Elaina J. Davidson's Blog, page 148

Oh, magic hour!

 

Chapter 1: The Orphan

As you know the Orphan is a new release. I'm really proud of this story! I think many of us can identify with Adin and Sunflower, how lost they feel, but knowing there is hope also makes all the difference. Anyway, before I expound on the emotional aspects, let me share with you Chapter 1. I have already posted the Prologue HERE, so maybe pop in there to read it first before reading on here ...

An orphaned boy searches for a lost girl.

A woman abandons her new-born at a motel in the back of beyond. Adin grows up unloved, bullied, and no one remembers him. He doesn’t exist.

Until he sees a poster for a missing girl on a lamppost. There is an instant connection to little Sunflower, kidnapped for ransom, only to disappear after the money is paid. He exists because he must find her. Alone, he searches, a journey that takes him into the wild places, meeting along the way some interesting characters.

In dreams he speaks to her, for she is the one who will remember him.

Chapter 1

To be abandoned, means you are either lost or found.

 

 

ADIN

 

HE SCREAMED HIS way into the world as most new-borns do, with lusty lungs, heaving chest and flailing limbs. He would not remember, and no one would ever know to tell him, but his mother wept over him as she swaddled him in worn flannel to warm and calm him.

Her lips were salty and wet when she kissed him on each eyelid and whispered, “Your name is Adin. I love you. Be strong now, my beautiful boy.”

HIS HUNGRY WAILS eventually drew the attention of the spotty-faced teenager manning the reception desk inside the gloomy office of the motel tucked away in a fold between nowhere and everywhere.

The kid pounded on the door of number 5 and when no one answered his summons, he used his key to unlock the barrier. An instant later he bailed out, shouting for his mother.

“Ma! Come!”

“What you making such a ruckus for?”

Macy Black had long ago given up expecting anything good to come her way and had surrendered to the inevitability of making ends meet in a backwater place. It showed in her tired hazel eyes, her sagging chin, the lines of bitter times that marked her face.

She moved slowly across from the office, having sneaked a quick drink when Jason went knocking at number 5, to stand arms akimbo in the paved courtyard that fronted the row of rooms.

‘Courtyard’ was a fancy term she insisted on for the brochure, while ‘paved’ was an outright lie. Flat stones almost choked in weeds did duty as paving, but was nowhere near uniform or even level.

There were eight rooms, each with a bed and bath, kitchenette and ancient TV, and not much else. Her livelihood.

Macy was owner and housekeeper. As owner, she couldn’t afford the pretty stuff the brochure sold, but that brochure was over ten years old, from the time her husband was still around. He got a deal on a print run of thousands, so why change anything? It brought guests on occasion and when they arrived, they were already so far from civilisation that they accepted what they actually found.

At least the surroundings were magnificent. Rocky hills led to mighty mountains and rivers ran through all. Huge trees played host to varied feathered populations. Most guests were so impressed with the environment they chose to overlook their accommodations.

As housekeeper, Macy was lacklustre. A sweep and a dust after guests vacated, and once a month, if she remembered, she washed the threadbare bedding.

“Why’s the kid screaming?” she demanded. “Where’s the girl?”

Slapping a hand over her mouth, her eyes rounded as she glanced around the courtyard. The young woman’s car was gone, an old sedan that barely made it up the rutted driveway. She signed in without writing out her full name, paid for a week in advance and vanished, heavily pregnant, into number 5. And now there was no car, but there was a screaming baby.

“Ma, what? Do I call the cops or something?”

Macy glared at her son. Jason was thick as pig shit, but then, he took after his dad, the lying sack of horse dung.

“Don’t be stupid, Jase, no need for the cops.” They’d want to know stuff she couldn’t answer to. “Out of my way.”

She shouldered Jason aside and entered number 5, nearly gagging at the sight inside. Blood on the patchy grey carpet, a giant wet spot on the tossed bed. The little bitch had given birth right here. The kid screamed between two flat pillows.

Sighing, she picked the infant up and retreated to the courtyard. “Lock it up, I’ll clean it later. Don’t rent it out, hear?”

Jason snorted. “As if someone’s coming.”

“Well, she did, out of the blue! Heed me, boy!”

Rolling his eyes, Jason dragged the door closed and locked it, watching his mother stride in her wobbly manner back to their gloomy office.

 

 

MACY DISCOVERED Anote tucked into the swaddling blanket about an hour later when she unwrapped the kid after he wet himself and her.

A cute kid, but what was she to do with him? Already he drove her insane with his incessant screaming. Jason shouted from the desk to “Feed the kid!” as if she didn’t know that. At least now she knew it was a boy, him having wet her right through. His horror of a mother – who just ups and leaves a child? – called him Adin.

That’s what the note said. “Please, his name is Adin, please take care of him.”

Well, fancy name. The bitch had delusions of grandeur.

She, Macy, despite the bitterness of her life, never left her kid behind. Probably didn’t do so right by him, but she stuck by him after his worthless father disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving her to run the motel she inherited from her grandmother all by herself.

What could she do, truth be told? At least she and Jason had a roof over their heads and occasional guests brought in a few dollars for basics. Not much for schooling and stuff, so her kid never went to school, but he was not bright anyway, so it didn’t matter, did it? Not much for anything else either, not even booze, although she pinched a bit here, a little there, and then hoarded the bottle. Certainly not enough to buy baby formula for a new-born that would drink the milk without a care and dump her and Jason straight into greater poverty.

“Crank the van, Jase!” she called out from the room behind the reception desk where she spent most of her days watching daytime TV. “We’re taking him to the church!”

 

 

ROLLING HIS EYESagain and shoving unkempt brown hair from his thin face, Jason grabbed the keys from under the desk and went to the garage where his father’s ancient van hid from prying eyes.

Mother said its tinted windows meant it was once used for criminal activities, so they only drove it when needs must. He bloody hoped it would start. Did he disconnect the battery after last time? That was two months ago. Usually, his mother called for a delivery to the end of the driveway, and he then had to cycle down to fetch it. His dad took the pickup when he disappeared; pity, it would handle the ruts better than this bouncy thing. Difficult to see where one was going and his mother was a terrible driver.

It started on the third try and he reversed hell for high water out of the mildewed space, swerved in a screech of worn tyres to an abrupt halt at the office door.

“You drive,” his mother commanded, holding the baby close.

Yeah, at least she took care of people. Say what you will about Macy Black, but she harmed no one. Right now, she took care of the babe, and so he got to drive.

Jason grinned, showing uneven teeth. Finally! If she let him drive now and he proved he could do it better than her, his cycling days were over. She had let him practice in the courtyard and on the dusty paths behind the motel every time they used the van, telling him his day to sit behind the wheel would come when her old legs could no longer pump the pedals, so he better learn. Well, that day was today.

She could still pump pedals, but Macy Black harmed no one; she kept the baby safe. The screaming kid messed with his concentration, though. He wished he would shut up. Abandoned kids had no right to voice. They were worthless, should be forgotten, silent.

The kid gurgled and shut up.

As if he heard Jason’s thoughts.

Both he and his mother stared at the bundle of cloth.

“Is he okay?”

Macy touched the kid’s forehead. “Alive,” she muttered, “but not for long. Drive, Jase, fast but careful, hear?”

He threw the van into gear and pressed the pedal. The van shot forward, but neither his mother nor the kid made a sound.

THE ORPHAN

Audio book coming soon!

Apocaloptimist

 

Grab a copy of Feast Night!

 

Read an excerpt here.

FEAST NIGHT

Dickens and Schrodinger

 

Chapter 1: Latticework

 

A latticework creates a mesmerising pattern, to please the eye and draw the onlooker closer. Emotional lattices connect strands to amplify the human experience; our melancholy, our mistakes, and our residual power.

Fourteen lattices by a diverse author makes Latticework an occult treat, worthy of fans who dip into the disturbing and diabolical. This collection of soulful tales embodies the macabre and the metaphysical, with insights so serrated it cuts to the marrow.

Here's the full first story in this collection:

Lattice 1

 

Based on a dream.

 

 

THE PILLAR FELT rough and pitted under Callie’s fingers. She knew it as rock, although she could not see anything in the blackness. She also knew the feel of this particular standing stone; it was akin to a friend, a haven, a beacon in the dark. There were no night noises, not even the resident frog to confirm where she was. She always listened for him when she came here in summer.

She had been here before. She was not lost.

Biting the inside of her cheek to contain hysterical sounds, Callie put her fingers to work. They were her eyes now and she could trust them. They reached up, sensing, exploring, and, yes, there it was. The small voice of doubt was stilled.

She had been here before.

She was home.

Callie slotted her fingers into the depression and used it as leverage to drag herself upright. Her bones ached and she was cold, shivering in the cool air, but she felt better, more confident, and ignored the discomfort. The cold was more than physical; it was inside her. Perhaps she instinctively came here to find warmth. She leaned against the monolith to take in deep breaths.

Old friend, you have rescued me once more. I have missed you. I have ignored you recently to keep others happy.

Callie always thought, and still believed, that the stones would protect her, particularly this one, the tallest in the ring. It did not matter what people said. Aw, Callie, they’re just stones (her uncle Ed when she was seven); Girl, those things are putting ideas into your head (her mother when she was twelve); How can silly rocks save you? (her older sister Cassie at least twice a year), and worst of all, the denouncement, What was is no longer, Callie, accept it (her father, recently, the one who believed with her for so long).

Her father gave up, she understood, because her mother insisted, and yet it hurt. She stayed away to keep her mother happy.

Her father brought her to the ring first as a little girl and leaned against this very rock to tell her the tale. How she loved the expression of happiness on his face then.

Listen carefully, sweet pea, listen well now. A long time ago there was nothing here, not even a blade of grass or a bird to sweeten the atmosphere with music.

Her father, the birdwatcher.

There was no one to see the desolation, until one day a man fell from the sky. He was hurt, I think in a battle, and had not the strength to return to his home, and he knew he would die in this place of nothingness. His pain upon seeing such emptiness was terrible; it was an affront to the powers, he thought. That pain was worse than his physical injuries.

He needed to explain ‘affront’ to her, and ‘desolation’. She remembered now his smile on doing so; it meant she listened well.

Sweet pea, the man crawled for a long time looking for something, anything, to fill the emptiness, but soon he would surrender because he needed water and healing more than he needed to find that something.

He did not find those things either and death found him eventually, but he did not die as we know it. We believe our bodies die and our souls go somewhere else, but he willed his body to become the building blocks of the something he sought, just as he willed his soul to remain to watch over the process of renewal. He possessed strong will and upon his death nubs of new rock sprouted from the barren ground.

Much time has passed, sweet pea, and the rocks grew and are still growing, and when the winds turns just so and if you’re lucky, you hear the sighs and soft murmurs of the soul standing watch to this day.

Callie wanted to know why the man from the sky would remain; when the grass was green and the sky blue and flowers grew and birds sang in the air, why would he still watch?

Because it will never be finished, sweet pea, not until the powers know of his sacrifice.

She understood sacrifice, but she wanted to know how he fell from the sky.

There are spaces like pathways out there, sweet girl, but we can’t see them. The man may have strayed off a path and fell over the edge. We know so little.

The most important question then was how her father could possibly know the tale. If nothing had been here and no one had seen it, how did he know?

I have been lucky enough to hear the murmurs, sweet pea. The tale was revealed to me.

And thus she wanted to hear the murmurs also. Now, standing here, Callie imagined the emptiness the man found.

Is emptiness black?

And yet the stone was at her back, she felt the rough surface, thus the darkness was not devoid of everything.

Where is the light?

She came frequently; she had since the day her father spoke to her about the man fallen from the sky. Always there was light, even in the darkest weather, even at night when it was starless. She measured the stones on each occasion, but now understood her time was too short to mark the growth. She came during the sighing of the wind, and had not heard the murmurs, but was not disappointed; she had to be patient.

And she felt safe here, sensing a presence that did watch … and protect. When she scraped her knee on the wall after falling from her bike, she came here to cry; when her little brother died with the all the kids in that bus accident, she came here to grieve; when her mother changed into a sour unbeliever thereafter, she came here to mourn the woman who was before; when her sister got married to a man she did not love, she came here to pray for her.

When her father stared at her with his big soulful eyes, trying to tell her something without words, a message she could not fathom, she came here to unravel it. She thought she might have understood once or twice, and glimpsed truths on other occasions.

Her father asked understanding for her mother’s surrender, just as he tried to tell her that Cassie needed to leave the depressive atmosphere at home, even if it meant further unhappiness. She, Callie, was no longer a child; she understood the ways of the mind.

Her mother rediscovered the fact that she had a daughter and tried to ‘sort’ her life out; the stones had no place in that new life. Her father wanted desperately for her mother to be sane and whole once more and was prepared to sacrifice his beliefs … and his daughter’s.

But no more. This time she fled to her haven to get away from the pain in her father’s eyes, the accusation.She told her mother to cease her interfering, days ago, and then was forced to watch her father witness her mother slide back into the void she created in her mind.

What was she supposed to do? Marry the vicar’s son? When she did not love him? She did not require escape as badly as Cassie did. The man was a bully, besides. No, this was her life, and sacrifice only went so far before it became insanity.

Callie sank to her knees as hysteria returned with thought of the events. She rested her forehead against the stone and it was cold to her, alien, as accusatory.

Her mother slit her wrists earlier today while they were out in town. Her father found her upon their return, already too late to change that fate. An initial scream gave way to paralysis, and she called the doctor, the vicar, the police, and hours later they took her mother away, while her father stared at nothing at all, unmoving.

And then, when all was so silent, a grave within the house, he turned those eyes on her. He told her without words who he blamed for this death. She denied her mother a second chance. She used the stones as a defence.

She fled.

For she blamed herself, too.

Outside it was dark, but whether night or day she did not then know and could not care. Her soul was black, a void, empty, alien. She stumbled to nowhere, but her feet led her here. Here, in the black, her fingers saw and her mind stilled … and then raced ahead once more. Her fault, her fault, and she lost her father along with her mother this day. Cassie would blame her also. Those dammed stones rule you, Callie! She could hear it already.

Her tears flowed then and she was lost.

There was nothing worth believing in.

The sound was loud in the stillness and she lifted her head. An instant later her scream was as soundless as the blackness was lightless.

A gunshot.

She knew without seeing that her father had taken his life, had followed her mother, had sacrificed everything. And a moment after that she understood he did so to protect her. How she knew, she could not say, but she knew it utterly.

He loved his daughter well and wanted to spare her the same kind of pain they lived with in the years since her brother died.

Callie drew breath, and another and another, and each was steadier than the one before. She could cope. She would go down and she would find what was left of him, and that would be harder to deal with than her mother’s suicide, but his eyes would not accuse her - that was his final gift.

She rose and pushed away from the monolith. It was time to finish this chapter so that she might go forth into the next, whatever it brought. She would leave, for nothing held her anymore, not even the stones, the silent stones. They would never murmur. Her father gave her magic and took it away; he lied and now the truth was revealed. Life is. What you see was what there was, no more.

It hurt.

There was nothing.

What an affront that was, really.

And then, as her fingers were about to leave the stone forever, she felt a hand stroke over her hair. She froze. The hand brushed her cheek and lingered there a moment before withdrawing. She could not move.

Yes, it is an affront, Callie, but the greater affront is to turn away from the magic and believe that there is nothing more.

“This isn’t real!”

The light returned then, as if it awaited the sound of her voice. It slid in softly and revealed a world bathed in evening glows. Down the rise her house was pink in the setting sun; tranquil.

No smoke curled from the chimney, no life resided there in the present, and yet it was serene, still, quietly accepting, waiting for the breath of newness. She frowned down at it, aware that pain had left her. She lifted her gaze to the mountains yonder to see them traced in brilliant gold, like a sign for the future. Was she being fanciful? Had freedom, and the terrible cost, warped her mind?

She turned. Her fingers abandoned the stone. She had no need to touch them more, because she knew.

There were eight of them, roughly of equal height, with only her stone higher than the others, taller than her - the watcher embodied. She saw the latticework, the spidery traces of amber sparks that connected the ring, making it one, a whole, complete. There was magic. No one had lied. She was uplifted and grateful. This was a wonderful gift.

“How? Why now?” she asked but did not expect an answer. It was enough to see the truth.

As long as one remains to feel the magic, the stones remain, an answer came. Your father knew and his mother before him and her grandmother before her, her father, his uncle, right back to the beginning of human life here. You are the powers, Callie, and thus I am completed. My sacrifice had value then and has value now. For as long as you remember.

She touched the stone … and smiled.

As long as I remember.

All was quiet then … and the resident frog burped. Life was about to be. Normality was a figment of the imagination, for all were on different paths.

Callie stared at the ring of stones. The amber connections had vanished, but she knew now they were there always. There was no further murmuring, but she knew now it was never silent.

She turned then and walked down to gift her father a final resting. One day, perhaps, she would hear the full tale, or her daughter would, or her grandson … or a descendent not even imagined.

As long as there was memory there would be magic.

LATTICEWORK

LOTR quotes for our birth signs

For me, it's apparently a dangerous business going out my door!

EURUE now in production!

 

Head-butt!

 

GIF: Ethereal Musician