Chapter 2
Day 2
12:08pm Delhi Swan Hotel
He picked up the bag by the bed, feeling fortunate that it was a light rucksack. He'd only had a few hours groggy sleep of tossing and turning, maybe it was the beds, the unfamiliar surroundings, the foreigness of the country; something he'd never get used to or maybe it was the worry of a friend over a friend. He drew the laces open slowly, with a mild curiousity he pondered what more surprises were held by the satchel. His eyes clutched their closure tightly as he stopped what he was attempting, he couldn't do it, look through her belongings as if she were already dead. He couldn't allow even one more inch of doubt that she would survive weasel its way into his head, he worried that if he allowed himself to believe it for one moment then it could be made true, he could kill her with a thought, an idea. Stranger things had happened to him, far stranger, he couldn't be too cautious when it was her life he considered. He wiped his eyes, thinking of breakfast, he could get some on the run and hail a taxi to the hospital, share the morning with gracie just like they had before, before this all happened. Before he screwed up. Before she left.
It was a painful reminder to think of why she lay on the bed. As far as the doctors were concerned she lay there because of an unidentified illness that had overtaken her body, an intruder had done this. What was far worse was the truth that beyond anyone's imagination, they would not know of the real reason. He had caused this, his actions from the moment he'd met her on sweltering new orleans day and given her what would be a forsaken job, all that and that job that led to the past from then, to today and her predicament. He knew that was what was. Nothing else. He wouldn't have gone so far to say he was her murderer but he as good as did that task. He'd played around with things he didn't understand, things he didn't know of. He'd not seen that the lines had become blurred, a misjudgement of their friendship. All of it could have been avoided, hindsight wasn't the annoying voice saying how you could have done better, this time it was the voice telling you that you ought to know better, a whole lot more better. The kind of better that halted the breakdown of a heart or two and a tragedy for one.
The bag once again sat in the corner by her bed, across from his vigil seat, an angle that allowed him with the help of the loosened strings to see into the open hole. He'd sat there for half an hour staring at it, thinking of what was in his view. He looked at grace's face another time, she showed no sign of waking.
/what could it hurt to peek/
fumbling with the scrunched up folds of the bag he finally reveals its contents, a book, a journal of some kind, a wallet with various cards and travellers cheques and a few personal belongings of various assorts. The diary, gabe thoughtfully fondled its leather cover. It was a bit battered, looked like it'd taken the rain and the wind, as he opened it specks of desert dust and sand fell out of it, he noted their magical fall the floor. They seemed like they were floating on an invisible cascade, fluttering like butterflies as the light intertwined with the particles. On the page was grace's neat but flourishing scrawl, flicking through it sometimes it is rougher and sometimes smaller and rushed. As he got to near the end of skimming the pages he felt a thin push on his palm and as he moved the book into the grasp of his other hand a photo dropped from the books own grip. It was face down when he reached to pick it up, had no date on it but when he turned it over he knew exactly when it was from. It pictured him and grace smiling, gerde had taken it with the backdrop of the garden at schloss ritter the summer before. He remembered it well, he'd been busy with the renovations, there'd been german workmen everywhere and none of them took any notice of him despite the fact they most spoke english. He'd wished he'd gotten the local builders in, ones from Rittersberg who had respect atleast even if they lacked thoroughly modern training. But instead he'd gone with a big firm he'd been recommended by the family lawyer. And he'd had no end of grief trying to organise it all, whatever he said they did the opposite of, he was the one paying but they cared more about fooling around playing jokes on the dumb american. To top it off it had been a rough patch in his writings. He was stuck on novelisation of their last 'great' adventure and the light relief of a short story challenge wasn't helping one bit. Here was where the truly memorable bit was. Grace and Gerde cleared out the workmen, organised a break; A good meal, a trip around the local pubs and sites to see and then.they topped it all off with revealing that they'd found another company to do the work who had been fully instructed so to leave him free to relax enough to get the flow of creativity back. They'd celebrated the end of the workmen from hell at his request with a bottle of wine in the garden, and gerde in the merriment insisted on a photo of him looking so happy so she could prove he'd been happy atleast once before and could shove it in his face whenever he entered what she called one of his black moods. And ofcourse she'd also insisted on one other photo, him and grace to prove that they were friends after any of the frequent quabbling started It was funny, one of the happiest moments of his life and he had a record of it. It came in handy when you were at your all time low, atleast it couldn't get much worse than now. If he took a picture of now maybe one day he'd look back and see how his worry was for nothing, that it had all worked out fine. Sure would be nice if he could be there now.
He looked back to her, not a bit like the grace he knew. No hint of silent strength lingered. Only the pale grasp that seemed to hover over her, like the infamous shoulder of death. Was it really his friend there? Friends. They'd been that once. Maybe she wasn't his friends anymore. But he hadn't any suitable word for her now. But sure, they'd been friends. He'd even met some of hers once too. An informal meeting grace had arranged when they'd been in the u.s., on a promotional tour. It would have been good, except they were all bubbling over thinfs he'd never heard of. Chatting away about old times that he had been there for. The night had only highlighted how out of place he was in her life. How out of touch he was with her world. A whole 7 years far away, in his little self-encompassing room writing books that weren't even fiction. He couldn't even write an entertaining lie. He certainly couldn't entertain her friends. They weren't his or even in his realm. All he really knew was grace, gran, gerde and mosely. They had to be the most mismatched friends there'd been. Funny, he should have been able to see they couldn't be more. No use if they couldn't just be friends atleast. Why was he so happy then? Everything he knew now was as real then. Was just a good reason for melancholy as it was in the present. He looked at the picture and damned it. Where was the use of happiness, when it was stuck in the past and stuck there forever. A torturing memory of what you want today. What was just as far away.
And further away, there shone a silver eagle in the sky. It glinted with the sunlight that shone straight through the porthole onto her lap. Yawning the passenger opens her eyes and stretches out. The call rings out from the intercom, the captain happily tells them all to strap into their seatbelts. She prepares for landing, and glances out for one little last look at India.
Day 3
Clawless dragons with their fire still, using all they have to fend off the sheen
With only bitter kisses never spent as a memory And nothing left to remind all of what passed
But only of what will
The scene was black, no background to it. He stared at the desk, the wood grain pitted with marks made by the old observers. He hears the slap of a ruler and meekly looks up to the teacher. The mistress towers over him, dressed formally as a victorian governess. Her face shows a strict calmness but a merciful hint to its figure. As she prepares to speak, he holds his breath in anticipation of punishment. Instead she commands him to read the book before him, a book that appeared, he'd known it wasn't there but yet it is there. A mystery that scares him, for he's so scared he stutters. "I asked you to read the page aloud Gabriel." He stares at it trying to make sense "Read, master gabriel" a thin trickle of sweat rolls down the side of his nose and he concentrates harder. The words seem umbled, he can't see then, can't make out what it says. " I said READ. You must read" his heart beats faster and faster, feeling dizzy. He wants to make her stop, make it go away, why does it confound him. They're only words. The have meaning, as plain as an apple must be an apple and you know it is. "Hear me. YOU MUST READ" the fear gushes through him, his pulse out of control. The darkness begins to engulf with the faint traces of her control Her faces is all he can see. Her hands holding up his head. "your fear controls you. You cannot hate yourself so. You must hate this" her hand points at him, she carries on and he can't take it. He loses himself in the place, the darkness pulls up and closes. With the last feeling of his arms around a small book that he knows the way of.
Day 2
12:08pm Delhi Swan Hotel
He picked up the bag by the bed, feeling fortunate that it was a light rucksack. He'd only had a few hours groggy sleep of tossing and turning, maybe it was the beds, the unfamiliar surroundings, the foreigness of the country; something he'd never get used to or maybe it was the worry of a friend over a friend. He drew the laces open slowly, with a mild curiousity he pondered what more surprises were held by the satchel. His eyes clutched their closure tightly as he stopped what he was attempting, he couldn't do it, look through her belongings as if she were already dead. He couldn't allow even one more inch of doubt that she would survive weasel its way into his head, he worried that if he allowed himself to believe it for one moment then it could be made true, he could kill her with a thought, an idea. Stranger things had happened to him, far stranger, he couldn't be too cautious when it was her life he considered. He wiped his eyes, thinking of breakfast, he could get some on the run and hail a taxi to the hospital, share the morning with gracie just like they had before, before this all happened. Before he screwed up. Before she left.
It was a painful reminder to think of why she lay on the bed. As far as the doctors were concerned she lay there because of an unidentified illness that had overtaken her body, an intruder had done this. What was far worse was the truth that beyond anyone's imagination, they would not know of the real reason. He had caused this, his actions from the moment he'd met her on sweltering new orleans day and given her what would be a forsaken job, all that and that job that led to the past from then, to today and her predicament. He knew that was what was. Nothing else. He wouldn't have gone so far to say he was her murderer but he as good as did that task. He'd played around with things he didn't understand, things he didn't know of. He'd not seen that the lines had become blurred, a misjudgement of their friendship. All of it could have been avoided, hindsight wasn't the annoying voice saying how you could have done better, this time it was the voice telling you that you ought to know better, a whole lot more better. The kind of better that halted the breakdown of a heart or two and a tragedy for one.
The bag once again sat in the corner by her bed, across from his vigil seat, an angle that allowed him with the help of the loosened strings to see into the open hole. He'd sat there for half an hour staring at it, thinking of what was in his view. He looked at grace's face another time, she showed no sign of waking.
/what could it hurt to peek/
fumbling with the scrunched up folds of the bag he finally reveals its contents, a book, a journal of some kind, a wallet with various cards and travellers cheques and a few personal belongings of various assorts. The diary, gabe thoughtfully fondled its leather cover. It was a bit battered, looked like it'd taken the rain and the wind, as he opened it specks of desert dust and sand fell out of it, he noted their magical fall the floor. They seemed like they were floating on an invisible cascade, fluttering like butterflies as the light intertwined with the particles. On the page was grace's neat but flourishing scrawl, flicking through it sometimes it is rougher and sometimes smaller and rushed. As he got to near the end of skimming the pages he felt a thin push on his palm and as he moved the book into the grasp of his other hand a photo dropped from the books own grip. It was face down when he reached to pick it up, had no date on it but when he turned it over he knew exactly when it was from. It pictured him and grace smiling, gerde had taken it with the backdrop of the garden at schloss ritter the summer before. He remembered it well, he'd been busy with the renovations, there'd been german workmen everywhere and none of them took any notice of him despite the fact they most spoke english. He'd wished he'd gotten the local builders in, ones from Rittersberg who had respect atleast even if they lacked thoroughly modern training. But instead he'd gone with a big firm he'd been recommended by the family lawyer. And he'd had no end of grief trying to organise it all, whatever he said they did the opposite of, he was the one paying but they cared more about fooling around playing jokes on the dumb american. To top it off it had been a rough patch in his writings. He was stuck on novelisation of their last 'great' adventure and the light relief of a short story challenge wasn't helping one bit. Here was where the truly memorable bit was. Grace and Gerde cleared out the workmen, organised a break; A good meal, a trip around the local pubs and sites to see and then.they topped it all off with revealing that they'd found another company to do the work who had been fully instructed so to leave him free to relax enough to get the flow of creativity back. They'd celebrated the end of the workmen from hell at his request with a bottle of wine in the garden, and gerde in the merriment insisted on a photo of him looking so happy so she could prove he'd been happy atleast once before and could shove it in his face whenever he entered what she called one of his black moods. And ofcourse she'd also insisted on one other photo, him and grace to prove that they were friends after any of the frequent quabbling started It was funny, one of the happiest moments of his life and he had a record of it. It came in handy when you were at your all time low, atleast it couldn't get much worse than now. If he took a picture of now maybe one day he'd look back and see how his worry was for nothing, that it had all worked out fine. Sure would be nice if he could be there now.
He looked back to her, not a bit like the grace he knew. No hint of silent strength lingered. Only the pale grasp that seemed to hover over her, like the infamous shoulder of death. Was it really his friend there? Friends. They'd been that once. Maybe she wasn't his friends anymore. But he hadn't any suitable word for her now. But sure, they'd been friends. He'd even met some of hers once too. An informal meeting grace had arranged when they'd been in the u.s., on a promotional tour. It would have been good, except they were all bubbling over thinfs he'd never heard of. Chatting away about old times that he had been there for. The night had only highlighted how out of place he was in her life. How out of touch he was with her world. A whole 7 years far away, in his little self-encompassing room writing books that weren't even fiction. He couldn't even write an entertaining lie. He certainly couldn't entertain her friends. They weren't his or even in his realm. All he really knew was grace, gran, gerde and mosely. They had to be the most mismatched friends there'd been. Funny, he should have been able to see they couldn't be more. No use if they couldn't just be friends atleast. Why was he so happy then? Everything he knew now was as real then. Was just a good reason for melancholy as it was in the present. He looked at the picture and damned it. Where was the use of happiness, when it was stuck in the past and stuck there forever. A torturing memory of what you want today. What was just as far away.
And further away, there shone a silver eagle in the sky. It glinted with the sunlight that shone straight through the porthole onto her lap. Yawning the passenger opens her eyes and stretches out. The call rings out from the intercom, the captain happily tells them all to strap into their seatbelts. She prepares for landing, and glances out for one little last look at India.
Day 3
Clawless dragons with their fire still, using all they have to fend off the sheen
With only bitter kisses never spent as a memory And nothing left to remind all of what passed
But only of what will
The scene was black, no background to it. He stared at the desk, the wood grain pitted with marks made by the old observers. He hears the slap of a ruler and meekly looks up to the teacher. The mistress towers over him, dressed formally as a victorian governess. Her face shows a strict calmness but a merciful hint to its figure. As she prepares to speak, he holds his breath in anticipation of punishment. Instead she commands him to read the book before him, a book that appeared, he'd known it wasn't there but yet it is there. A mystery that scares him, for he's so scared he stutters. "I asked you to read the page aloud Gabriel." He stares at it trying to make sense "Read, master gabriel" a thin trickle of sweat rolls down the side of his nose and he concentrates harder. The words seem umbled, he can't see then, can't make out what it says. " I said READ. You must read" his heart beats faster and faster, feeling dizzy. He wants to make her stop, make it go away, why does it confound him. They're only words. The have meaning, as plain as an apple must be an apple and you know it is. "Hear me. YOU MUST READ" the fear gushes through him, his pulse out of control. The darkness begins to engulf with the faint traces of her control Her faces is all he can see. Her hands holding up his head. "your fear controls you. You cannot hate yourself so. You must hate this" her hand points at him, she carries on and he can't take it. He loses himself in the place, the darkness pulls up and closes. With the last feeling of his arms around a small book that he knows the way of.