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[figaro_black]

Chapter 11: In the kitchen garden

'Mum!' Bertram called, opening the wooden front door wide so he could pass with the brown paper boxes wrinkling his nose at the disgusting smells hitting him in the face. The maid must have been as sick and tired of the old woman as he himself. 'Mu-um!' he called again, letting the door stand open to ease the stench some. 'I've come to pick up my things, mum!'

There was the sound of buzzing flies coming from the kitchen, the whisper of the television from the living room, but otherwise the large house was quiet.

'Mum, seriously?' Bertram asked the silence, walking towards the kitchen, stopping dead in his tracks, empty boxes tumbling out of his arms as he dropped them at the sight of two slippered feet sticking out from behind the green kitchen table. 'Mum! MUM!' he screamed, falling to his knees, bending over the old woman, flies scattering from the broken platter on the floor.

'Please, mum!' he sobbed, taking her grey, cold hands in his, trying to rub them warm but the hands had been cold for a long time, the eyes staring unseeingly up into the yellowing roof. 'Oh, mum.' Bertram let go of her hand, sitting back, tears streaming down his face, rocking slightly back and forth, arms clenching his stomach hard.

**
The skies were as grey and barren as his heart, threatening with rain as his eyes threatened with tears but there were no more tears to shed in this ghost world, where black and grey figures patted his shoulder and assured him his mother had been a mighty fine woman. He mutely nodded, feeling as empty as those words were from strangers he could not place.

Sometimes he would catch Kara in the throng of people, coming and going, mumbling their condolences. Kara, whom his mother had not wanted him to marry because...

Because of what? He wished he could have asked her. He wished he had not been in such a hurry to marry. Wished he could know, so it did not have to be there in the back of his head. He wished...

But what good would wishing do?

He shook his head, sighing, lips trembling as he walked up the aisle between the chairs to take his place next to his father, who was for once there, and next to Kara who squeezed his knee hard, smiling her comforting smile through a veil of tears streaming freely down her small face.

**
The skies moved above the world, hurrying as the globe slowly turned, chased by the ever cooling wind. The grass started growing on the grave behind the kitchen garden, dandelions rooting where once the roses had rested, and then a spattering of autumn leaves covered the plot entirely. If it had not been for the stone marking the place, a stranger would never have known, but Bertram knew the spot exactly, having picked it because it was his mother's favourite place to sit and read, while waiting for her tomatoes and bell peppers to grow, in the moving shade of the old pear tree.

He sat down on the damp grass, next to the grave, hands between his thighs, looking up at a sky that was as blue as a robin's egg.

'Oh mum, you would have loved today', he said to the gravestone, leaning back further, closing his eyes in the bright sunshine. 'It is just a perfect day for walking up and down the hill, beating a path, or sketching a crime scene. And a perfect day to be born. 12:25 a.m, almost a day in coming to it, but she is the most gorgeous being ever, mum (34). With the cutest little toes and a little nose...' (35)

He put an arm behind his head. 'Cecily, adorable name too, don't you think?' he asked, his hand gently spreading across his stomach. 'Dad thinks so. He can't leave the nursery, you know.'

Bertram was quiet for a moment, before continuing, almost lost in his daydreams on the warm autumn afternoon. 'I think you would have liked the nursery. Though, it was hard work getting your old bed up to the attic guest room. And putting it together again, with Cecily crying...'

He laughed then, shaking his head at the memory of thumbs being hit by hammers and trying to hold pieces together with one hand that were clearly made to be held by ten. For the next child, he would definitely ready the nursery before he or she came into the world!

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•  35_Cecily_Baby.jpg   297.21K   39 downloads

[spladoum]

An alphabet legacy! Hi Cecily!
I'm glad Parker's home. Can he stay for a while? Will we get to hear his thoughts on his estranged family?

[figaro_black]

Chapter 12: Legislation frustrations

'Cecily!' Kara sharply called up the stairs, her head pulsating from the high notes of the accordion blasting at full volume throughout the house. The French torture was at once muted, not that it made much of a difference on her sour mood, stomping back to her desk to have another go at formulating a proposal for a new legislation that would enable her and her fellow city council members to actually read the full reports behind the legislation proposals. As it was, often they did not even know what they really were signing which infuriated them all. Really, someone should have done something about it years ago but certain things just never got done, and even then, as one of her fellow council member said, such proposals were usually turned down. The key was in incorporating such things in something else, in such a short sentence that it would be disregarded. It was difficult, and the throbbing of the drums from upstairs was shaking her whole being as she sat down again.

Usually, Kara rather liked the rhythmic beats of the new interpretation of old French classics, the sound of the accordion and violin and the dusky frog-in-throat voices of the female singers today she stomped up from her desk again after a few seconds, shouting up the stairs:

'Cecily!'

The music was turned off, the voices of the two girls upstairs a mumble in the sudden silence, their giggles like silver pearls tumbling down the stairs. No doubt talking about boys, Kara shook her head returning again to her cluttered desk covered in drafts.

It felt like yesterday that Cecily had been a little girl, barely able to walk, herself and Parker sitting right here in the living room on the floor trying to teach the little one to say frog. Or well, since Parker had been teaching Cecily to talk and she had been busy putting the dollhouse in order (36). Life had been so easy then, in the beginning of her career when Parker had still been alive. Before her husband became obsessed with ghosts and trying to find a way to resurrect the dead.

Another reason for the splitting headache, causing her to press her palms against her tired eyes, wishing the painkillers to work a little bit faster. She could hear the thuds and muted curses from the attic, where he was at work with his latest idea, books probably all over the room, drawings, notes, coffee cups in piles all instructing him how to do the impossible.

In Twinbrook people did believe in ghosts. They even paid rather good to get rid of them, which a few entrepreneurial souls had discovered amongst them her husband who was trying to fund his research somehow (37). It was nothing but ripping people off, showing up with big flash lights and lasers and making a lot of mess before handing them the bill, assuring them they would not be troubled by ghosts again and Kara would rather see her husband and in the long run she herself was no part of it.

People did have problems. No doubt about it. She herself was battling a levitating bed every now and again, which she was sure Bertram had rigged even if she could find no mechanism. When confronted with the problem one early morning, eating breakfast Bertram just shrugged and said he would try to talk some sense into Parker, but he did not promise anything (38).

'...furthermore city council members must be allowed full access...'

No. To obvious. To glaringly obvious! No one would let that slide.

Kara felt like screaming, having been at formulating the sentence for hours. And the damn giggling coming from upstairs! The girls had no business giggling that loudly!

She pushed the chair from the desk, pushing so hard against the edge of the desk that it bumped into the wall and got up, stopping herself right beneath the stairs, mouth open, forming the first syllable of the angry and frustrated shout.

'C...' she stopped, her mouth closing, blinking, trying to focus as something came drifting down the stairs. Something translucent, something...and then the apparition was gone. She could have sworn...but no.

She needed some fresh air, definitely. A break for a few minutes. She walked out into the hallway, grabbing her yellow sweater on her way, hanging over the back of a kitchen chair since the autumn afternoon was chilly enough. Opening the door, the wet, cold air made her hunch, wondering if she should put on a jacket too but she decided not to, briskly walking down the garden path, breathing in the earthy scents of leaves slowly decomposing, of wet soil and grass, at once feeling better despite shivering, enjoying the sound of wet gravel under her feet. She planned to take a walk around the block, down to the brook to see if the geese had left yet.

Striding out onto the street she at once noticed the old light blue car standing still in the middle of the road (39). She slowed down some, curious. A tourist needing help with directions? But as she came closer the windows did not wind down, no one opened the doors or asked for help, the driver turning away his face as she passed, bending down to look for something (40).

Kara shrugged, walking on towards the brook, the car soon forgotten.

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•  37_Bertram_catchingghost.jpg   246.61K   35 downloads
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•  39_Kara_noticingstrangecar.jpg   354.47K   42 downloads
•  40_Kara_tryingtoseedriver.jpg   359.19K   40 downloads

[amfreak2007]

Bertram has such a depressing life. It seems like almost every entry, something horrible happens to him :/

[figaro_black]

Chapter 13: You don't want to know

Sometimes her parents were definitely a bit too much, Cecily thought, racing down the hill, the trees dressed in stately summer green swishing past on each side as she took the bends in break-neck speed, to meet up with Joyce and Fred before going to catch The Llama that Laughed (41). It had finally come to town, and she had been holding on forever not to download it and watch it on her laptop because of the 3D effects that she wanted to experience in full, but it had been a hard struggle since it had been almost a whole two weeks and she had almost given in three days ago but Fred had held her in check.

'It will go up on Friday', he had said, grinning. 'What, can't wait until Friday? I bet you can't!'

And of course, she had not been able to let him win a bet. She was never going to let him win a bet if that so meant bicycling to the moon. Somehow, it could surely be done.

The white house where Joyce lived swished past on her left, the front yard as neat as ever. Lawn cut to just two centimetres, every dandelion pulled and daises uprooted at first sign of them. The perfect lawn and Joyce's nightmare as she declared loudly claiming that to be the worst parents could do to a child, Cecily sharing with her the horror of finding her parents seriously kissing in the attic and declaring that she thought it should be punishable by law displaying such behaviour in front of children (42).

'It is like...prelude to...you know. And...well, when all I wanted was some homework help!', her oratory skills only going so far, her imagination stuttering at the unthinkable, which she had heard through the wall last night. Oh, horror! (43). The worst was, in one way, the silence and shame surrounding it all, the unspoken words not spoken when her mother sat down on the floor in the morning to help her with the homework (44).

Joyce and Fred had laughed, both her seniors by two years and having just gone through those classes that were so embarrassing that girls and boys had had them separately.

'You know nothing about embarrassing, I bet you don't!' Fred exclaimed, his full moon face split by a wide grin, his eyes lightning up as he prepared to tell her about the time he actually walked in on his parents in the bed kissing. 'Talk about embarrassing!'

'Well...' Cecily began, scouring her memory furiously for something, anything, that was worse but coming up short, quickly changing subjects. 'So, do they still sell sugared burnt almonds or not?'

Joyce told her that no, shaking out her blonde hair in the early evening breeze, pale gold in the vanishing sunlight. The nutters who were the nut allergy association had put a stop to that last month.

'Don't you keep up?' she rolled her brown eyes, hooking her arm under Fred's then as an afterthought pulling Cecily's arm and hooking it securely under her other arm, walking, smiling widely, towards what promised to be the latest and the coolest in 3D film technology, chattering absent mindedly about how soon the people allergic to grass would surely have them put concrete all over the park and forbidding lawns. 'Which would wonderful, don't you think?' she beamed at the thought.

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•  42_Bertram&Kara_embrace2.jpg   216.64K   36 downloads
•  43_Bertram&Kara_bed1.jpg   354.41K   38 downloads
•  44_Kara&Cecily_homework.jpg   317.74K   36 downloads

[spladoum]

Awww, Cecily's so pretty. :--) Don't fret, sweetie. Just be glad your parents are in love.

[figaro_black]

Chapter 14: Playing with Shadows
The early autumn day was coming to an end, the mists rising from the bay sweeping in with the rain clouds as dusk slowly approached, the shadow in front of her feet lengthening and stretching ever so slowly, morphing.

A hand was not a hand, it was an octopus grabbing for the green grass. It was an angry duck, who wanted the grass for itself. It was a rabbit and a spitting llama scaring them all away. And there were the lovers, Joyce and Fred, walking hand in hand on the green grass, the shadowy representations merging into a tense fist (45).

It just wasn't fair, Cecily thought, nails digging into her palms. Just not fair. After all she had told Joyce, after all her giggled confessions and Joyce talk about that bloke up at the military base and she had to go for Fred!

'I just went to the theatre with him. Nothing happened. Across my heart and my tongue turn black if I'm lying', Joyce had defended herself when confronted with it (46). But Cecily had seen them, heads together, arms hooked, coming out from the theatre late at night, Joyce on tip toes, bending forward...

She bit her lip, blinking hard to keep back the tears.

'It was just a film!' Joyce had shouted when accused. 'And a friendly cheek kiss! Ask Fred, you stupid cow!' And she had slammed the door and been gone.

Cecily had not. She had seen what she had seen. She had cried over it but she had moved on. She had, she told herself, opening her eyes again.

**

From down the beach, André watched the slender girl with the black braid hanging over her shoulder, watched her turn her head away from the shadows which had entertained her, her shoulders slumping in a sigh. He wished very much to walk up to her, and wrap her in his arms, and ask her what was wrong but the dark haired girl would not let him so much as take her hand. All he could do was walk up the grassy sand dune and shake her out of her thoughts with his easy smile, with an easy question:

'What are my fair princess Cecily thinking?', he asked, cocking his head to one side, watching her get back to the now, to the beach, focusing on him, shaking her head, dismissing his question.

'Nothing. Just daydreaming. Thinking what to write for the next poetry meeting. Did you get the sausages?'

'Yeah, in the cooling bag', he answered, still watching her, the plastered smile weak on her face. He did not know what to say, and so said nothing at all, standing there, facing her, hands in his pockets.

'Good. And the coal from the car?' Cecily inquired, all too brightly.

'Yeah, and three bottles of apple nectar from my father's cellar,' implying he had stolen them with a mischievous grin, when his father had been more than happy to give them to him, especially after he heard whom he was going to share them with.

'Mayor's daughter?' the thin man with the long, dark hair had grinned, punching his son's shoulder, walking towards the cellar. 'Aiming high, no?'

André had blushed at this remark, his father humming happily under his breath, rummaging amongst the bottles. 'A good Apple Nectar, goes lovely with paprika sausages! Mayor's daughter, huh?'

He was definitely making all too big a deal out of it. The young woman, firing up the grill with some difficulty might be the daughter of Mayor Quirke but she was also absolutely stunning, standing bent over the coals, clothes coming undone as the warmth spread and the darkness fell to reveal her green bikini (47). And stunning as she smiled, blushing as he told her so (48).

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•  46_Cecily&Joyce_talking.jpg   285.28K   47 downloads
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•  48_Cecily&Andre_beachparty.jpg   271.35K   50 downloads

[figaro_black]

Chapter 15: Happily Ever After

'When you are young you do make mistakes', Fred told his eldest daughter. 'And you get over them and move on.'

'Not easy, though, is it?' his eldest snivelled, wiping her nose against her hot pink sleeve.

'No. But everything will be fine. You will see. I mean, it is not exactly like me and your mother had an easy time getting together either.'

'Not?' Darleene inquired, eyes big since her father very seldom shared stories about his youth, much less stories about love.

'Oh no. At one point', Fred told his daughter, smiling at the memory, 'your mother was quite adamant not to talk to me except for the stiff hello in the grocery shop. For five whole years, this went on!'

'Really?'

'Really', Fred confirmed. 'She would not talk to me. When I tried to call her, she would hang up. When I came around the house, she would shut her window and concentrate on her writing. She would write like a machine-gun, then. Hard and fast.' (49).

'Why?' Darleene inquired, curious.

'Because I once went to the theatre with your aunt Joyce and she kissed my cheek good-night', Fred shook his head in disbelief. God knew his wife could be stubborn, but she had considerably mellowed over the years.

'She really wouldn't talk to you for five years?' Darleene's eyes were big. Then she shook her head and laughed. 'I can see that being mum. I so can. Dad...can we keep it a secret a little while longer? Until I'm back from France?'

'It's your call', Fred told his daughter, getting up from the old, green kitchen table, ruffling her dark tresses before fondly placing a kiss on her forehead. 'Just take care. And don't do anything I wouldn't do.'

'So everything', Darleene smiled, returning to her cereals, feeling much better now having shared the secret with someone.

Fred shook his head, smiling at the memory of the night when Cecily had finally decided to talk to him again, mostly because Bertram had tired of the whole charade and locked her out at an agreed hour. He would ever be grateful to the old ghost hunter for that.

It had been a cool summer's day. Cool enough to be wearing jackets, shortly after Cecily's 20th birthday. The garden had stood in full bloom, the scents of the flowers and new cut grass mixing wonderfully making you want to just inhale and inhale and never exhale as his old hit from back then went. He had been watching her come out, standing hidden in the shadows in the fruit orchard, watched her go down the stairs to get the post and heard the click of the door.

'Dad!' the young woman had turned, rushing up the stairs. 'Dad, don't be silly! Let me in!'

'No can do', the by then already greying man on the other side had smiled widely. 'Not until you talk with the poor fellow in the fruit orchard.'

'Da-ad!' Cecily had complained, trying the door again, the middle aged man standing on the other side, grinning, very happy with himself. There had been little for her to do, however, but turn around, going stiff as she saw him. 'I don't talk to you.'

'I know. But I talk to you. So let me talk', Fred had said, and he had talked, and of some reason she had not run away. She had stayed. She had listened. He had talked a lot. Told her how he had regretted taking Joyce to the theatre ever since that night. How it had been an action film, which they both knew she was not interested in seeing anyhow. They should have asked, of course. How he for all those years had just wanted to turn back that moment, to scream stop, because his heart had broken the moment she stopped talking to him, had been broken, was still broken.

'Because it has always been you, still is you, and I just can't get past that', Fred had told her, coming closer now when her mouth was open, in shock, surprise, preparing to say something, he did not really care. 'Will you at least be friends again, talk to me? Because I bet you miss talking to me to!'

He had watched her bite her lip, look up at him, cheeks glowing pink, shoulders hunched. Then she had looked up (50). There had been no words necessary as Fred had taken a step forward, taking her in his arms, pulling her close, holding that loved face between his hands, repeating what he had just told her. That it had always been her (51).

'And always will?' she had inquired.

'And always will', he had confirmed, smiling, letting his arms fall as she took a step backwards and turned from him to turn back suddenly and kiss him (52). It was the best kiss he had ever had in his whole life, even if it lasted for no more than a second and was as light and dry on his lips as fluttering butterfly wings.

**
And in the kitchen window, half concealed behind a kitchen curtain, Bertram and Kara had smiled.

'I told you she was going to marry him, one day', Bertram had mused.

'Yes, Mr Medium', Kara had kissed him fondly. 'But a kiss is not marriage.'

'Pfft, as well as. As well as', Bertram had let the curtain fall. 'Talking about marriage...how about testing if you still have those wonderful skills of our wedding night?' he had blinked mischievously, Kara having just shaken her head.

'No can do, Mr Medium. Have to finish the notes for the World Peace Meeting. Don't you just hate being married to the Leader of the Free World, sometimes?'

'Well, if she can schedule in for a demonstration or repeat show later of those mentioned skills, then not really, no. Just have to be before midnight. Gives me time to pick up some groceries', Bertram had pinched her bony behind, and sneaked out through the French windows in the living room not to disturb the couple still kissing in the garden.

**
There had been a wedding, in the old pavilion on the beach where Cecily had always liked writing and painting in the summers since it offered a wonderful view over the bay and very few people came there except the adventurous young couples who would blush and go away as they saw her.

'It will be the perfect place, and it will be our place if we buy it and restore it', she had convinced her husband to be and the rest of her family.'It just needs some repainting and it will be as good as new. And it will be good if it is raining.'

It had not been raining that day. And it had taken more than just a coat of paint to get it into order again. Order, which Fred felt, was very much wasted since all he could see was her in the dark green dress, walking up those stairs with flowers clasped between her hands, blushing and smiling as only a bride can.

As the vows had been repeated, the rings exchanged, all he had been able to think was that he was no doubt the luckiest man on earth (53). And he still was, the father of two daughters and a son and he hoped, soon another boy, Cecily being at the hospital to make sure the morning sickness was truly morning sickness.

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•  50_Cecily_shrug.jpg   317.94K   45 downloads
•  51_Cecily&Fred_futuretogether2.jpg   378.18K   44 downloads
•  52_Cecily&Fred_firstkiss.jpg   400.41K   36 downloads
•  53_Cecily&Fred_wedding11.jpg   280.52K   47 downloads

[spladoum]

Green! Green green green! I'm gonna take a wild guess and assume that it's Cecily's favorite color? And four kids already, oh my!

For some reason I feel sorry for Andre.

[figaro_black]

A/N: Don't feel bad about André. The moment he aged into a young adult, he got married to another girl in town.

Chapter 16: The cookie disaster

'Fire! Fire! Fire!' Darwin came running from the kitchen, shouting, his grandparents tiredly getting to their feet and fetching the fire extinguishers from the hallway, then going upstairs to have another talk with Darleene.

'Darleene!' Kara called up the stairs, her aching joints not really liking to climb all the way. 'You forgot something again, did you not?'

The eldest of her four grandchildren appeared at the top of the stairs, face a mask of horror, hands covering her mouth. 'Did...is everyone okay?' she asked.

'Yeah, but come downstairs and help us sweep up the mess, will you?'

The mess was the stove. Or the burnt remains of it.

'What were you thinking?' she scolded the soon 14 year old, sweeping the floor. 'I have told you, you do not touch the stove unless you inform someone first.'

'I know', Darleene sighed, hanging her head. 'I just thought I would make cookies for Sarah's sleepover, you know. And then I should just check my e-mail, and then...I'm sorry, Grandma. I promise I will not do it again.'

Kara just shook her head. She knew those promises of Darleene's were worth nothing. The girl had a knack for putting things on fire be it stove or one of the many inventions that littered the back-yard that were supposed to help with the gardening according to Bertram, who helped his granddaughter with great enthusiasm. If no one could find the pair of them, the back-yard scrap heap slowly building or the junkyard were sure bets.

As usual, the fire department was slow to react. Ten minutes after the fact, the kitchen almost cleaned again, a very agitated and hopeful man appeared in his heavy orange suit, holding a water hose in one hand, an extinguisher in the other.

'Where is the fire?' he barked, his face falling as he was told danger was over.

'Darn it!' he exclaimed. 'This is the third call today, and no fires to extinguish. I never get to extinguish any fires!'

'Isn't that a good thing?' Darwin inquired, coming indoors again, to check the hose mechanism out and admire the heavy helmet of the fireman who had taken it off, all dejected, sitting on one of the kitchen chairs.

'One would think so, but I get extra for actually putting out fires', the poor fireman told the boy. 'And this way I will never afford the car I've been eyeing! But...I guess, shame on the person who gives up, eh?' he tried a smile. 'See you in a few days, I suppose. And please, don't extinguish every little flame, okay?'

And with that, he took his helmet from the boy who was just about to put it on and disappeared out to the waiting fire engine truck.

'I think he could'a stayed a lil' longer', the boy announced, disappointed, and slunk from the kitchen again to go find his sister Dawn and challenge her to a round of knubb. Finding her, standing in the middle of the living room, hyperventilating (54).

'Gran, Dawn's at it again!' Darwin shouted, walking over to his sister, hugging her tightly. 'Calm', he said, as he often heard the adults say to the ten year old girl. 'Deep breaths. Calm. That's it. Calm. Now, what's up?'

'G-g-ghoo-ooost!' Dawn stuttered, pointing, breathing becoming shallower again.

'Nonsense!' Kara exclaimed, marching into the room, taking over from Darwin who slunk into the nursery to play with the blocks (55). He could hear his grandmother explain to his sister that there was no such thing as ghosts. And in any case, hadn't grandpa told her that the ghosts around the house were absolutely harmless and friendly ones should she happen to see one?

Darwin had seen quite a few ghosts. One, he believed, was his great grandmother Adora. It was quite a bulky apparition and in the pictures in the family album and down at the police station she was a very heavy set woman. Usually, the ghosts just drifted around, drinking coffee or tea and doing nothing much. The only one who was the least bit of fun was great grandfather Parker, who would at least make things levitate and shake a bit to the annoyance of grandma Kara who refused to acknowledge it.

'Do you think the green block should go with the red one?' he asked his baby sister Deardrie, who was laying in the cot in the nursery, wide awake just gurgling happily to herself. ' Or with blue?' He thought she gurgled a bit happier when he mentioned blue, so blue it was.

**
Kara had had to put something calming in Dawn's pancakes. Just a little something, to take the edge of the attack, then she had called the hospital. The doctor was with her now, with the oxygen tube and whatnot. Kara didn't like watching and so had escaped out into the garden, walking aimlessly down the fruit orchard happening upon one of the gravestones, tall and covered in moss.

She did not believe in ghosts. Really, she did not. Having a few gravestones in the garden was usual around here. The great aunt who had raised you and demanded to be buried by her favourite pear tree. Everyone almost had one of those gravestones in their garden. No one thought about it, except Dawn, who had read something in a book about ghosts not finding rest until they were in sacred ground.

Darn library, really, need they scare a girl more by lending her those kind of books? She had herself seen to it that the most gruesome tales in the household were locked securely in a chest in the attic and she had instructed the teacher. But still, the girl read and got ideas into her little head that was not quite as it should be.

'We will have to move them', she muttered under her breath, almost stumbling over another grave. 'Oh, we will just have to move them to sacred ground.' Her husband wouldn't agree, of course. He still enjoyed his evening chats with his mother in the kitchen.

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•  54_Dawn_worrying.jpg   319.1K   47 downloads
•  55_Darwin_playtable.jpg   382.45K   44 downloads

[Kellaris]

I just caught up! I'm vouching for Dawn to be continue the legacy at this point.~ (:

[Kesal]

What a cute bunch of kids!

[amfreak2007]

I still wanna know what happened to that car :p

[YrS92]

Just read through all of this, what a fantastic story:nw: Can't wait for more:)

[figaro_black]

Chapter 17: A Message in the Park

'Pssst', a hiss had come from the bushes one afternoon in the middle of summer. 'Pssst, you there. Yeah, you', a hand had beaconed, a round face had smiled nodding approvingly as Darleene hesitating stopped, turning to the bushes, keeping her distance. She had heard about bushes and strange men hiding in them and been duly warned several times.

'Wise girl', the shadowy form in the bushes smiled, giving her a toothy smile. 'Tell your grandma we have not forgotten. Payment is due. And nice outfit, if I may say so. Shows off your legs nicely.' Another smile, then the shadowy form turned and started to walk away with some crashing through the bushes.

Darleene blinked, a 'hey' on her tongue, and at the same time glad he was walking away, not a word coming out of her mouth as she stared after the rather short, shadowy form weaving his way between the trees of the park, like doing slalom on dry ground, before he disappeared out through the gate which was not so much a gate as just two pillars where there had once been one.

Darleene shook herself, suddenly feeling the need to get home with the groceries she had picked up a little bit faster.

**

No one was at home, expect her brother who was playing chess in the living room, trying to beat himself on both sides at the same time which was not going too well, Darleene noticed, pointing it out.

'I am smart, both of me', Darwin grinned. 'Of course it's not going well when both players are smart, dumb-dumb. 'Anywho, it's no fun. Knubb?'

'No. It's a stupid game', Darleene told him, disappearing up to her room, to call her best friend and ask her about what she thought about the strange, shadowy man.

'Do you think it might be the mob?' she mused, laying on her bed, staring up into the roof quite fancying the thought.

'Don't know. Dad always says politicians would be nowhere without 'em', her best friend Sarah told her, popping her gum loudly. 'Talking 'bout which, the warehouse party tonight, you're coming or no'?'

**

Morning had already broken when the car had pulled up outside the house, dropping her off in a blast of loud music and giggles before skidding down the street. Her hair was a mess. Her clothes was in disorder. She really should wash off her make-up and brush her teeth, but Darleene barely made it out of her clothes before hitting her bedsheets falling asleep like a log.

An hour or two later, the alarm bell rang. Loud, shrill and too early.

'Uuurgh', Darleene grunted, reaching for it, silencing it, slumping down again, head heavy against the soft mattress as she pressed her pillow over her head, trying to drown out the morning sounds of cluttering plates, chattering family and a blasting television. Six o'clock. She had nearly two hours more of sleep...

'Muu-um, have you seen my shoes?' Deardie's voice sharp as knives through her head, calling down the stairs, an elephant as she rushed down them.

'Look in the chest in the living room. I just stuffed a lot of things in there so I could clean the floor', Cecily called back, going back to frying her apple and vanilla pancakes, flipping the last one over and calling up the stairs:

'Darleene! You will be late!'

The eldest girl pressed her pillow harder over her head, trying her best to sleep just a for a little while longer...

Her bed started shaking (56). Violently. The cackle of Bertram filling the room, as he shook her out of the bed before disappearing through the wall, to the urn standing by the TV.

'That hurt!' Darleene called after the ghost, rubbing her bum, getting to her feet (57) and grabbing yesterday's clothes from the floor, dragging her heavy, clunky feet downstairs eyes all bleary and head throbbing.

Things were as they always were in the mornings in the Quirke household. People everywhere, blocking everything besides there being two full bathrooms and a toilet. Everyone always decided to have that shower at the same time, to brush their teeth simultaneously, to reach for the milk as one.

So, it was with hair brush in one hand and shoes in the other, with too little sleep that she dragged herself to the impatiently honking bus, trying to seat herself in the middle, where it was usually quiet, for just another ten minutes of sleep which her best friend, getting on a stop later, would not let her have, asking her what her grandma had said about the shadowy figure, a figure which Darleene had forgot all about.

'Well, you have to ask her tomorrow', was her friend's helpful reply, changing topic.

Darleene meant to, but as she got home from work police cars were crowding the streets, men and women in uniform pouring in and out of the house, carrying things in boxes, neatly put in plastic.

Darleene stared, overcome with it all, her brows furrowing, her mouth trying to form a sentence but not managing leaving her gaping like a goldfish on dry land, chipping for air as her heart thumped with anger and disbelief, her brother right beside her the one taking action, tapping an officer on the shoulder thrice before she turned.

'What are you doing?' he asked, incredulous.

'Police work', the woman informed him briskly, brushing him off as just another in the ever growing crowd of onlookers.

'But...' Darwin began, running after her, mouth open to point out that he actually lived in the house, that they could not just stomp in. He was almost trampled by another constable, balancing several boxes overflowing with papers. His mother's manuscripts, he recognised the heading on one page flipping to the ground before it was snatched up and put haphazardly in one of the boxes by another constable.

Darwin turned, trying to find someone, anyone to ask, to explain, to put things right, spotting a neighbour, leaning against the white fence, thankful for a familiar face.

'Mr Keaton!' he called. 'What is going on?'

'Darn if I knew, they are digging up me backyard, the devils', Mr Keaton answered, pointing over his shoulder. 'Waved papers in me face. In came the boots and machines and shovels. Rude, too. Me poor dandelions will prob'ly survive but me roses?' the lean man shook his head. 'Care for a cup, you and your sister while they do their dirty work?'

Darwin looked over to his sister, still standing, gaping like a goldfish. 'Thanks, Mr Keaton. And...can we borrow your phone? Mum will probably want to know.'

'Of course. Of course', Mr Keaton nodded, straightening. 'But I think she already does. Seeing the devils got her at the station. First thing they did. Poured into here, taking people with them. Think they own the darn place, wavering those papers. Which they don't! Hear that, you devils, eh?! You don't own this place! You don't!' Mr Keaton blushed at this, clearing his throat. 'Sorry, laddie. I just...you know. Tea? Yes, tea.'

**

It hadn't been long until it was in the news, the disgrace of the former Leader of the Free World.

'I did it just to get the laws through, and they all were for the best!' Darleene threw down the newspaper on the breakfast table, sinking onto a chair heavily. 'You believe that, mum?' she asked her mother, frying pancakes as she did each morning. 'You believe she made deals with the Mafia to grease all those palms just for the greater good?'

'I believe your grandma was a good woman, yes', Cecily replied, flipping the hot cake over. 'And I do think she meant it well enough.'

'Yeah, sure. They never did return my package of seeds from France, you know.'

'You go on about that', Darwin joined them, stretching his muscular form, greeting them with a tired smile. 'I don't think they would be much good after five years, do you?'

'Still, it is the principle', Darleene began on an oft repeated speech, interrupted by her two younger sisters rushing into the kitchen, Deardrie first waving a blue headband triumphantly while Dawn demanded she hand it back.

'It is not yours!' she complained. 'Mum, tell her! It is not hers!'

'Deardrie, really', Cecily didn't even turn from the stove, throwing the hot cake into the air, catching it. 'You have your own drawer with blue headbands.'

'You don't have any sense of fun', Deardie sat down, handing her sister the blue headband, shaking her head of red tresses. 'Mum, can I go over to Ruth after school? She said she had some lovely pictures of the blue stake-out car for me to see. Please, mum? Please?'

'You know, I can't see how grandma didn't see that rusty, blue old thing hanging around all the time', Darleene pointed out, taking down plates from the overhead cupboard and placing them on the table. 'I mean...'

'You didn't either', Darwin quickly rose to the defence of his grandma. 'None of us did, did we?'

'I thought it was Mr Keaton's car, parked in the street, seeing as he has no room for parking by his house', Dawn agreed with her brother.

'Still', Darleene insisted, pulling out a drawer of cutlery, handing them to Deardrie while she got milk from the fridge. 'I don't see what business they had going through my stuff!'

'My little terrier! Never letting go!' her father laughed, joining the rest of them in the kitchen, the scent of his aftershave almost overpowering that of the vanilla pancakes.

'I'm not a terrier!' Darleene stomped her foot, one look from her father shared with the rest of her family making them laugh. 'I'm really not!'

'Don't let it get to you, sweetie', her mother instructed her. 'Have a pancake.'

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•  56_Darleene_Bertrammakingbedfly.jpg   399.15K   50 downloads
•  57_Darleene_gettingup_bedflying.jpg   407.69K   47 downloads

[spladoum]

Adora was right after all. Tsk tsk, Kara.

[figaro_black]

Chapter 18: When birds fly

You could see it at the trees, the slightest hint of gold at the tips of deep green leaves mirrored in the sea of golden wheat swaying and rippling in the gentle breeze blowing in from the sea. You could taste it in the wind, sweeping across he Madlands, scattering the grey mists and thinning the grey clouds above, a second of sun glittering in the many brooks and ponds scattering the march. You could smell it as the wind came upon the town, having gathered the scents of nature decomposing, preparing to go to bed, of musty leaves and brown grass. The summer was coming to an end, whole of nature preparing for winter, bushes and blooms on cue slowing down and starting to wilt as sap drained from stems and leaves.

It had always amazed Dawn, the way that nature knew that it was the end of August and time to start to think about going to sleep. The days were still warm, the nights not that much colder than they had been in the middle of June. What was it that told the roses to stop producing blossoms, and the grass to start growing slower?

She had asked Darwin once, before he and Darleene moved out to the Madlands (60), and he had just shrugged and told her how come humans knew before the clock when it was time to go to bed?

'Darkness', she had replied, not understanding her brother's point.

'Well, yes. But also because we become tired, right? Perhaps plants do to?'

Dawn had never thought about it that way before, but it made sense. It must be tiring to produce so much fruits and blossoms and green leaves. Though it did not explain why some plants appeared dead during winter while others, such as the orchid on her bedside table, just stopped producing blossoms for a while.

She wanted to ask her brother that. To have him sit on the empty, pink chair and look at her solemnly and tell her why the orchid stayed green. But the chair was empty (61) and no amount of phone calls could change that.

Deardrie called her silly, claiming it was just to invite him, but it was not. He had a job. A girlfriend. He was busy, and a phone call was just never enough for Dawn.

She was not alone missing her brother. Her dad never said anything about it, but the tunes streaming from his guitar, filling the early evening air had a mellow tone to them that would bring tears to her eyes and make her hurry to find a pair of ear plugs, to turn up the stereo, to drown the sound out (62). And then...there was the washing and the dusting of all those little mementos she found him doing, bent over the kitchen sink, lost in thought, in memory of two children grown up and flown out (63). It was then that Dawn made up her mind to never, ever move.

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•  62.jpg   173.12K   38 downloads
•  63.jpg   265.39K   41 downloads

[spladoum]

Uh-oh ... never move and afraid of ghosts? Yikes, Dawn.

[figaro_black]

Chapter 19: Silence, please

The sun was rising slowly over the tree tops, the light a near silent swoosh as thousands of birds rustled their feathers, a mad flapping filling the air as one by one, multiplied over and over, spreading like a fire through the marshes the migrating birds tested their wings to ensure they still could move. It was their pinch me, I'm still alive, celebratory cry before they settled down again to chatter with each other.

Dawn could imagine the conversations they had, as she was bicycling down the winding dirt road to see her brother in the early morning light, startling birds to flight all around her.

'Did you hear about Mr. Duck?' Mrs Duck would ask her neighbour, so close their wings would touch. 'He fell in love with a fox, you know.'

'Really?' Mrs Duck, because all the seasoned females were Mrs Duck, asked, incredulous to the stupidity of Mr Duck.

'Oh yes. He would go on and on about her beautiful, red fur, you know.'

'They do go one rather a lot, the newly in love, would you not say?' Mrs Duck inquired.

'Tell me about it! As late as last afternoon, I had to endure hours of Miss Duck...'

A bump in the road, causing her steering wheel to swear dangerously, brought Dawn back from her daydreams hitting the brakes hard, as gravel spattered around her, the wheels skidding, her dark plum skirt billowing around her as she leaned, her Mary Jane clad foots on the ground in panic, trying to stabilise the bucking cycle, forcing it to a halt, the front wheel nestling amongst the sticky, long, brown grass as it stopped.

She shook her head, sitting straddled over the now calm bicycle for a second or two, breathing. Her horoscope had read take extra precaution and still, she had left without the helmet. Stupid! She lifted one foot, inspecting the tip of her new shoes, then the other. They were good shoes, she mused, looking merely a bit scraped whereas she could definitely smell the warm rubber from the braking blocks.

She unmounted, her plum skirt getting stuck on the saddle. It took her a few seconds to untangle. Saddles were really rather an odd shape, she thought. They should be more like a seat, so skirts couldn't catch like that. Or of course, one could wear pants, but pants chaffed uncomfortably. She grimaced at the memory, almost feeling the burns on her tights where the saddle and seam had once met.

Holding the bicycle by the saddle, she looked at the wheels, the inner rims dirty, slightly warm to the touch as she reached out a slender hand. She made sure everything was okay, testing the brakes and the bell, preparing to straddle the monster again when she thought the better of it seeing the bridge ahead and remembering her horoscope of the day. She took the bicycle by the steering wheel instead and lead it safely the short distance up the gravel road to Madland House.

The sound of feet on gravel could be heard a long distance in the mist that was not so much a mist as it was a certain greying of the air, dulling the sun, dulling the landscape, turning everything brown and dead looking. Including her brother, looking up with a smile from the potato rows he was preparing for spring, wiping sweat from his forehead and taking off his farm lad cap.

'So here comes the wild lioness', he smiled at her, straightening, wiping his dirty hands on his equally dirty, once dark blue, jeans. 'Oh yes, dad told me about how with a roar you took your whole class with storm with your lion story. Good job!'

'Thanks', Dawn stood on the dirt road, just on the other side of the grey stake fence, holding on to the wild beast that was her bicycle, looking at the other people digging in the garden, unsure, biting her full, red lower lip.

Her brother looked at her for a moment, taking in the sight of her. Of long shapely legs, modestly emphasised by the knee long plum skirt, the slender form accentuated by the black, short sleeved sweater, the sweet angel face framed by her long, black tresses held back with a barrette, fringe shadowing her perfect, deep brown eyes. She was beautiful, he thought, startled by his own thought. A beautiful, young woman and teacher who stood by his fence, biting her lip like a little school girl just because she did not know the people in the garden.

'Everyone, this is my sister. The new school marm', he jumped the fence, taking her by a thin shoulder, showing her through the gap in the fence. Everyone looked up from their digging, twenty or so faces nodding, smiling, greeting her with nods before returning to the task at hand. And it was all right. Nothing to be startled by. Nothing to be nervous about.

Darwin lead her up to the house, taking the bicycle from her, leaning it against the grey wooden boards. 'Come, inside. I have something I want to show you. Though you can't tell anyone about it!' He opened the door, shoved her inside, up the stairs, and the ladder to the attic where he kept his own, private space and the something.

That something made Dawn smile and giggle all the way home through town (64) and would always put a smile on her lips and result in a shake of disbelief every time she thought about it (65).

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•  65.jpg   252.35K   35 downloads

[spladoum]

The 'something' ... a love letter intercepted by a watchful big brother, maybe? :--)