Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Even Stars Die - 23. Chapter 23
To my surprise the gate is open and the padlock is on the ground. Patrick stoops to retrieve it. I head on up the steps and knock on the door.
‘Who is it?’ A dry, solemn voice reaches me.
‘Erm…Hi. Is Alex in?’
There is no movement from within. Silence for a few moments. Patrick comes up behind me.
The door unlocks and opens.
The old man has thick silver hair, parted on the side, hair that matches his thin eyebrows and brown eyes set deep into sagging sockets.
‘Alex?’
I smile but his face is tight, his cheeks withdrawn. ‘I’m Keegan, a friend. Is Alex in?’
The man glares at me, his reddened eyes burning through the core of my being.
‘Are you shitting me? Anyway how did you get in here?’
I point at the gate, ‘The gate was unlocked and open, sir.’
‘I’m not a sir.’
His gaze meets mine once more. I am naked.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.’
‘It’s Delia’s fault you know…’
Delia, his wife, tends to be forgetful, he explains. She’s been like this for years. Alzheimer’s. She doesn’t know. He turns and says, ‘Come in. Delia!’
‘Yes, darling.’ A quaint voice calls out from somewhere inside the house.
‘You left the ruddy gate open again. Some people are here. They say they know Alex.’
The sound of glass, or porcelain hitting the floor and breaking echoes in my ears.
‘Honey! Are you okay?’
Mrs Meyer stumbles from the kitchen. Eyes wide, one hand clutching her heart.
‘Hi, Mrs Meyer. I’ve come to see Alex. Is he in? Have you seen him?’
Mr. Meyer pointed to a seat and said, ‘We haven’t seen him for seven years.’
I glance at Patrick and raise my brow. Mrs Meyer takes a seat beside me and takes my hand. Her hands, like her aura, is soft, warm and gentle. Her eyes cry out for her lost son and she has the lines beneath them as proof of her sorrow. ‘Son, Alex has been gone seven years tomorrow. May his soul rest in peace.’
‘How can that be?’ I ask, ‘I’ve been here, in this house, through there is the main bedroom. I slept in the bed because I was injured and I wanted only him to take care of me. Only him. Now I need to find him. Will you help me?’
Mr. Meyer glances at his wife, she says nothing. He glances at me. ‘You are the second person who has told me this. And I say that it’s impossible. I have never seen you before. Delia and I have lived here many years, too long to count. No friend of Alex has been here since the accident.’
I gaze at the floor, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why be sorry. It’s not your fault.’ Mrs Meyer says, slowly. ‘It’s no one’s fault. It was a tragic accident and we have moved on now. Tomorrow we will visit his grave. Clean it. Replace the flowers.’ She glances at her husband seated opposite us, ‘The man who attends his grave, Johannes, should be there. We need to pay him for his care. And maybe we need to buy those plastic flowers and take away the cross. Johannes told me that vagrants come into the cemetery at night and steal the valuable statues. That’s such a sin.’
‘Could I come too?’
Mrs Meyer smiles at me and nods, ‘you are welcome. We would be honoured, sorry I forget what’s your name?’
‘Keegan, ma’am.’
‘Keegs, that’s right…you know I’m sure you told me your name. What is it again?’
Sadness engulfs me. This fine old lady doesn’t deserve this illness. No one does. It becomes debilitating.
‘It’s Keegan ma’am.’
‘Yes. How forgetful of me. And your friend is Patrick, right?’
Patrick smiles and nods. He’s been my support and I deeply appreciate his help. Friends like him are rare.
Mr Meyer leans forward, his brows stiffen. ‘I have an open mind, Keegan. One that allows me a certain amount of freedom from the humdrum rules of civil society. If, what you are saying is true, that you have been in this house recently with Alex, then Alex must be a ghost and you may be one of those few people who are able to communicate with the other side.’
I agree with him, and feel time slipping away. ‘I really, really need to find him. I really do.’
Mr. Meyer glances my way, my eyes search his and I know he has no answer for me, but then he says it, and my skin grows cold.
‘Have you thought about looking at the cemetery? Although I wouldn’t advise it, it’s about to rain.’
- 1
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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