Catharsis
1.
Pain. Not just the reaction of nerve endings sending messages to the brain in an "Ouch, I've just been stabbed in the stomach," or "Gee willakers, I've just been shot through the heart," sort of way; but pain so complete and all encompassing throughout every pore that it becomes an entity unto itself sort of pain. There was only one other living being who could relate to this sort of pain that I felt. I didn't know him yet and he didn't know me. He had spent the equivalent of the last forty years in the truest and most tangible hell that there ever was. The real Hell, the one they talked of in stories, though no story had ever or could ever completely do it justice. I, on the other hand, had experienced what one might aptly refer to as "Hell on Earth." For both of us, there were really no words that could ever articulate the pain we had each, separately experienced. Such pain could only be expressed through our eyes, his hazel-green, mine grey-blue, the windows to our individual battered and tortured souls. How odd it was that we met in such mundane circumstances as the post office.
To be true, it was actually outside of the post office, in the pouring rain, in the middle of summer's heat. It was my usual routine to walk up to the post office each evening just after dusk. Twilight was always my favorite time of day. It was that timeless battle when the day and night fought for supremacy and invariably, night always won. The day would slowly give herself over to the night, bleeding a rainbow spectrum at the horizon. At her core, the sky still burned such a bright crimson that it appeared violet at the surface. However, with each stroke of atmosphere, she gave up a part of herself, so that by the time that Venus followed her mistress, the sky was already owned by night. But tonight, the thunderheads had in rolled to break the humidity just before it became too unbearable. As such, I drove the two-minute drive from my small, beloved wartime house to the main street of the small bedroom suburban town.
There was no home delivery in the town, nor had there ever been in the entire time I had lived there growing up. Every day, each resident of the town ventured to the main street, which was little more than a quarter mile consisting of an over-priced grocery store, a bank, a gas station, a restaurant, and a few antique stores for the rich out-of-town city folk and of course, the post office. It resided as the hub of the commercial district like an elderly, but well respected monarch.
I pulled in to the parking lot behind the building. It was the same place I parked on Sundays when I attended the church across the street. In the lot, I couldn't help but admire the '67 Chevy already parked. I knew it was a '67 immediately by the taillights, which were embedded in the bumper. When I was a little girl, my Dad had owned one almost exactly like it, although my Dad's had been a '68 and he had painted it navy blue. This one was a shiny, metallic black.
Pushing my memories aside, as they would only bring back the pain I so desperately tried to avoid, I dashed through the rain to the post office and collected my mail. I was rewarded with nothing but bills and flyers, and a good soaking despite my haste. As I headed back to the car, in less of a rush since I figured I was already drenched, the lightening gave me a glimpse of a figure crouching under the porch of the building next door. Thinking that one of my neighbors had been caught in the downpour and wanting to offer a ride home, I approached the person, who I could now make out to be a man, and definitely not a local, picking the lock to break in to the side door of the Masonic Hall.
He didn't seem to notice my presence while he concentrated on his task. But when I interrupted him with an unassuming, "There's an easier way, you know?" he didn't seem at all upset about being caught. On the contrary, he flashed a devilish and unapologetic grin and seemed more embarrassed that he hadn't noticed my intrusion.
"Oh, an easier way, huh?" he replied with that confident grin not wavering for a second.
"Yeah," I replied and pulled out my house keys, "It just so happens that my house key unlocks the front door." Almost under my breath I added, "for some strange reason."
The front part of the Masonic hall was a community resource and employment center and had once housed the town's public library. At the back of the resource center was a corridor that connected to the reception area of the Mason's Hall. At one time, I had been fascinated by the secret society and had wondered what sort of things occurred in their meeting room, which was located in the basement of the building. Later, I realized that most of their meetings were concerned with local community events and charities, but there was still that lingering feeling that there was more down there than what met the eye. Then the dreams started which left no doubt that there was more in that basement than wine and cheese nights and essay contests, something diabolical.
Of course I said nothing of my fears to the stranger as I unlocked the door to the resource center. He never asked how I knew that my key could open the door to the building and I had never asked what he was doing breaking and entering. I still can't explain what my motives were to help this stranger break in, but I seemed to sense on some level, or maybe it was just wishful thinking, that he knew what was down there too.
As we made our way though the darkened office, the lightning flashing through the windows gave just enough illumination for me to take my bearings. Although the storm raged outside, all was quiet inside. It didn't bother me in the slightest that I was alone, in an empty building, with this man who might very well be a killer. I already knew for a fact that he was a criminal as I had just witnessed his B & E. Regardless, the atmosphere coupled with the images from my dreams of what was actually in that basement had me scared shitless. The stranger seemed nonplussed and exuded a steel-clad calm. Oddly, I felt comforted by this.
I led him to the back of the office to the door that connected to the corridor and to the rest of the building. The door was unlocked and open slightly. He reached to open it the rest of the way and grabbed my hand to proceed. I squeezed his hand and he turned to look at me when I didn't move.
"Okay, this is as far as I go." I said, the nervousness evident in my voice.
He turned, facing me so close that our noses were almost touching. Our eyes had adjusted to the low light and he looked at me so intently, as if really paying close attention to me for the first time and he could clearly see the terror communicated in my eyes. Realization dawned on him,
"Wait a minute, you know what's down there, don't you?"
"I, I don't know what you're talking about." I stammered. My fear had become absolute paralysis and I only knew that I had to get out of there, now!
"Yes, you do." He confirmed. My panic saying more truth than words could ever refute.
It almost seemed like we were going to argue about it right there, when a strong wind started to gust from the corridor and the door flung itself the rest of the way open.