The envelope passed through Edmund's fingers like a feather, just a flash of white in his periphery. For that one brief moment, it seemed weightless and free before making its final descent into the cylindrical belly of the large public letter box. Edmund listened for the tiny "pat" and turned on his heel to face the noisy London street once more. This was the exact ceremony that he'd choreographed on the train ride over- both abrupt and clean like the slice of a guillotine's blade.
While this action wouldn't be entirely detrimental to his career as an author, the death of this particular aspiration plagued Edmund's mind over the last week. He knew exactly what he was giving up, but he also knew that it would be selfish to pursue the idea to its fruition. Whether or not the editor he'd hired would mind was completely irrelevant at this point as a fat check slipped into the folds of his letter was intended to tie up any loose ends.
As the distance between Edmund and the letterbox grew, he muttered underneath his breath a saying he'd learned in a university composition course, "Murder your darlings." It was a terrible phrase, one that he'd never been particularly fond of, but it fit this occasion like an ugly glove. Perhaps one intended for moving around dirt or extracting worms from the earth while gardening. Unpleasant, but practical. It was particularly easy for Edmund to occupy his mind with the woes of having to cut the life of his novel short, but one worry inevitably faded into another as he neared his destination. On the horizon, the solemn grey structure of the hospital materialized.
Over the years, both Edmund and Lucy had become particularly close. Closer, in fact than Peter and Susan were at their age. Perhaps it is because they both managed to maintain a sort of youthful spirit that was doomed to dissipate over the years. But deep down, they both knew that it was because they could both see Narnia just as vividly in their memories as the day that they'd left. So, to ease this pain, they would would take any open opportunity to reminisce over tea. When Edmund departed for college, Lucy was left behind to finish her schooling alone and those fond conversations gradually thinned their way to dissipation like a wave of smoke on a steady breeze. Even those recurring themes like what became of their dear friends…
"I wonder", Lucy would like to query, as she twirled a wafer biscuit lazily through a cup of Devonshire tea, "what Mr. Tumnus made of our leaving Narnia unannounced."
Yes, it seemed as though Lucy asked this question whenever she had the chance to. Over time, Edmund figured that it was more of a plea for comfort instead of a search for some solid answer. So, whenever she asked, he would reply with a simple, "I'm certain he knew as well as you that the only way to move is forward." Normally to that, Lucy would pick up her chin and respond, less dolefully, "Let us hope," or with an occasional, "Yes, but I would certainly love to see him again."
His understanding for her pain would only grow in time. They'd grown up together twice, after all and even though Susan was the one to receive the information of Lucy's secret heartaches in full force while she was going through her adolescence in Narnia, Edmund always knew that Lucy's affection for Mr. Tumnus grew all the more keen with age and that leaving him behind did a number on her heart. So great a number, in fact, that she seemed to renounce matters of the heart with a few exceptions here and there, but she was always the one to lose interest in potential romance first.
At sixteen, the troubles began for Lucy. Initially, a fainting spell or two at school led to her completing her studies from home. When last he'd seen his sister, she was only on the verge of sickliness. She'd mailed him only months ago with word of her progress towards both recovery and a diagnosis.
Edmund received word from Peter earlier in the week that Lucy was in hospital, but not detrimentally ill. She was said to be in good spirits and after an uncomfortable wait in a chilly lobby for a visitor's pass, Edmund found her to be just that. She was unmistakably different in color and weight, but not nearly the weary specter that most ill loved ones often become. For this, Edmund was beyond thankful. Still, she was hardly well enough to shift her weight in order to receive the full extent of her brother's embrace, but this phased neither of them. It took only moments for the strangeness of the situation to cease and the two of them began chatting just as casually as ever.
"I find it hard to believe," Edmund began, taking a seat in a plain and poorly padded arm chair at Lucy's bedside, "that you'd been here for an entire week and I've only just heard. I would have come much sooner, believe me."
"Surely. But I've been in and out since the beginning of your semester. Besides, how lovely it must be to leave London! Even if it is for a few short months at a time." Lucy paused to collect herself, but found that her ability to filter her emotions continued to cease. "I'm very jealous, you know. I'd be starting not this fall, but the next. By then you might even have been my very own composition tutor!"
"There, there." Edmund coaxed, with complete faith that she was speaking with such weariness because she'd been cooped up for days at a time. Lucy so hated staying in one place for long. "You know as well as I that bed rest is a miracle worker. I can tell. It's already working! You have the healthiest glow on the floor. Surely, you're the envy of the ward!"
"I spend nearly all of my time reminiscing. Most of the women find that odd." It would seem to most that a girl so young would have no business reminiscing, but Edmund could understand this better than others, as you know.
"Lucy," he started. Surely, he'd contemplated not sharing this information with her sister, but as he thought, his eyes traveled down to the white sleeves of his cotton shirt and at once, they both saw that they were smudged with ink and quivering just barely with his unsteady hands. "There's something I must tell you. Only if you promise to hear me out and not be upset."
Lucy shook her head and glanced up at her brother, tiny bends of a simple smile flicked upward upon her lips. "I'm not upset, Edmund. You may think that it is selfish now, but I find it completely wonderful." After a moment, Lucy confirmed her knowledge to her brother. "You wrote about Narnia."
A hush. Longer than before. "How could you know that, Lucy?"
"Ours is a story that needs telling. It needs sharing! You're the only one of us with the talent to do it. Everything you've learned in college was in preparation for you to write about it. Don't you see? " Lucy stopped, trying with all her might to read her brother's expression, but found herself chuckling only moments later. "So are you going to let me read it?"
"My editor has it. Along with the letter that I mailed this morning, calling the project off."
"Well, you must telephone him at once! We'll still have two hours of visiting time at the very least when you return!"
When Edmund didn't move, Lucy thrust herself forward with all of her strength and snatched the handbag off of the table on her own. "Well, I'm not going to let this be the end of it, no sir!"
"Lucy, it wasn't even that good." He smiled as she continued to tear through her purse and after seeing her determination along with this new spark of energy that seemed to have awakened in her while speaking of the matter, caved. "You don't have to do that. I'm sure I heard some jingling coming from the bottom of my rucksack earlier. I'll make the call."
Lucy sat back, blowing back the locks of hair that had fallen over her eyes in the fit. "If anything, just get it back so I can read it. Why couldn't you have asked me to be your editor? It's not like I have anything to do around here, anyway!"
Edmund pulled Lucy close and kissed her forehead, momentarily unaware of her frailty. "I'll be back in ten."
Before he could gather his bearings and walk away, a woman appeared in the doorframe, as if out of nowhere. She was very peculiar looking- as though she was from another time. A tall and athletic woman with shining strands of thick black hair that were chopped cleanly off at her shoulders. Her features were almost too geometric and sharp to hold any kind of earthly beauty, from her rectangular nose to her slanted eyes that could have been made from the blue base flames of any London gas lamp, but there was beauty in her presentation, in her strength. A weighted manila folder was tucked beneath her bare, muscular arm indicating that she meant business. In what way, however, neither of them could tell.
"Terribly sorry to interrupt. A word in private with Miss Pevensie, please?" Her voice was bright and musical, cheerful enough to give them hope that this was, perhaps, fortunate news about Lucy's health.
Edmund stood. "Of course, I'll just go and make that call." As he brushed past her, a brilliant red feather pen fluttered, almost willingly from the woman's folder and onto the ground in front of Edmund. While he leant in to pick it up, she swept in with all of the determination and stealth of a famished bird of prey and removed it from his reach. All while in the process of going after her beloved red plume, a second item tumbled out of her folder. One that Edmund recognized immediately. It was the letter he'd send to his editor earlier that day. Although this woman was able to snatch it as well, she knew that she had lost. "What is going on?" Edmund inquired.
It was almost frightening to both of them how well this woman took the interrogation. Why, after the business of retrieving that curious pen and all. Her blue eyes glistened, joyously, in fact, as she tugged out a pair of rectangular reading glasses from her woolen sweater vest. She opened the folder and began moving pages around. "You really should look at the conclusion of chapter twenty nine, Miss Pevensie. It's quite good! My dear friend's description of this event lines up perfectly with Edmund's." Lucy leaned in, completely immersed and when the manila folder was extended in her direction, she seized it greedily and began flipping through it, no questions asked. Edmund, however, was lost in a world of discomfort and questions.
"Begging your pardon, but I believe that both of those artifacts are private property and were not intended for you, ma'am." He thundered just gently enough to show courtesy for the rest of the ward.
She remained unmoved. "And who, might I ask, were they intended for?"
"My personal editor. It's right there on the envelope. CJ Thelsey, Newport. And for one week's shipping time, no less, that letter is property of England's Parcel Services. I should have you arrested."
Lucy disengaged from her reading. "Wait- your friend being whom? I am so lost."
Edmond wasn't quite ready to remove himself from the argument. "And furthermore, I've heard tell that my editor is not only a respected theatre scholar, but a bona fide peregrinator! Climbed Everest in a t-shirt, flown through the Bermuda Triangle at least seven times, outran all of the bulls in Spain! You don't want to upset this CJ gentleman..."
"Okay, first those are all complete exaggerations and second, your poor sister is trying to get a word in. I think we should let her."
Lucy looked at both of them and lowered her eyes in weakness and exhaustion from the fighting. "Who are you?"
"Solving this once and for all. My name is Calliope Joy Thelsey. My nom de plume being CJ Thesley. I am a humble instructor of poetry in Newport and am currently in debt from previous adventures, neither of which are so extravagant as brother-dearest has described. Regardless, I'm forced to work as an editor and librarian to make ends meet and to keep myself from going completely mad. Or at least, it is a fantastic cover. I was not born here. I do not belong here. And yet, I have always come here out of my own will. That is where your brother comes in. You see, not only do I want to help his story along, I need his story to help myself and my sister find some sort of resolve." She stopped. "But moreso, to help Lucy and a friend. Someone who cared very deeply for Lucy and who was left just about broken hearted by her leaving."
Edmund could see Lucy's face grow white. They both knew of whom she spoke. "That was so long ago. So far away." She closed the folder and placed it on her pillow, a tiny tear appearing in the corner of her eye.
Edmond scowled, troubled by his sister's pain and went to comfort her, but it was clear by his expression that he was still preplexed. "And the premature delivery of the letter? I won't believe this until there is an explanation for that."
"Why of course, your honor." Calliope sighed. My work requires that I come to London monthly to retrieve books from the post office. You were given my work address. It happened to be at the top of the pile when I walked in. It was by no magic, merely coincidence. But a happy coincidence. Some things are meant to be. Before you ask about how I was able to find you today, you must understand that I've been fascinated by you and your family from the minute I finished reading through that first draft. I am not an enemy."
After a long silence, Edmund opened his mouth to speak, but it was Lucy who spoke instead. "How can I help?"
"I'm still unsure of that, myself. I am here to retrieve you. When you're ready." She crossed to the door from which she'd appeared.
Out of the two of them, Lucy was the first to believe that Calliope was telling the truth. Had she been well, she would have jumped to her feet and raced through the door without question. But that was not the case. No. Instead, they both sat in silence for a while, avoiding one another's eyes.
Edmund lowered his head. "Troubling. Very troubling, indeed."
"How's that?" Lucy replied, mechanically.
He seized her shoulders gently and turned her inward so that she was the only thing in his line of vision- not Calliope, not the door. Her eyes, though blue and clear were plagued with dark flesh around the edges. "Troubling because it is the truth. Troubling that you wish to go. And must." He breathed. "And I'd rather you be there than here, my sweet."
The question of whether or not Edmund could go, too swamed around in Lucy's mind. She'd always believed that all things were possible. But that thought extinguished itself as she reviewed everything that had happened over the course of this strange visit. In its place, a new question revealed itself. "Will I return? I mean, this isn't like- like dying?"
"I cannot speak to that." Calliope chimed, grinning like a Cheshire Cat as seemed habitual for her. "All that I can say is that I've bounced back and forth between worlds like a ping pong ball for years. In sickness and in health. For better or worse."
Though this was meant to ease the mood, somehow it didn't. Lucy couldn't shake what she knew in her heart. She would not return. "What about Susan and Peter? What about our parents? I can't leave without saying goodbye. I've seen the harm that it can do."
"For this circumstance, I'm afraid, there is no goodbye that they will understand. Just like Tumnus." Edmund smiled to see Lucy react to his name. "The only way to move is forward."
A familiar glow of strength returned Lucy's face. But as she thought, it flickered on and off like a moribund lightbulb. "But am I allowed to cry?" She whispered, wanting no one but her brother to hear.
"No. No, absolutely not." He teased, opening his arms for a final embrace. "If you start, I may start and then that terribly peculiar woman in the doorway will undoubtedly start, too and a room full of sobbing nutters will draw to much attention to this low key meeting. And we don't want you to lose this "get out of jail for free" card for anything in the world." As he rambled, Lucy embraced him, not shushing him once. Edmund was always one to get carried away, but Lucy was never bothered by this because she was exactly the same way.
She broke away and allowed her feet to touch the floor. An unknown strength was born in her as she brushed Edmund's hand aside in hopes of standing on her own, but once she was stable, she realized that it would be good for both of them if her brother accompanied her to where Calliope stood waiting. The motion of each step hardly seemed neither quick enough- nor slow enough. Lucy felt as though she was returning to her forever home in exchange for a potentially lonely forever. There was no way of knowing how she would find Narnia this time and who would be there waiting on the other side. All of these questions, however, were exciting in a way. And it was the sweet divinity of the unknown kept her going toward her destiny. Through the door. When Edmund made it to the other side, he found that he was completely alone. Both Calliope and Lucy were nowhere to be found.