least a friend, you do not simply lay down the phone and consider it a loss if that person loses contact. If you truly love someone, you will do whatever you can to have some form of a relationship. Even if that means pain and heartache, you never give up on someone you truly

love. Now, I am not saying, let the dysfunctional person run your life into the ground – but never give up.

After a long and silent drive, we made it to her house. I felt my stomach tense and the hair stand up on my neck. If Solomon was in there, I knew I was a dead woman and about to walk into a very angry man. Steph walked in front of me, lightly, while I took my time walking up the steps to the front door. Her house was simple with blue paint and white trim, but the front door popped with color from the house with its fire truck red paint and oversized brass doorknob. With a twist the door opened, revealing that Solomon was not there, to my relief.

Aunt Steph was happy to see me, but she appeared to be quite tired. She walked me to the kitchen where she quickly showed me where everything was.

“Cy, I want to talk to you, but I do not think I can get anymore tired than I already am. Make yourself at home. I’m going to take a quick nap.”

She walked around the corner of the kitchen wall to her bedroom with a soft yawn, leaving me to myself. The house was quiet, which was so strange to me. I was used to having constant noise and voices and people, but this house was hushed. All I heard was the heater clicking on as I sat down at the counter. My mind began to churn as I realized the torment I had been through, and I wondered if it was all over. For the first time in a long time I felt safe; I felt small.

I began to think and replay, “Solomon has been looking for me.” What did he want? Why wasn’t he here? What is it that I could possibly have for him? I was feeling the frustration of the question begin to pound the front of my head, like tiny men were pushing against my forehead trying to knock it over. I sat down in one of aunt Steph’s wingback chairs and tried to close my eyes.

But as soon as I did, I would see this image of Solomon, bathed in fire coming after me. His face was white and smooth, like marble and his eyes were like fire. He carried a baseball bat and was dropping it in his hand –making a smacking sound– which I knew

was for me. I had no reason to believe that I deserved nothing less than Solomon coming in and bashing my head in with a bat. I killed his wife and killed him. I destroyed the life he was supposed to have because I allowed myself to get into bad relationships and make wrong choices. He had every right to be violently angry with me. As I sat there for about an hour, I realized Aunt Steph had every reason to be angry as well.

I heard the shuffle of feet as Aunt Steph came out of her bedroom. She had crease marks on her face and that glazed-over look people get when they just wake up. Seeing me sitting in her chair, she waved me back to the kitchen. I didn’t realize it, but it was already eight in the evening; neither of us had eaten anything since I had arrived around noon. She pulled out some leftovers and sat me down at the counter. Cold spaghetti. I hated cold spaghetti, but I was too hungry to really care. Then Aunt Steph took my plate and put it in the microwave with a laughing look that said, “What is wrong with you?”

“You know, we can heat food here,” she laughed.

“Yeah, I guess it’s been awhile for me with a microwave.”

As she opened the microwave, pulling out two steaming plates of pasta, she looked to me with big eyes and asked, “Cy, tell me.

What happened?”

She said it with such kindness that I almost melted off my stool.

“Aunt Steph, I don’t know if you can really handle it.”

With a slurp of steamy noodles she sat down next to me and tapped my hand, “Try me.”

I took a deep breath and dropped my head on my shoulders. I never thought I would actually relive or retell my life. Honestly, I never thought I would be alive to tell my story. But we sat there and I told her everything; from Saul, and living with Solomon and Allison, Sampson, and trying heroin for the first time, to the man

with the tattoos and meeting the Great Snake. Then of course, I told her about the voices and how they tried to kill me; but then how Solomon appeared out of nowhere and saved my life. I don’t know if she understood everything; but she listened – which meant more than anything. She cried with me when we talked about Allison dying; she laughed when I told her about stealing juice from the nurse’s station at the hospital. We sat and talked for hours until our dinner had grown cold.

I spent a few uneventful days with Aunt Steph, recovering from everything and reconnecting with that wonderful woman. We would rent movies and stay up late watching Conan O’Brian. It was peaceful and actually fun; the most fun I had in years. We would make pizza and talk about everything. There was nothing we did that had any regret or shame pressed on either of us. I didn’t feel like I was in some sterile rehab or in some mental facility. I was with my Aunt Steph. Despite the harmony of it all, I would still feel the burning premonition that Solomon was after me. It ate at me whenever I heard the door open or the floors creak.

He was after me and there was nothing I could do. There was a point when I just wished he would show up and do the deed. The anticipation was brutal and I couldn’t stand it anymore.

One night, I finally looked over to Aunt Steph as we were eating some take-out Chinese food. “So, where is he?” I asked her.

“Who? Solomon? I don’t know.” She set her food down and looked at me. “Are you expecting him?”

“You told me he was looking for me. I figured you had called him by now and he would come over at some point. It’s been over a week and I’m trying not to freak out.”

“Freak out? Why would you freak out, Cy?” I was shocked. “You don’t know? He’s coming to kill me!”

Her eyes grew as large as the egg roll she was trying to hold with her chopsticks ∍, “What! Kill you? Are you crazy?”

“Why?” “He’s trying to help you. Kill you? Where did you get that idea?”

“The voices and Sampson told me that he was looking for me so he could kill me since I killed Allison and ruined his life.”

“The voices? Did they ever tell you anything that ended up with you better, or safe, or able to make your own decision?” she said as she continued with her egg roll.

I thought about it for a while and finally saw what she had seen since I first told the story. Those things were nothing but liars and deceivers, full of empty promises and phony power. If they were really as powerful as they claimed to be, then where were they when the cops burst in the theatre? I was deceived and tricked.

“Cy, Solomon loves you and has done more than you know. He came to me to try to find you and told me all about the trouble you were in. Now he just wants to talk to you.”

“Well, where is he? If he is just out to love me, then where is he?”

“I don’t know, Cy. I know he found you and saved you.”

“I – I don’t believe you. If he really, truly loves me, then he’ll have to prove it.”

“I told you he saved you. He got you out of all that mess.”

“Unless I see him face to face and he proves it to me, I won’t believe you.”

“Cy, you don’t have to believe me. I’m not Solomon. Believe him.”

“Well, where is he, then?”

“He’s coming.”

℘℘℘℘℘℘℘℘ It must have only been a few days before I began waiting outside for Solomon to come. I don’t know. I guess I softened to the idea of him coming. I was not going to be swept off my feet if he showed up riding some white horse, carrying dozens of white roses and speaking in perfect Victorian Iambic Pentameter ∍, but I did want to see if he would come. The more I waited for him, the less I feared him. At first I would have nightmares of this hatefilled man chasing after me, full of rage and heartache. But, after a while, the fear subsided and began to be replaced with this nonthreatening interest.

Aunt Steph had a lot to do with it. She would constantly remind me that it was Solomon who wanted to find me, and that he was the one who was coming for me. She told me over and over that it was he who said he loved me. After all the pent-up energy that she pressed on me, I had to know if he was going to prove himself.

There was one problem though; I didn’t know when he was coming. I didn’t want to look like a bum when he did show up; neither did I want to be pacing up and down the blocks, hoping to find him myself. Every morning until he showed up, I would get myself ready with a bunch of outfits, ready to go in case he came wanting to take me somewhere. I started working out and eating better, which was eating something to begin with. I had my hair fixed and my make-up ready; plus, I quit smoking so I wouldn’t have bad breath when he came.

It was about a month and a half since I first arrived at Aunt Steph’s house before I started getting very anxious about Solomon coming; Steph was eating it up. She would giggle every time she saw me take a glass of water out to the porch, knowing I was going to sit and watch for him to come. “You know he loves you, Cy,” she would say every time I would come back inside in the evening.

Then I would smile and sit with her and talk about what it would

be like when he would come.

“So, you promise he is coming, right?”

“Yes, Cy.” She would always say calmly. “He is coming.”

Then the day finally came. It was a Tuesday and I was wearing a little white dress with a light red ribbon around it; and I was sitting on the porch swing. If I’m remembering correctly, it was around eleven in the morning and sometime in June. Cars were passing the house not even noticing me. I was, as was the norm, growing impatient. Then in the corner of my eye, I saw a man walking up the sidewalk toward the house. I almost stood up but remained seated on the swing so as to not look crazy. I heard aunt Steph frantically tapping on the window behind me, since she saw me jump up and sit back down nervously. I gave her a quick look of, “get out of here!” and tried to sit as poised as possible.

He was wearing a simple blue shirt and slacks. His hair was fixed, and he was whistling as he jumped over one of the roots that grew out of the sidewalk from the tree nearby. He was carrying a small bouquet of calla lilies and had a little dog on a leash (I think it was an English bulldog.)

Finally, he came up to the porch and my heart was racing. He was clean-shaven and looked like he had been working out. I stared at him with a smile as he swung the little chain-link gate open and closed it behind him. Honestly, he was cute and smelled good, too.

“Hello, Cy,” he said softly as he walked the steps up to the porch.

“H-h-hi,” I stammered.

“You look great.”

“Thanks.” Still sitting on the bench swing, realizing I was unable to move.

His dog flopped over toward me and sniffed my foot with a loud and snorting sound.

“I think he likes you,” he said as he lightly tugged on the leash.

With a nervous laugh I said pretty much nothing, “Yeah…he…what’s his name?”

“Cy, I would like for you to meet my friend, Rocco.”

Then the dog lifted his head and placed his paw on my leg. I grabbed it with another nervous laugh and shook it.

“I’ve been expecting you,” I said, as I stayed stuck to the bench.

“As have I.” He stepped toward me and reached out his hand for me to take, which I did, hoping it wasn’t sweaty. Pulling me, or prying me off the swing, he said, “Would you like to take a walk?”

“Sure.”

I had no idea what it was going to be like. So a walk would be better than expected. As he began to walk off the porch, I heard another tap from the window. It was Aunt Steph waving frantically at the two of us with a giant smile. I didn’t expect the dog, or the flowers, or the fact that he simply wanted to take a walk. For the first time I felt excited and happy; giddy – like I was telling dirty jokes with friends.

“So –where are we going?” I asked as he held my hand and began walking past the gate.

“Hmmm… I’m thinking we could go to the end of the block and see what’s what then. How’s that sound?”

“Uh, sure. The end of the block, sure” Was this it, to the end of the block? I’d been waiting for weeks and all he wanted was to take me six houses away?

We started walking and he let go of my hand, which was a relief because it definitely was sweaty. The trees were at their perfect shadow length for shade, and the cars seemed to forget the street as we strolled down the sidewalk. I began counting the houses, knowing the end of the block was coming up. Were we really going to end it right then and there? Did he actually think that he was going to do all that he had done just to take me to the end of the block and call it over? Then we walked past the last house and saw the corner bend in the concrete.

“Cy?” “Yes, Solomon.” My stomach was in knots.

“We’ve gone this far. Now we can go on, if you trust me to lead on. If you don’t want to go any further, that’s fine. Just know this, if you can trust me one more block, I promise you it will be worth it. But, Cy, you must choose if you trust me or not. Can you trust me for one more block?”

I was so confused I felt my head shake as I tried to process what he was asking. “Trust you to walk with me for another block?

Is that what you are asking me?”

“Yes, do you choose to trust me for one more block?”

“Yes.” Then, in the strangest way, I felt a weight, a small weight, leap off me like a dog climbing off your lap after sitting there for a while.

So we walked on.

After a few minutes, I began to see that he was still just as happy as when he first walked up to the porch. I would think that after walking for about twenty minutes, he would tire or at least have that apathetic look on his face; but he was still whistling and

walking lightly.

“Why are you so happy, Solomon?” I asked, catching his contagious smile.

“Cy, you have no idea how long I have waited for today. It’s going to be great and I just can’t wait to show you what I have for you.”

“Wait? Like a present or something?” I was in desperate need for a new set of earrings and it would be perfect timing.

“Not quite, you’ll see soon enough.”

He was so gentle in his voice and so sincere in what he showed me that for a second I forgot about the fact that he was probably furious at me. I was walking with this man who should have pummeled my face in the ground and cursed my life, but instead held my hand and let me walk his cute little dog as we made our way along. Then just as I was washing myself with the refreshing walk, we came to the end of the second block. Was I really going to have to decide if we were going to make every decision?

“Cy?” “Yes?” “Now, we have come to the second block and now you have another, different decision to make.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“Do you trust me enough to take you somewhere you won’t know until we get there? It is only a few miles away and we’ll drive my car. I need to know if you trust me enough to head off to the second stop. Just as before, you can walk back to your house and we’ll end it right now. It’s up to you. So, Cy, do you believe you can trust me a little bit more?”

I thought about it. We weren’t just walking around the block,

but were getting in a car and were driving a few miles away. He and his dog and I would be heading off to some unknown place, all for the sake of Solomon having something for me. Then I figured that if I had been waiting for all the weeks that I had, he had probably been planning that day as well.

With a light huff I said, “Okay, I can trust you.”

Then, just as before, I felt a weight lift off me. It felt cold, like somebody pulling a bag of ice off a bruise.

“What was that, Solomon?” I asked, shocked.

“What was what?”

“I-I felt a weight jump off me. What is that?”

“You didn’t realize you were weighed down, did you?” He said, with a smile.

“I guess not. I’ve just never felt anything like this.”

“And you didn’t feel it placed on you, did you?”

I began trying to replay any moment when I remember someone putting an invisible weight on me and couldn’t think of anything.

“I don’t remember.” Confused.

“That’s okay.” He flicked Rocco’s collar and began walking around the corner to a little car. I think it was some old convertible, but I can’t remember. He opened my door and with the dog at his side, he waited for me to be seated. Then he plopped Rocco in the back seat before running across and jumping in the driver’s seat and mashing the gas pedal.

“So, where are we heading?”

“Ah! You actually know the place pretty well.”

Trying to think of every place I knew I said, “Really?”

“Yeah. It’ll be a surprise.”

That was all he said for about fifteen minutes. The air was rolling through my hair, ruining my morning prep. Rocco was sitting quietly with his eyes squinted, letting the wind smack his happy face. Solomon was barely gripping the wheel as we made our way to a neighborhood that looked very familiar to me. I began recognizing the street names and realized where we were.

“Okay, now close your eyes if you want to be surprised,” he said with a big grin.

Obliging, I did. I closed my eyes for about five minutes until the car stopped and heard the engine cut off.

“Okay, Cy. Open your eyes.”

“Our old house!”

I wriggled in my seat as I saw that we were at the first house I ever shared with a bunch of girls. It was the place where Allison and I had that old dog that chewed up everything. It was the house where the Sarahs and I started our “Old Movie Marathons” featuring the great classic, On the Waterfront, starring the great Marlon Brando. I remembered all the times we would sit and talk about anything and fought over absolutely nothing. I completely forgot about that place, but as I got out of the car and starting walking up to it, all the memories began flooding over me.

“So, why are we here, Solomon?” I said, realizing that while I didn’t live there anymore, some people did, and it would probably be inappropriate to walk on their lawn and into their house.

“Cy, who were you when you lived here?” He asked pointedly, but gently enough for me to see that he was seeking an answer for his own reasons. He wanted to pull something out of me.

As I knelt down and picked a few blades of grass, I said, “ I

was happy.”

“What made you happy?”

“I don’t know if there was anything in particular that made me ‘happy’– but I do remember laughing.”

“And now?”

He was kneeling next to me in the front lawn and trying to look deep into my eyes. I couldn’t find the words, even though I knew, and he knew, that I wasn’t happy. I had nothing to be all too happy about and the memories I was replaying seemed ages away.

“I’m not.” With that I sat down on the grass, feeling the cool grass rub against my legs and around my hands.

“Cy, did you know that your happiness did not come from things you did or places you lived? Your happiness came from inside you, from a deep place that has been torn open. You were happy because you were happy. It’s that simple.”

“So, why am I the way I am now?”

He yanked out a blade of grass and sat in front of me with his legs crossed. “You tell me.”

“You want me to tell you why I am the way that I am? Do you really want to know?”

“If I didn’t want to know, I would not have asked you.”

We sat there, on that little lawn, and waited; waiting for me to say something or for Solomon to see that I was finding myself at a loss. He would not move or stop staring deep into my eyes with this intensity and passion. There wasn’t urgency or a fear stuck in his face, but there was a deep point that he was trying to pull out of me with that question still hanging in the air.

“I screwed up, Solomon. I let people hurt you and hurt a lot of

people. I did some stupid things and made some bad choices. That doesn’t change who I am. I’m still Cy, and still have every opportunity that I did before. I know I messed up, messed up a lot, but that doesn’t change me.”

I felt myself getting angry; knowing I had no intention of dealing with what he was starting to draw out me. But there it was; the first shovel-sized scoop of messed-up-life I had to offer.

“That doesn’t change you? The choices you made, didn’t affect you at all?”

“Nope, not a bit.”

“Cy, let me ask you this: are you the same as you were when you used to live here?”

“No, of course not.”

“Why?” “Because things change, people change, and we all move on.”

“Exactly, we all change, like when we sleep. No one wakes up in the exact same position they had when they first goes to bed. In the same way, you have changed. You said it yourself, you were happy. Just driving here and being fifteen feet away from the front door put a smile on your face and brought memory after memory to the fore-front of your mind. You used to be full of hope and passion. And now?”

“Now – I’m right back where I started.”

“Beautiful, yes, we’re at the beginning of it all. So, now you’ve gotten a taste of something that I planned. Just as before, we can stop here and I can bring you back to Steph’s place, or we can continue on, but only if you believe you can trust me to the next place. If you can’t, that’s fine. But if you can believe, I promise it will be worth it.”

“Where are we going this time?”

“Another trip, it will only take about thirty minutes to get there.”

Thirty minutes is much longer than a few minutes down the block or for a car ride to my old house. There was something deep moving around in my mind that I knew if I let it alone and ignored it, I would regret it. At the same time I didn’t know how I felt about sitting next to this man and his dog for that long.

“Thirty minutes?” I asked as I stood up to my feet, dropping the pieces of grass back on the lawn.

“Yes, do you trust me, Cy?” My mind went back to feeling those strange and peaceful sensations and the effortless attitude Solomon had before. Could I really keep on trusting him, if all he did was point me to my past and ask me to trust him?”

“Yeah, I trust you, Solomon.”

Just like clockwork, I felt another weight melt off my body like wax being melted down the side of a candle.

“What is that?” I asked, not expecting an answer and waiting at the car door.

“That weight?” he said with a smile as he pulled the door open.

“Yeah, what is that?”

“The reason that I’ve done all of this.”

“Now, what exactly have you done other than drive me to my old house and walk with me down the street?”

He became still and looked deep into the air. His face grew still with a grin and his eyes glazed over like glass had been set in front

of his pupils. Then in a hushed voice he said, “Cy, you have no idea what I have done to get here.”

As his quiet voice settled over me, I felt peace that went uninterrupted with the blast of the engine. As the wind began to whip over my face and the dog wrinkled his face, Solomon became deeply focused with whatever was scratching his mind and I kept staring at him. What did he do to get here? What did “here” mean?

Who is this Solomon? I felt a mix of fear and tenderness for him.

Maybe because I had been waiting for so long; or maybe I was so desperate to hear what he had to say. Either way, all I knew was I could not get my eyes off of his.

After a few minutes of silence, Solomon slowed the car so we could talk without shouting through the wind.

“Cy, have you ever heard the story of the Little Mermaid?”

In shock (he was talking to a girl who grew up in the 90’s. I had Little Mermaid underwear) “Of course, I’ve heard of the Little Mermaid.”

“No, I mean the story by Hans Christian Andersen – the original story.”

“I guess the story is pretty close though, right? She’s a mermaid princess, falls in love with a human prince, and gets the octopus woman to give her legs. She and the prince fall in love and get married. Oh! And Sebastian is a Jamaican crab.”

“Yeah, Disney did a job on that story. The way it was originally written, the little mermaid – as well as all the mermaids – had no souls. When they died, they became the foam on the waves. So she went after the prince for more than love. She wanted an immortal soul.”

Solomon grabbed his phone, which had the book on it, and asked me to read a little better to understand him. I was not much of a reader, especially from someone’s iPhone; but I figured he was driving at something big. So I sat there and scrolled. The story

was beautiful. It had no Rastafarian shellfish, but it had so much imagery that I found myself becoming enveloped in this little story of the most beautiful mermaid giving up all that she treasured for the hope of finding something greater than the sea.

“So I shall die,” said the little mermaid, “and as the foam of the sea I shall be driven about, never again to hear the music of the waves, or to see the pretty flowers nor the red sun. Is there anything I can do to win an immortal soul?”

“No,” said the old woman. “Unless a man were to love you so much that you were more to him than his father or mother; and if all his thoughts and all his love were fixed upon you, and the priest placed his right hand in yours, and he promised to be true to you here and hereafter, then his soul would glide into your body and you would obtain a share in the future happiness of mankind. He would give a soul to you and retain his own as well…”

There was more to that story than just a curious little girl who twirled forks in her hair. There was a familiar longing that I connected to. While she was beautiful and had the greatest voice in the entire underwater kingdom, she knew that there was more than swimming and occasionally popping her head above surface. There was a yearning for life outside of what everyone accepted as normal. I was that little mermaid. Except for the facts of her being a fish-creature with long white hair and me being a mostly landbased human with jet-black hair, I saw myself in that mermaid.

She had her life but wanted more.

“Did the prince do it?” I asked softly.

“Do what? Marry her?”

“Yeah, did she get her immortal soul and fall deeply in love with the prince? Did they live happily ever after? Does the story end as it should?” I felt my voice grow tightly around my fired questions; but if this was to mean something to me, I could not hold back myself. “Did the prince do the right thing and save her, give her his soul?”

He slowed the car down and parked it in front of some house.

Honestly, I wasn’t paying too much attention to anything else except the words from his mouth.

“Is that what you want, Cy?” He turned to face me, “Do you want that mermaid to get her soul and for it all to end as it should?”

My heart began beating strongly in my chest and I felt chills run across my body. My mind was racing, picturing that little girl dying and becoming nothing but foam on the water when she had the chance to be saved and full of a soul. After the pressure built a blast of air behind my lips and a well of tears beneath my eyes, I released it all in a yelp. “Yes! Someone should save her! Someone should do the right thing and rescue her. She needs help and is going to die for nothing if no one does anything.”

“How close were you to that kind of death, Cy?” Solomon said with soft eyes.

“Too many to count, Solomon. I should have died twenty or thirty times.”

“And yet, here you are, with me.” He reached across the seat and gripped my shoulder as I cried and replayed all those times I should have died. “Why?” I sat and tried to think about what he was saying, but my mind was wrapped around those images of being thrown down stairs, being raped, overdose after overdose; all perfectly acceptable circumstances for my demise.

“Why are you still here, Cy?” He asked again, softly.

“I don’t know.”

I calmed down and looked at Solomon. He was weeping with me. His face was stained with tears, which he made no attempt to wipe away. I remembered the accident on the bridge and how both of us should have died and yet we were both very much alive and

very much reliving my pain.

So I asked him, “Solomon, why are you alive? You should be dead, just like me.”

He sat and smiled, refusing to look away from my eyes.

“You’ll see soon enough, Cy. Now come with me.”

He opened up the door and ran over to open mine, making sure that his dog was able to leap down from the backseat onto the ground.

“Where are we?” I asked, not recognizing any of the buildings.

“This is Charlestown, one of my favorite places in all of Boston. See, over there is the USS Constitution. The first time I came out here was with my uncle. He was doing some consulting work in Boston; so right around Christmas I flew out to see him.

We walked the Freedom trail and then drove here to see that ship over there. I remember it because the snow was starting to get pretty thick and, being from New Orleans, I pretty much had no experience with snow. We walked around for a bit and took a picture by that monument over there,” he said pointing to the stone monument. “I think we stayed here for about an hour before heading to North End for some Italian food.”

I had a feeling that Solomon was slipping into a sentimental place, so for my sake I jumped in, “So, why are we here, Solomon?”

“Cy, I want to take another walk with you.”

“Where?”

He didn’t say anything, just pointed out over the water toward that great white bridge that held our fates once before.

“Cy, do you trust me for one more walk together?” He held my hand and leaned close to my face; his eyes still unmovable from their focus on mine. I felt the weight of what he was asking. It had

to be that bridge – that relentlessly haunting bridge, full of rage and deception. My mind flashed to the accident and the peaceful face Solomon had, as he laid crunched under metal, then to the voices and their constant torture. Finally, I came back to staring Solomon right in the face with his question still hanging over my head.

“Yes, I do trust you.”

This time no invisible weight leapt off my body, nor did some wind come sweeping over my face. That time, there was trepidation and fear of that choice, because I knew this was more than just some walk. This was walking up to face that scene all over again. Fear began crawling up my back as we headed toward that bridge. My knees felt weak and body felt drained; but I kept walking, all the while holding myself closer and tighter to Solomon. He was strong, or at least he felt strong, and let me cling to his arm as we walked closer and closer to the bridge.

“Cy, tell me about Lo-Ruhamah.”

I felt my head shake in complete astonishment. How could he know about her?

I slipped from his side and stopped in front of him, full of fear and anger I asked, “Solomon, how do you know that name?”

“I know more than you think, Cy,” he said softly. “Now, why do you think she came to you?”

“I don’t know why. I just know that she did and it thrashed me into pieces.” I felt the familiar fear begin to wrap around my body like a cold wet towel. “She promised me that I was going to be some powerful and important person, but all it ended up being was pain and nightmares.”

“For over a year…” “… Yes, how did you know?”

“Cy, like I said, I know more than you think.”

The fear was beginning to grow tight and freezing around me, and for a second I thought that the voices were coming back.

“Solomon, if you knew so much, where were you? Where were you when I was shot at? Where were you when I was drugged up and raped over and over?” My voice was quivering and my hands were tightening into fists the more I thought about this all knowing “super-guy” doing nothing, even though he knew all about it.

“So, where were you when I was thrown against walls by those voices or forced to sleep with man after man?”

He said nothing but stood close, letting me unload on him like I was verbally beating his chest in anger and frustration.

“Where were you, Solomon? Where were you when I was hiding in closets watching my mom get thrown around? Where were you when I was cowering in the bathroom, as my dad would scream until his face turned blue? Where were you, if you know so much? Why are you here now and not when I really needed you?

Why didn’t you help me when my car got repossessed or when my electricity was turned off for weeks at a time? Why now? Why here, Solomon?”

By that time I was weeping hard and loud, not caring what sort of crazed mess I looked like.

“Where was I?” Solomon slipped his hand into mine and pulled me close. He was crying like before, not minding to wipe the tears away. “Cy, I was with you. When you would think of running away with your little brother, I was with you helping you pack your bags. When you were raped, I was weeping with you. When Frankie died, I was furious, just like you were. When the voices came, I fought them without you even knowing a thing. When we were at that bridge over there, I took the pain and your death. Even when you were waiting for me those weeks, I was waiting for you and preparing this day all along. Cy, I have been with you all this time and never left you.”

It made no sense. How could a man be with me when I was alone? How could he know all of those things if I never told him?

How could all this happen without me knowing any of it? With peace beginning to unravel the fear from my body, I asked in a crushed whisper, “How? How could you do all of this?” The fear, the coldness, began to warm around me, like a hot blanket being wrapped around.

“Cy, it doesn’t matter how. All that matters is that we are here now, together. I am more than just some ordinary man who found out all about you. I am Solomon, the Willing. I am here for you and all of this; today, the weeks you have been waiting for me, the night at the theater and even Frankie’s death, was all leading up to this day, to this conversation, to this moment, right here, right now.”

“Why, Solomon? Why today, of all days, why today?”

“Cy, today I am here to ask you a question.”

“Okay? What’s the question?”

Solomon became hushed and stood very still, letting go of my hand and standing in a straight pose.

“Cy, I am here for more than just a few walks around the city and a drive in my car. I am here to finish what I started. I found you when you were completely unaware and saved you without a moments hesitation. I took the pain that you should have experienced that day on the bridge. Now I have done more than you could even think of to get you here. I met and fought LoRuhamah in the darkness of my death. I strangled those creatures until they relented to my demand. You see, they claimed you as their own when you allowed the voices into your life. They took hold of you and did awful things because they not only had legal right, but also your consent. They committed you to what they called the Kingdom of Light, despite the oppressive darkness that surrounded them. The only way for you to be set free from their hold was for me to die and come back for you.

“When I came back, I made it my mission to find you. I was at Sampson’s place. I went to your house and saw the horror and the death you were living in. I found you at the theater. Not only did I find you, but I also found Lo-Ruhamah again and fought it for the last time. It was no voice of a woman, it was a snake bent on destroying you and everything that stood in its way. Cy, I crushed it with my heel for you.

“Cy, I could not come any sooner than today, for your sake. If I came a day earlier or a day later, we would not be in this place together. Cy, my ways are deeper than yours and my thoughts are stronger than yours. Even if you cannot understand it all, just know that I am here today and have been with you the entire time. I am here for you.”

My eyes were overflowing with such a deep peace and such vulnerability. This man knew me without me knowing him. He came for me before I even considered him as an option. He died when I should have gone to the darkness. I didn’t deserve such attention, such love, or such purposed movements. I deserved to be dead and surrounded in darkness. Instead, I stood next to him in a white dress, hearing of how he saved me before I knew him. This man, this amazing man fought for me, he died for me and now he came to me. Suddenly my heart leaped and flipped in my chest. I had never felt anything like this before. The tears were tears of joy and wonderful unbelief. My body was shaking in excitement and such a tremendous feeling, like I had never felt before. My mind was racing, trying to piece together all the events in my life and how he was behind them all, without making a sound. I was completely overwhelmed and without words.

He stood in front of me and saw my tears but said nothing.

Solomon looked to be soaking up the moment, like he had been dreaming about that conversation and it was coming true. I tried to talk but everything I attempted to say was muddled with sobs of joy; but I did manage to say, “So, what is your question, Solomon?”

“I have done all that I can; I set this whole thing up, I gave my life away, and now have come to you with one question. Cy, will

you choose me today? Will you trust me?”

As I leaped into his arms, I screamed, “Yes!” feeling every ounce of my body melt away into nothing. I felt weightless in his arms. I felt like everything that was wrapped around me and tied to me slipped off as I jumped into his chest. Then his arms wrapped around my waist and he tucked my head under his. I felt like a woman who was loved by an amazing man. I felt like a child who was finally safe in her father’s arms. I felt chosen, set apart and loved.

The man who came after me loved me.

Chapter Thirteen: Solomon “My beloved is mine and I am his…”

As it was to be, so it was. That day was just as I had hoped. She chose me as I chose her. She loved me as I loved her. Just as she came to me so did I come to her. In that leap, that wonderful leap, she jumped not only to me, but also over all that had held her back.

She leaped over her pain, the heartache, and disappointment after disappointment, the torturous voices that held her captive and finally, the choice to come to me. She went leaping over mountains of crushing weights that had her in its deadly grip. These weights were mountains of deception and lies; these weights were mountains of confusion and sickness; these weights were mountains of death and despair. She took a leap of faith that I would be there to catch her and hold her, and I gladly opened my arms to her and took her, like I was never going to let go.

I never let go and loved her until the end.

∝∝∝∝∝∝∝∝

Afterward This story is more that just another sweet love story about love being lost than found again. This story is for you to know that there is a love chasing after you, and working behind the scenes so you can choose it. This love is no small thing; this love shapes lives and causes the sun to rise and fall. Honestly, I do not care if you believe in it or not; I have seen this love and have taken the leap to choose it. This is pure love. This is the real thing and it is coming for you; all of you.

A friend of mine is a pastor who regularly has the opportunity to speak across the country. He told me a story of one summer camp meeting where he asked all the students if they did not believe that God truly loved them. He asked them (kids raised in Christian homes and churches) to close their eyes and raise their hands if they really did not believe. 90% of those kids raised their hands, indicating that they believed God really did not love them.

Listen, I am telling you because I know it to be true and because I feel it right now as I am writing to you. God is real and loves you.

He has done more to draw you to him than some preacher on TV or some sweet old lady. He set the world up so he could love you.

He set your life up so you and He could meet. He loved you so much that he planted himself on the earth to tell you. He died so he could love you; he came into your life so you could know him.

Now, here is the problem. Even though He died and came after you with love, you cannot come to him on your own. In your own state you are running as fast as you can away from him. You choose everything else outside of him. You break every law that he gives and reject him. Think of Cy and how she knew she was lost; groping in the dark with nowhere to turn. That is a picture of you without Christ. The Bible calls this sin and every single human on the earth is full of it, making it impossible to come to him.

However, he came after you. He died for you while you were

still in darkness. He loved you before you even knew him. While you may think of yourself as completely and absolutely unworthy of His love, He said that he would rip through time and space and your life because He said you are worthy of His love. Do you truly understand what Christ did to find you?

You are worthy of the Love of Christ. All you have to do is run to him, just as you are. You can never be good enough to gain his love and you can never be bad enough to have him take it away.

All he asks of you is to choose him. Do you choose to trust him?

Do you think you could leap over your mountains into his arms?

He jumped over time and space, created nations and people, put your family together, planted you right where you are and has come to ask you, “Will you choose me now?� You can choose him and be loved; feel real love that shakes you to your bones. All you have to do is believe. He loves you and wants you. He is love and he will do whatever it takes to win your love.

He Loves You

About the Author John Mark Guerra currently lives in Colorado Springs with his family. Born and raised in New Orleans, Louisiana, he is a Southern man in his heart but calls Colorado home. His mother, Stephanie is the founder of Deep Waters Ministries and is an international speaker. George, his step-dad, is a consultant who spends more time on airplanes than he does most anywhere else.

He loves Colorado too much to stay away for long – especially their ranch – Caleb’s Mountain – in the middle of Colorado. His sister, Jessica, is an elementary school teacher; her husband, Rory, is a web designer and possesses a Scottish citizenship. His little brother, James is larger than John Mark and is his own rock star.

John Mark enjoys cooking and spending time with friends as well as painting, writing and making his friends laugh.

If you would like to contact John Mark or would like more information please go to www.johnmarkguerra.com