Chapter 3 – Chap 3

Eric is waiting for me in the pub the following morning. His constant presence would be tiresome in day to day life, but on this peculiar little island, in this vast sea of questions, his certainty is appreciated. It’s needed.

We share a light breakfast in silence. We both have come to the unspoken understanding that we don’t need to discuss what happened yesterday. We both were there. We both saw- in full detail- what Little Moe did to himself. The sound of the shotgun. The rush of crimson that painted the walls. That thing; the marking on the bed. The whole scene was something from a nightmare. I know that only a few days prior I had planned to do something similar, but yesterday felt different. It felt hellish. We finish eating and Eric finally speaks-

ERIC: So. Are you ready to go see Annie?

HARITA: You found her? So soon?

ERIC: There’s only one on the island as far as I know.

HARITA: OK, but how do we know for sure that-

ERIC: Harita. I’m sure.

Fall Harita. Remember? Don’t question. Just fall. I give Eric a nod and we head off.

—

We take Eric’s bike to the center of town. Everything here seems perfectly preserved in time. “Quaint” is a word that keeps flashing through my mind. This town is very quaint.

However, as we glide through the perfectly manicured roads, I begin to notice something; there’s no children. Not a single one in sight. The youngest person I can spot looks to be in their early twenties. Late teens maybe? I think back to the party at Nan’s house, all the people at The Wilhelm; I haven’t seen a single child since I stepped foot on this island. It’s unnerving, but unfortunately that is a feeling I am beginning to become somewhat accustomed to. We drive on.

We turn onto a small street of single-story cookie cutter homes. Quaint. There’s that word again.

ERIC: Just up here on the right.

We pull in front of a cozy little cerulean house with white shutters and a pear tree out front. As we walk to the door, I hear a crunching sound and look down at my feet. The walkway leading to the porch is a mixture of pinkidh stone and seashells. It shimmers in the sunshine. This whole residence looks like something that would be on a tourism brochure. “Aleister, Maine; Peaceful Island Living.” I’d want to go to there. Eric knocks on the door.

I hear a quick shuffling and a pleasant looking redheaded woman promptly answers.

ANNIE: Eric? What a nice surprise.

ERIC: Hi Annie.

ANNIE: What do I owe the pleasure?

ERIC: This is my friend Harita.

HARITA: Hello.

She shakes my hand and I immediately like her. She has a warm smile. A calming presence. She reminds me of Kerry back at home. She seems like a friend. I want her to be mine.

ERIC: It’s little odd, but we’re here about a man.

ANNIE: A man?

She lets out an endearing giggle.

ANNIE: The only one here is Presley, but he’s not much of a troublemaker unless he’s been sneaking out in the middle of the night.

Fall Harita. Fall.

HARITA: I’m looking for my husband. Tam Finnegan. He’s here on this isalnd and he may be in danger.

I fall hard.

Annie’s illuminating smile begins to lose its sheen. Her calming presence becomes breathy. She now reminds me of myself. Worried and unsure. She seems like she does not want to talk to me. I want to run away.

ANNIE: Oh… you know I think I need to go check on Presley-

She begins to shut the door. I put my hand out and stop her.

HARITA: Please….

She bites the inside of her lip and considers my plea. She’s a good person. A kind person. I don’t need to know much about her to be able to see that. She gently gulps and opens her door.

ANNIE: Come in.

—

Annie guides us to the sitting room-

ANNIE: Give me a few minutes. I’ll be right back.

She darts to the back of the house. Eric sits, but I continue standing. I take a look around the room.

The walls are covered with so many photographs, possibly hundreds, but even in the swarm of memories, a definite through line is clear; The pictures document the life of a man (who I’m assuming is “Presley”) over the course of his life. A black and white photo depicts the man at one point, cheerful and cherub-like, sitting in the bathtub as an infant. A bit further down the wall, in a sepia tone, the man is handsome and lithe in a WW2 uniform. He stands next to the American flag. He looks proud. Above this, in grainy, 70’s color, the man and his wife stand in front of a station wagon holding a newborn child. On the side table is the most modern photograph. The man is a bit older. He’s with his wife. They hold each other as they stare down at a grave. On the plot, a bouquet of beautiful purple flowers has been placed. I study their expressions. I know them well. I make those same faces every time I visit Georgie.

Annie hurries back into the room.

ANNIE: Sorry, I just wanted to make sure he was situated before we sat down to chat.

ERIC: How is Presley?

ANNIE: Not so good unfortunately. Doctor Collins says it shouldn’t be too long now. A few weeks. Maybe less.

HARITA: Are you his daughter?

ANNIE: No, I’m just a nurse. I’ve been taking care of Mr. Presley for the past few years now… I started around the time I met your husband actually.

HARITA: You knew Tam?

ANNIE: I did.

HARITA: Annie, my husband left a message for me. He said to come and find you? What exactly are you supposed to be telling me?

Annie awkwardly shifts in her seat. She’s uncomfortable. She is dreading something. She looks to Eric-

ANNIE: Would you mind giving us a moment?

Eric seems a bit taken back, but happily complies.

Annie and I sit in silence as she searches for a way to formulate her thoughts. I begin to feel as if she’s never going to speak. Just as I think she’s gone mute she finally opens her mouth.

ANNIE: Tam was a good friend to me. I had just moved to Aleister. I was going through kind of a rough patch, when we stumbled across each other.

HARITA: He’s always been a kind man.

ANNIE: Yes. He most definitely is. I honestly felt that Tam was always, truly… there for me…

There’s a deeper context to what she’s trying to say. I’m confused at first, but then it clicks.

HARITA: There for you how, Annie?

A tiny tear of shame escapes from the corner of her eye. She briskly catches it and flings it to the side.

ANNIE: Please don’t make me say it. I knew he was married, but I never really thought I would ever have to come face to face with you and-

HARITA: It’s fine. We were seperated. Regardless- That’s not my primary concern at the moment. I just- I just want to find out where he is. Make sure he’s OK…

ANNIE: Right. Well I can’t really offer much help with that unfortunately. I haven’t seen Tam in about a month or so. Last I heard he was holed up at Little Moe’s place… I heard what happened. That must have been just so awful-

HARITA: I’d rather not discuss it, if that’s alright?

ANNIE: Of course…

HARITA: Why did Tam come here Annie? To this island?

ANNIE: To research.

HARITA: Research? Research what?

ANNIE: He had all these books. He was always reading.

HARITA: About what?

ANNIE: I wish I could put it concisely, but-

HARITA: However, you can put it is fine, I just need something. Anything.

ANNIE: They weren’t normal books, they… were filled with these… symbols, strange languages- shapes. Stuff that looked like it came straight out of a movie. I remember asking him one night what all of it was about: He said he was researching something called “Mother.”

I flash back to Nan’s party. When my chair crashed to the floor and Nan spoke in that strained voice. She called me that. The thing that spoke through her, called me that. I need to know more.

HARITA: What is-

ANNIE: Your guess is as good as mine. The more he dived into it, the more erratic he became. He would go on and on about it, he even went and got those markings- the ones in the book, tattooed all over himself, his arms, his chest. It was like he was totally enveloped by whatever he was searching for… After a bit, it all became just a lot for me. Presley was getting worse; he needed more attention. I thought it would be best if we broke things off. He didn’t argue. He knew it was time. I haven’t seen him since.

I try to formulate a theory, but I’m coming up blank. Symbols? Tattoos? Books? Nothing about this sounds like my husband at all. Then man that I knew all those years is different from the one that Annie does now.

An awkward silence has fallen over the room again. Annie tries to fill it.

ANNIE: You’re so pretty.

HARITA: Thank you.

ANNIE: I just want you to know that I never meant to overstep. I never meant to-

HARITA: Annie. It’s fine. Honestly. I haven’t… I haven’t really considered us a couple for quite some time. It’s OK. Really.

Is it?

ANNIE: Why did you two separate? If you don’t mind me asking?

HARITA: He never told you?

ANNIE: He just said things didn’t work out.

No, no they didn’t. They didn’t work out at all.

HARITA: We had a son. He passed.

ANNIE: I’m so sorry.

HARITA: Me too.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! A loud, mechanical buzzing goes off from somewhere inside the home.

ANNIE: Shit!

Annie gets up and runs to the back of the house. I follow behind.

We come to a back bedroom where Annie’s patient, Presley, convulses on a medical bed. Annie adjusts a few buttons on his respirator and tries to calm his twitching body. After a few moments she eventually succeeds. Presley catches his breathe and breathes deeply with the rhythm of the machine. He looks peaceful again. Annie lets out a sigh.

ANNIE: I hate seeing him like this.

HARITA: What’s wrong with him?

ANNIE: What isn’t would be a better question. Everything was manageable until the strokes started. That’s when it all started going downhill. It’s a shame. He was always such a kind man. Always had a story to tell. Now he’s just silent. I don’t like it at all.

I don’t either. I hate seeing people like this. I hate seeing myself like this. Clinging to this world so desperately that even breathing is hard. It’s embarrassing. It’s sad. It’s painful. Without thinking I reach out and stroke the top of Presley’s hand. His skin is cool and leathery. It’s worn skin. It had a good run. Been well used.

ANNIE: We should let him rest.

I give Presley and his mechanical appendages one last look before I go. He’s ready. It shouldn’t be long at all. As I walk though, I can swear that out of my peripherals, out of the farthest corners of my eye, I see something. Presley… did you just wave to me? Before I can turn back to really see, Annie ushers me through the threshold and quickly shuts the door.

—

Annie walks me out to the yard, and we reunite with Eric. We share a hug- which in theory should be more awkward than it is; a wife and her husband’s lover embracing in the sunshine. Annie is a good person though. A kind one. Despite sleeping with Tam, forming a relationship with him, I still like her. Or at least I tell myself that I do. We say our farewells-

ANNIE: You’ll find exactly what you’re looking for. I know you will.

I take out a piece of paper and write down my number.

HARITA: If you think of anything else.

Annie takes the paper and gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. She heads back inside to care for her catatonic charge.

—

Eric and I spend the rest of the day searching for any sort of lead, but we come up short. Sheriff Redhill has managed to print out a few fliers in between the madness of Little Moe and we distribute them around town. The paper they’re printed on; however, is a dull puke green that blends right into the lush forestry scattered throughout the island. There’s no urgency to them. No alarm. Just like Redhill. Just like this island. Perpetually taking its time.

As we tack up the camouflaged posters around town, I try to come up with some sort theory- any theory- as to why my husband came here. What was so important about these symbols? What in God’s name is “Mother”? Nan, that Voice, called me that and if I truly am this mysterious entity, then why did Tam come here to search for me. I’ve always been right here. Right here and waiting for him to come home.

As the sun begins to set, Eric looks to me and says-

ERIC: Fancy a drink?

—

We nestle into a corner booth at the pub in The Wilhelm and plan our excursion for tomorrow. Eric has suggested we go see a woman named Karina Zosimos. She’s a local artist who occasionally does tattoos for a few of the locals and most likely did Tam’s. She’ll have knowledge of my husband, him, and his weird markings. I know it.

We watch the sun go down over the horizon, listen to the Lullaby, and drink a hearty ale. I’m not exactly sure what the brand of beer I’m drinking is. There are no labels and the bottles themselves are bland and unidentifiable. I have no idea what I’m consuming, but Eric tells a joke and makes me feel comfortable. I giggle and consume some more. I suddenly remember how handsome he is.

—

It’s past midnight and Eric walks me to my room. He takes a look around.

ERIC: It’s a shame we don’t have anything a bit nicer for the tourists

HARITA: There’s a bed and a shower. It works.

ERIC: I guess…

There’s an inelegant silence, some mumbled words, and a prolonged gazed and soon Eric’s lips are pressed against mine. It was never my intention to form any sort of bond with anyone on this island, let alone some handsome, mysterious stranger, but Eric’s charm and my inability to accept how much today’s visit with Annie actually hurt me has put my thoughts and feelings into a turbine. I told Annie that her fling with Tam didn’t matter, that I didn’t care. But as I begin to run my hand through Eric’s hair and pull him closer, I quickly realize that it absolutely does matter. And I very much do care. I begin to cry.

HARITA: I’m sorry.

ERIC: Don’t be.

HARITA: What am I doing here Eric?

ERIC: You’re going the extra mile.

HARITA: What do I do if I get tired of running?

ERIC: You won’t. I know you won’t.

I try to compose myself, but it’s hard. Eric looks down to one of my boots at the foot of my bed. He picks it up and begins unlacing it.

HARITA: What are you doing?

ERIC: I used to get panic attacks when I was a kid.

He ties the lace together, so it becomes one long, circular strand. He holds it out to me. Cat’s Cradle. He wants to play.

ERIC: I would do this to calm down. To breathe.

The innocence of his suggestion makes me smile. I begin to weave my fingers through the string and try to breathe as he guides me through a series of angular shapes and formations. We work our way through the familiar ones first; “The Cat Eye,” “The Diamond,” “The Fish in the Dish,” and then we go onto some harder ones; figures I’ve never seen before. I try to think up names as they flash before my eyes, but Eric’s fingers and wrists move with such intricate ease, such speed, that I can’t. I’m just too slow. It doesn’t matter though. Watching the string between our bosoms bend from one shape to another becomes absolutely entrancing. I’m finally calm.

ERIC: Better?

HARITA: Yeah.

ERIC: One more shape.

Eric adjusts my fingers and wraps the lace tightly around finger and runs it across my knuckles. He takes his end and circles it around his wrist, loops it over his thumb. I feel tethered to him.

ERIC: On three, go ahead and pull this bit here, alright?

I nod.

ERIC: Ready? One, two-

Instead of pulling the lace, I pull in Eric. I kiss him deeply and we fall back onto the bed.

—

RING! RING! RING! RING!

I rub my eyes. Eric is still sound asleep next to me.

RING! RING! RING! RING!

I creep out of bed and quietly tiptoe to where my phone charges at the other end of the room. I look at the number. I don’t recognize it. I answer:

HARITA: Hello?

At first there’s nothing.

HARITA: Hello? Who is this?

Then the breathing starts.

HARITA: Tam…? Tell me who this is, right now… Hello?!

I remember that I gave Annie my number-

HARITA: Annie, is that you?

I hear a sound on the other end. A hum. Not like the Lullaby from the island, but instead something a bit more staccato, a bit more mechanical. I know this sound. I heard it earlier today in the bedroom. It can’t be… can it? My voice trembles as I say the name-

HARITA: Presley…?

PRESLEY: I am so very glad you came home, Mother.

The line cuts out.

—

I try calling back but there’s no response. I wake Eric and we rush to Annie’s house. When we arrive, the front door is wide open. I take a look around, but no one is home. Not Annie. Not Presley.

I walk into Presley’s room. His bed is neatly made. Next to it sits the respirator. It’s industrial appendages slumped to its side, abandoned and questioning. Although it’s merely an object, it looks sad. It has lost its purpose.

When your only duty is to offer care, what becomes of you when you can’t any longer?