PART 12: The Flute and the Laurel
At first he thought it was just his imagination. It felt so. A random expression went through one ear and left through another. That was it; it was the simplest of the illusions of the sound.
However, as he continued to look at Daphne he felt the coming of a new feeling. A chill ran down his spine as if the silence had brought the winter tempest. The redhead kept avoiding his gaze, choosing to keep her eyes on the side. He still noticed her lips locked tight in a frown. Imagination or not, he had to give those words at least the benefit of the doubt.
"Daphne, I think I might have heard you wrong," he said, carefully and as gently as he could, "did you just say 'it's not working anymore'?"
"Yes, I did," he said quietly.
He reached out his hand, and cupping her chin, gently made her look at him. Her eyes were shining, but it was not due to the beam of her beauty but from dampness of tears.
He blinked a number of times in order to evade a similar sparkle in his own eyes. He had to be strong; he had to seem strong.
Her confirmation was a give-away; he had to go through great lengths in order to find a different interpretation, but no matter how long he walked that destination remained beyond his sight.
"Is it because of the incident at the novelist's house?" he referred to the several days old situation when he fell asleep during Daphne's interview. He knew the question was nonsensical, but it was the first stepping stone in the talk.
"No, of course not," Daphne replied, her chin still resting in his palm. Having noticed the awkwardness of the scene, Shaggy gently let go of her and put his hand on the sofa.
"Then what?" he asked, abiding to the soft pattern.
"It's hard to explain."
"Try, Daphne."
She stayed silent for several seconds, clearly structuring her reply.
"It's still hard to explain, but it feels…it feels as if the spark has disappeared," she slightly turned away again, but he caught the sorrowful expression of her features. As if she was mourning.
Like an echo, the last part of Daphne's statement returned and sounded in his ears and mind. The central word gripped him; even a simple word could contain grand power. Few other words could catch as much symbolism.
The spark. Everything always comes down to perception, but an important part deserved being added. It was a once spark that later became a flame. For years it kept them warm. The fiery blaze burned amidst the shifting elements. The warm sunshine of spring, the refreshing breezes of summer, the rains of autumn, the snows of winter—the seasons passed but the fire blazed. It seemed ever-lasting, it seemed inextinguishable. Now it was not.
He had been noticing its absence, but to him it was merely misplaced, and he had been certain it would still turn up. But perhaps one of the elements had made it go out? Or maybe it had faded away because its time had come?
What if that was the case? It seemed Daphne had come to such a conclusion.
"Wait one moment," a contrasting thought made its presence known in his mind, "I think I'm being melancholic…out of proportion."
Indeed, the spark seemed to have been missing for some time, but there was another important aspect. He did not have to delve deep into his essence in order to notice it. Impressions could be false, but feelings never lie.
He loved her. Spark or no, this remained unchanged. And as long as this was true, there was still a chance.
"Oh c'mon, Daphne, don't say that," he put a hand on her shoulder.
"I had to say it," she responded distantly.
"So what is the solution in your opinion?" he said with as much calmness as anybody could gather in moments like this.
"Perhaps it would be best to…" she trailed off again.
"Separate?" Shaggy guessed; the statement's ending was so predictable that it gave an impression the scene was adapted from a soap opera.
The redhead only nodded.
He could now call it official; his guesses had been correct. He had to win her a second time.
"C'mon, Daph, you don't know what you're talking about," he dismissed her claims in a soft tone.
"Shaggy," she objected without any hints of reproach.
"I don't know how long it took you to come to such a conclusion but it's really—and I mean really—unnecessary. It's just the strain of the last few months taking its toll on you. What you've gone through was too much for you…for anybody. Personally, I am certain that I would not have been able to handle all of it. But you're coping rather well." He gave her a smile and her shoulder and arm.
Shaggy ceased talking. His palm continued gliding up and down her shoulder, accompanied by a quiet leafy sound; the purple material of her dress was smooth underneath his touch. He threw a quick look at the TV set before realizing just as swiftly that it doing so was not of additional help.
The room had plunged into lifeless silence. Daphne was in thoughts while he awaited her next statement. The day's brightness had not become duller, but he was still ready to wait until evening if necessary.
"If only it had been as optimistic as you hope it is," Daphne sighed.
He thought a thrown brick hit a window; the effect of her words was sounding comparably in his ears.
"All that happened to me recently is only a part of the puzzle," she said, attempting to explain herself, "the rift runs deeper. It feels that everything became colder some time ago. Ever since our failed vacation."
There was nothing new here; he did not have to be reminded about the bumps in their relationship throughout the last year. However, the last sentence sent his mind on an unexpected trip. The surroundings became darker, even the room itself turned and changed. The living room became a chamber. There was no Daphne; there was no one but him…and the chest on the stony pedestal. The familiar decoration, a skeletal ram-like muzzle, was staring back at him. Weak green lights were shining in the eyeless sockets, granting more frost to its dreadful gaze. Then came the laughter; a dark sonata of thirteen voice. In it madness competed with malice, wails and cheering stood united. That laugh, that hideous tune, shook the whole of him…
The surroundings changed just as suddenly. He was back in the furnished living room, but the night-cold feel was hard to shake off. Was his imagination awry or did the dark acquaintances send him a telepathic greeting? He did not know, and it did not really matter that moment.
"But, Daphne, I love you," he said, looking at her intently, "It's beyond doubt. I am ready to do anything for you."
"I know this."
"Then what's the problem?"
"I think I'm to blame. I'm probably not appreciating your dedication as much as I should."
He had been expecting a range of answers, but he was not prepared for specific ones.
"Don't say this, Daphne. You do appreciate. Like I've said, it's because of what recently happened. You're just confused."
"Then why doesn't it feel so? The day we became a couple I wondered how sustainable our relationship could be and decided to let time tell. This question has often been revisiting me throughout this year."
Their discussion continued for some time but all his words led to nothing. It ended with them agreeing to finish this topic several days. Nevertheless, a peculiar sense hinted Shaggy that Fate was about to put a final dot in this chapter of his life. Intuition proved correct—Daphne had not changed her mind and her decision was made. Shaggy knew the difference between love and obsession. Those who love could admit loss when necessary. He did so. He let her go.
The last days of their relationship were probably the most awkward in his whole life. They barely spoke to each other. He did not even see her near the end: Daphne had taken leave from work, giving "vacation" as explanation. He, on the other hand, did not and was temporarily assigned as PA to a different reporter. This was when he realized how much he disliked his job. He had no problems with his temporary colleague, Mike, they got along well. But it was not the same. Mike specialized in more serious branches of journalism: politics, society, economy. The job became as dull as sorting envelopes in an office. Moreover, traveling the country as part of projects without Daphne felt like blasphemy. Worse, he suspected that his temporary colleague could soon become his permanent one; it seemed very unlikely that he and Daphne would continue to work in the same team. It was time to think about a possible change in career; he would not be able to bear his current job for long.
Daphne had vacated the property by the time he returned from his first assignment with Mike. He and the dogs were met by an empty house. The entrance hall remained silent to their return; the sound of steps did not come from the stairway. No traces of pink and purple were left—Daphne had taken her belongings with her. It was back to the three of them. It could have felt that everything had gone back the way it did six years before had the memories and experiences of these flash-like seasons not played with his soul.
The next day passed as boringly and melancholically as it possibly could. He did not do much on his day off; the only notable event was a trek to get a paper. On his way back he also purchased something that caught his eye.
Dusk had already fallen on the street and lampposts kindled their light blaze. He was sitting in his room, a plate on the small table in front of him. He picked up the last ham and salad sandwich. He gave it one final look before he consumed it in two bites. He was buried in thoughts; even eating was not a distraction. Had anybody, dog or ghost, entered the room, he would not have caught notice.
A similar scenario happened; he did not hear the door open nor the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Only a voice, gentle and angelic, made him aware of company.
"Shaggy?" he turned around in response to a familiar presence.
She was standing in the doorway leading to the room. The combination of orange and purple made the bright yellow of the room made paler in his eyes.
"Daphne," he said.
He knew she would come one more time; he did not expect anything less.
"How did you come in?" he asked.
The redhead raised her hand to reveal the pointy metal-grey forms of a set of keys. She still had her copy.
"This," she said.
"Makes sense," he commented just for the sake of it, "why don't you sit down?"
A few graceful steps and she was accommodated in a chair.
"Where are Scooby and Scrappy?" she wondered.
"Most probably resting," he replied.
"Oh," she made a one-moment pause, "So how did your assignment with Mike go?" she in the beginning of an unavoidable conversation.
"Nothing unusual," he said lightly, "but nothing good," his tone suddenly fell, "It's not the same as it was with you…not comparable in anything…"
"Well, I hope you'll get used to it," she spoke as if she was apologizing, "I think I will be looking for a new job."
That was a surprise to him. Daphne loved her job; that was why she had been one the paper's most active reporters for years. However, he immediately came up with a possible explanation.
"You understand that it would be incredibly difficult for us to work together after our breakup?" he tested his intuition.
She silently nodded in confirmation.
"I thought so as well."
He did not mind trying it though. As long as served as a possibility of somehow winning the redhead back, it was worth it. But he accepted that it was agonizing labor for someone like Daphne.
"That's why I'm thinking of quitting the job. I'll likely submit my resignation to the editor's office in a few days. You can continue your work; the paper needs you."
"But what will you do then?" she raised an eyebrow, surprised by his plans.
"Well…I might fall into a deep depression that would weaken my immune system and die after catching a cold," he threw a sarcastic remark and looked away, avoiding her startled expression.
"But on a serious note, I believe I need a career change," he smiled, looking back at her, "I'm thinking of going into teaching."
"Teaching?" she said, surprised, "but you don't have any teaching qualifications."
"It appears you don't need one for certain positions. I saw an ad in the paper," he looked left and right, "no where did I put it?" he mumbled, "anyway, I'll look for it later. But this school is located a long way from here, so I'll be out of town for the academic year if I am accepted for this job."
Daphne looked at a watch.
"I think it's time I get going," she sighed as stood up from the chair, "so allow me to wish you good luck."
"Like thanks," he said unemotionally.
"And here. I came to give them to you," she looked at the floor and brought her hand forward, the set of keys resting in her open palm, her keys to this house.
His eyes slid from the redhead to the offering and back.
"Keep them," he said.
Daphne shot him a gaze from the unexpected reply.
"It doesn't matter if it takes a month, a year, or three years…please…just come back," he would later wonder what still held him together when he was pronouncing these words, "I'll wait, Daphne."
The redhead sat back into the chair, closing her eyes and putting a hand against her forehead. She looked as if tears would soon stream down her smooth cheeks.
He kneeled before her and put his hand on her cheek.
"It's not too late yet," it was his last chance to prevent her from leaving and he used it, "just stay here and we can bring your stuff back tomorrow. You're my other half, Daphne."
They remained like that for almost a minute.
"I'll be going," the redhead said, preparing to stand up; she clutched the keys in her hand.
He accompanied her to the front door in silence.
"Will you return if you change your mind?" he begged for an answer one last time.
The redhead sighed.
"Let time tell," the exact words she pronounced in the beginning of their relationship returned to witness the final moments.
"Wait here. I want to give you something," Shaggy said and disappeared in the living room.
He reemerged quickly, holding the items that caught his attention earlier that day. The gentle stems and leaves carried the green spirit of spring; the yellow heads felt so bright they could have replaced lanterns in the night's shadows. Flowers seemed fitting that moment, and some types carried a symbol.
Yellow tulips, the messengers of hopelessly unchangeable love. Shaggy could hear the flowery poets sing their tribute to his and Daphne's romance as he handed the bouquet to the redhead.
Daphne accepted the gift.
And so she left his house, his love reflected in the golden heads of the tulips in her hands.
—
Shaggy stood in the doorway watching as the redhead disappeared in the shadows. Then the images before his eyes began to unravel. They twisted and melted until they were completely burned away.
There was no doorway in front of him anymore—the thin transparent layer of glass now kept the night on the other side. He observed the darkened street from a new point, the upper story of his house. He turned away from the window and looked around. The interior was unmistakable; he was in his room. A light frown appeared on his face—the journey between the two locations was a swift one…
The present brought him back to its grasp.
He wondered how much time had passed since he stepped to the window this night. How long would it still take for dawn to color the skies? He did not know, and it did not bother him much.
He had made a trip across time and numerous locations whilst standing, facing the night. He had not seen the sky's pale lantern; other images had flashed before his eyes. He had relieved years in just one night.
A single word escaped from beneath his breath, carrying a rose-tainted name: Daphne.
It felt as if the walls of the room echoed the same name in response.
It had been a year since he saw her last, but her image was so bright in his memory that he was afraid he would lose the ability of distinguishing past and present.
He had been to places since their breakup. Soon afterwards, he was offered the teaching position he had applied for, an offer he accepted. He had seen it as an opportunity to get away from breakup's acid that was burning him then…
But he had gotten more than he bargained for and had not even stayed until the end of the academic year. The literal ghoulishness of that school could have easily beaten Vincent's and Kreepoff's TerrorTech…
Yet no matter where he was…in what situation he was…the lovely familiar image kept coming back.
Daphne had broken his heart but still kept the pieces together. Sometimes, he really had an urge to hate her for what she had done. But how could he hate if he even saw those same features amidst the constellations in the heavens?
Thus anger quickly turned to longing.
He desperately wished her to return. He did not need an apology; he wanted her back. He did not calculate the chances; he relied solely on hope.
He would hope and he would wait.
Daphne, the name flashed in the shine of a star.
Shaggy went to bed as dawn's hues appeared on the horizon. Sleep overpowered him rather quickly and took him to its realm…He and the dogs, the blonde boy and the bespectacled girl, the eccentric warlock and the underage conartist, criminals in masks and supernatural beings— all merged into an unfamiliar chaotic narrative. Travel, pursuits, leisure, mysteries—this time the sequence of events made no sense but he was not bothered.
She was there with him.
—
Author's Note: Thank you for reading, ladies and gentlemen!