Disclaimer: the following is a work of fiction. Any characters that may appear to resemble actual people (whether alive or deceased) or scenarios that seem to depict real world events – are wholly coincidental and not the intent of the author.
Author’s note: It’s strongly suggested that the Rendezvous series be read in consecutive order. At some point I may provide recaps of the previous installment(s) within the text, but currently there are none.
Rendezvous — a Novella
(Volume II)
EXPLANATIONS
Matt’s Meeting
…Is she even human?
“As a matter of fact Matthew, I’m not.”
Her words echoed in my ears – and I wondered what they could possibly mean. I could tell she was going to fill me in on a whole host of things from the look on her face (or was it something more ethereal informing me?) and yet, how could simple words attempt to explain what had transpired this fateful afternoon. Soon the last rays of sunlight would vanish from sight…making me wonder…would the Moon-lit Motel live up to its name? I stepped back from the doorway of the suite and before saying anything in return, soaked up some of the remaining sunshine, then leaned against an old, dilapidated buick that was sitting a few feet away. The thing looked like it had been there for eons.
“Okay, what are you?” I inquired, doubtful that her response would assuage my anxieties.
“I’m part of an ancient race; some call us Magi, others prefer: witches or warlocks, I’ve even been called a djinn at one point in time. But that would be highly inaccurate terminology to use. We are mortal, but live extended lives – with immortal like powers – some of us anyhow. So, I realize the distinction is beyond certain individuals and really, maybe it’s splitting hairs.” She leaned against her doorway casually while saying this, apparently unaware of how ludicrous it all sounded.
“So you’re omnipotent?” I asked, frankly.
She laughed briskly before answering. Her chuckle was light and came out as slightly melodic, quite pleasant. “No, sadly I am not.” The nameless witch smiled widely, continuing with emphasis, “…far from it – in fact! My powers absolutely have their limits. However, I do happen to be one of the more powerful of my kind.”
She paused a moment and then continued:
“My name is Sheena. I feel you should know that.”
“If – and I mean if – I choose to accept what you say Sheena, as fact, and not as belonging to some fairytale you made up; how, and why have you brought me here? How – the – hell do you figure I fit into this?” I took a breath and continued, “This is the first time I’m hearing of the existence of “Magi” – or whatever you called them a moment ago. The terms warlocks, or worst yet…witches, sounds like something you should only say at Halloween – so let’s stick with “Magi” or “Mages”. This all sounds bonkers enough as is.” I rushed through these assertions; wholly aware of the fact that I was borderline ranting. But at least I felt relatively normal again; whatever power she had used to impel me to come here – must’ve either weakened or dissipated completely.
“It was a spell; a form of enchantment. If you’re wondering…” Sheena winked while saying this, “and I ceased the ebb of its ether as soon as we began talking. Which means in layman’s speech: I disrupted the spell. It is no more.” This was said rather matter-of-factly while she stared up at the sky; her amber eyes seemed to blaze with hidden truths. Sheena’s auburn tresses became golden in the bright sunlight as I watched her. How long had she been alive? Her words painted a picture of a near-immortal; one that had possibly lived for centuries, millenia, or even longer….
Despite my reluctance to become involved, I felt myself being steadily drawn into this; whatever this was. After experiencing first-hand what she was capable of – I had little trouble taking Sheena’s outlandish words at face value. Maybe that was part of her plan…to remove all possible doubts as to the credibility of her statements.
If so, it worked.
Sheena stepped out from the doorway. A nondescript room, dated furnishings (decorated with floral patterning) became visible momentarily – until the door swung closed a second later. I glimpsed a small beige and black kitchenette, a loveseat, side table, and a twin-sized bed with a duvet cover. Well at least her room looked like a regular person’s – even if everything else about her was slightly bizarre.
Then again, maybe intriguing was a better word to use.
“I am sorry, Matthew,” She began. “I had to call you here even though it was against my better judgment. I had little to no choice.” She paused for a second and gathered her thoughts before going on. It was easy to see that Sheena was choosing her words with the utmost precision.
“The man out front: the motel manager. I was forced to use a memory obfuscation hex on him. So he thinks he sees… what he does not see. He won’t be able to recall either of us with great clarity. Which is a necessity to safeguard our lives.” Her complexion was aglow from the fading rays peeking through the tree line. She stopped staring skyward for a moment to look me straight in the eyes before continuing.
“I need your help Matthew; to escape from powerful forces that I can no longer contend with on my own. We must leave here soon…if you would take that chance with me.”
“…When?” I asked, after a moment’s hesitation.
“Only when it is safe, under the light of the full moon.” As she replied Sheena’s eyes twinkled with an immutable brilliance.
“And it’s my choice to come with you? No ‘magic tricks’ or anything?”
I asked her, unable to stop myself from smiling anxiously.
“Completely your own. It has to be. And they are not tricks, nor are they what you call magic.”
“What is it then?” I inquired.
Sheena stooped down – and to illustrate her meaning, drew a word in the dust of the walkway using a slender finger to do so.
—- MAGICK —-
The gothic style letters glowed with a reddish hue for a second or two. I felt a shiver work its way up my spine, not fully unpleasant though, less like a sensation of fear – and rather – anticipation for the unknown. It was a bit like being an explorer in a bygone era and discovering a new island or archipelago. While being well aware that the voyage home would be a perilous one, rife with hardships and adversity. A bit like that.
“Ahh…so it’s spelled different is it?” I commented, acting nonplussed in an attempt to hide my astonishment.
“Yes, it is spelled differently. It’s an ancient force that flows through the earth, not something you purchase at a hobby shop for a few dollars. But your ignorance is to be expected; fret not – you will soon know more than you could possibly imagine. Now come, Matthew, it is time we sit, rest, and wait for the moon to lend us sanctum in the form of its nocturnal rays.”
Sheena ushered me inside with a wave of her hand, I only hesitated for a moment, then obliged and stepped over the threshold. Leaving behind any trepidation I had felt a few moments before.
I was too deep in it, to not want to see this thing through to the end. Going back to my normal life, driving a cab, just didn’t seem as attractive now. Safe, sure, but this was a whole new world I had been pulled into – one fraught with danger – but one that also promised myriad revelations about life that I had never ever dreamed possible. I had always been the curious type…for better or worse.
Hopefully this wasn’t “for worse”.
Nora’s Awakening
Was this how Rip Van Winkle felt after sleeping his life away?
Awakening from my deep slumber was vertigo inducing.
Once awakened, I found myself lying in a hospital bed surrounded by flowers and cheerily written get-well cards. The walls were manilla with black trim; the rest of my surroundings: a small-sized room with a window that allowed minimal light in, a heart monitor, IV unit, side table, and a countertop holding all my get-well-soon swag. The flowers and gifts from well-wishers definitely helped to brighten the overall look of my private hospital room, but really, only a miniscule amount. I could see some of my co-workers’ signatures were on a few of the cards. Oh god, have I missed work? My sister-in-law was there; worried, irritated, and pestering me nonstop with real genius commentary – you know the obvious takes “…what if she hadn’t shown up a day early and found me… I could’ve died…blah blah blah”,
I told her everything I remembered… finishing with the peculiar silverish rock and how it had affected me eerily when I found it…and how I had instantly fallen unconscious when I tried to uncover it. Needless to say, Becky wasn’t having it; she ordered the doctors to run a battery of tests, most important of which was a CT scan – since “I had obviously taken a fall while riding horse” and “smacked my noggin’ real good” – as she so delicately put it. She was the one who found me out there in the backyard, seemingly catatonic, with my eyes rolled halfway up in my head. And she swore up and down – there was nothing – I repeat, nothing – that matched the description (irregular shape, silver, reflective) I gave her, nothing in the vicinity, or even anywhere on the farm: unless I wanted to enlist a brigade of firemen to search the entire woodlands. That last point made was facetious; her inherent snark towards me was showing as Becky was becoming more than a bit exasperated. Everytime I pressed the matter, she arched an eyebrow, and continued to ask a battery of questions intended to check my memory; running through everything from what day my birthday was, the date of my parents’ (her in-laws) anniversary, what year the family farm was purchased; even going as far as quizzing me about episodes of a popular show that me and my brother watched together as children. It was shocking how much my brother, her husband, shared with this woman. She knew his favourite episodes down to a tee.
Before too long she accepted that I wasn’t concussed. The doctors ran their tests and found nothing abnormal, and after much debate, they chalked it up to “stress-induced catatonia” or in other words: “a catatonic state brought on by stress”. And they further deduced that this is what had somehow led to my full blown three-day-coma. Unsurprisingly, I was a bit of a medical marvel in their eyes. The rest of the day was spent eating and resting.
Mostly due to insurance reasons: I had to stay at least twenty-four hours under observation.
*****
Later that night, when my sister-in-law had left, and I was allowed to sleep it off – I found myself lost in a lucid dream.
There was a man named Matthew and he was driving along a boardwalk; I didn’t know what type of car it was – because I happened to be sitting next to him in the passenger’s seat. But, I was one hundred percent sure he couldn’t see me. I was astral projecting – how I knew this, I could not say.
Another vehicle rolled up next to us, and the driver started to talk to Matthew; I leaned forward to get a better look, and when I did: my gaze was met with the most intense stare I’d ever experienced. Looking into her eyes was like staring at two pieces of iridescent quartz with amber hues. The woman in the driver’s seat of the Mitsubishi sedan, currently across from us, could see me; of that I was certain. A smile touched her lips, she gave a tiny nod – almost imperceptible – and since Matt was staring straight ahead at the road…it was only I who noticed her acknowledging my presence. For a brief moment – I felt that same visceral power felt back on the farm but then….
Then I woke up.
*****
As I drifted back to sleep minutes later it was hard not to notice that outside the hospital room’s window a full moon shone radiantly overhead.
It seemed brighter than usual.
Carmen’s Wallet
The majority of the following night was spent surveilling the apartment building I had been performing parkour on top of the day before. I closely observed the opposing building where I’d caught sight of the individual who’d been keeping equally close tabs on my activities. From my knowledge, gained while checking out that building earlier this year for parkour potential – there was no easy or simple way to get up there. The inaccessibility of the building was something that hadn’t dawned on me immediately upon noticing the mystery man (the one who I caught giving me ‘The Watergate treatment’), but I certainly thought about it long and hard later that night. The fact that it was something I initially overlooked really bugged me, how the hell did he get up there?
Outside, hunkered by a food truck across the street, I mulled over all of it.
During my couple hours thinking and waiting I purchased an unhealthy amount of soft drinks to help pass the time. The eventual sugar crash was sure to wreak havoc on my already frayed nerves. But at least given some time, I’d be mentally prepared to try and retrieve my wallet and identification. Maybe this whole thing was just some intensive, anti-Graffiti, Crime Stoppers, bullshit initiative, and someone was hoping to catch the culprit that had been tagging building facades in the Lower West Side.
Whoever that was, the guy was nuts, he hooked up the same kind of rigging that window-washers used and went to town spray-painting murals that nobody asked for. Some of them were pretty good, mind you, but the art style was far from being as innovative as Banksy’s – who I’m fairly certain – must’ve been an inspiration of the unknown artist(s) doing it: judging from his or her constant stencil usage.
Banksy’s a big lover of stencils.
From late Spring and into Summer, Westside Dr. livened up a bit – even though the street was shabby now and bereft of any actual brick-and-mortar businesses.
Around this time of the season, a fleet of mobile businesses tried to take advantage of the fact that a not insubstantial number of folks still called “The Drive” (as it was known to locals) their home. A few seasonal pop-up shops, a handful of kiosks, and a couple food trucks could be found scattered around the long stretch of Westside Drive – during these peak Summer months. The two-lane street was actually inhabited by a bit of commerce during these periods – for maybe a full-quarter of the year – and more activity when the annual city festival during the first week of August was in full tilt. For those four nights; Westside Dr. nearly, just nearly, returned to the height of its glory days.
“You want another cola, Carmen?” Joseph asked me, leaning out the window of his food truck Delicious Donair.
“Nah, it’s okay. I’m going to get going, thanks anyways though man, you packing up soon?”
I responded by crushing my empty can and throwing it in the small waste bin Joe had set out.
“Yeah – I’m calling it after this. I was just keeping the truck open for my last customer.” He said, starting to unscrew the small awning above.
Joe continued, ready to leave, “Alright, well, you take care my man. Make sure to give a hello to your Nanna for me. Oh, and let her know bingo is on for this Friday. They were going to call it off bu—-”
“Okay, okay Joe. I hear you, I’ll let her know… but I’m twenty-one now – you gotta’ stop talking to me like I’m a kid. Her name’s Mildred. Just say Mildred.”
Joe had known me for at least a decade meaning it was probably impossible for him to ever lay off the patronizing tone.
“You got a job?”
“Yeah, three days a week.”
“Where at?”
“Working the door of ‘The Hub’ on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays – it’s a club over on Sixth Street.”
“Hmmmm…maybe you’re growing up after all.” Joe relented, continuing to pack up various odds-and-ends of his mobile business.
“Grown.” I responded, correcting him.
Joe nodded absent-mindedly as he bustled around outside and finished clearing up the few items belonging to his truck: a couple of folding chairs, a collapsible table, and a patio umbrella were all hustled away with ease – a nightly ritual of ownership now complete. I nodded and waved goodbye as Joe drove off; the extended company of a familiar face was appreciated; my apprehension had reached peak levels threatening to boil over like an irate tea kettle.
Well, I’ve delayed long enough.
Suppose I’ll have to go and get that damned wallet.
*****
I was back on the rooftop.
It had just taken a quick climb up the fire escape was all. I crossed my makeshift bridge swiftly and made my way onto the neighbouring building, where my free-running session had taken place the night before. I had my Go-Pro ready and turned it on – just in case something sinister happened which justified a visual record. After twenty minutes of scouring the area, I started to get worried. Maybe my wallet (along with my ID and debit card) had dropped out of my bag in the course of filming the night before; hell, the thing could’ve bounced off the edge of the rooftop in the process. But just as I was preparing to give up – and vacate the area – I noticed my leather knockoff Polo wallet, just sitting there, tucked partially under a piece of sheet metal. It was an intentional placement and something that I hadn’t done.
*****
On my way home later I flipped open my wallet, half expecting to find some type of message.
I wasn’t disappointed.
There was a little piece of paper, folded. When I unfolded it; the inside revealed a drawing of an expansive full moon hovering above a quaint looking motel. The caption at the bottom read:
The Moon-lit Motel is a serene place to stay.
End of Volume II