Against a Crystal Fountain

On a cold day in January when snow gently hit the Earth and encompassed it in a cold blanket of white, a young man, no older than thirty years of age found himself at a giant, iron gate. The gate was strong, solid, and ordained an elaborate and overly intricate letter L. The man’s dulled green eyes peered up from beneath a black homburg hat and clutching at his side a burgundy carpet bag, his breathing was labored as he shivered slightly to try and shake the cold that was nipping at his skin. In the distance a car engine started and disappeared into the crisp winter air, leaving him behind.1

Clouds from his breath escaped from his mouth and with a push on his hand did the gate begin to open in front of him. Upon his arrival through the gate he noticed the large, intimidating house in front of him that stood tall of brick and stone and covered in ivy that wrapped tightly around the home’s pillars and crawled up the walls. He looked up at the massive building, to see, who he thought was an old friend in a window. Feeling a pang in his heart, he began to swiftly keep walking towards his destination.2

He recognized it from his childhood as he had spent many a year there, running around its corridors and exploring hidden passageways. Of course, that had been a long time ago and lush, green grass filled the courtyard and was accompanied with a fountain filled of crystal water and flowers of many colors that were overlooked by the looming, full trees. Now, everything in sight was dead, the trees were naked. The fountain was empty except for snow that had rested in the bottom and dirt had accumulated on the sides while the statue in the center had weathered away from erosion of wind and time.3

The shrubs were bare and the trees around the house were desolate. The grass was dry, yellowed, and straw like; hard from frost and snow. The cobble stoned road leading around the fountain and up to the front door was now covered in weeds and small plants that attempted to peek from the cracks and then left to the mercy of Mother Nature.4

His steps cracked under ice and cold, stiff grass as he made his way to the front door, the only beautiful thing left from the death that negligence had lead to. It was a huge, daunting, oak door that was covered in complex architecture and carvings that must have consumed much time to complete. A rectangle on the top half of the door was filled with curves and circles, the second half of the door had another, larger rectangle that deemed a swirling and cursive L. The man tripped up his footing on the steps to the door, as a patch of ice was determined to knock him to his back. A gloved hand moved swiftly to the handle of the door, saving him from the impending fall. Clutching the door handle, he leaned into the door and turned the handle, pushing into it with much effort. The door creaked on his hinges, but with a thrust of weight, easily gave way.5

Darkness welcomed him, with candles burning dimly in the hall in front of him. To his right was a stone wall with a big, painted family portrait and to his left another corridor leading into a hallway with many, many rooms. It had been so long, he was unsure where to go and unsure if anyone was even home. With a quick gesture, he took his hat off and held it to his chest and lifted his head as he began to hear soft footsteps click against the marble floor. 6

“Mr. Mason,” a soft, calming voice spoke, “I trust you’ve seen yourself in fine. How was your trip?” A woman came into view walking towards him in the hallway, her face illuminated slightly by the candlelight flickering across the wall. The skirts of her dress were bunched up in hand as she floated down the hall.7

The man bowed and looked up at her, their eyes meeting. “Mrs. Lathaway, yes, thank you it was fine.” He noted that her blonde hair now had streaks of grey and her once flawless face was full of wrinkles. When she smiled her eyes acquired new creases around their corners and around the sides of her painted, red lips.8

“Well, I am glad you got my letter” she replied. “As you know, Anna is quite ill. She has not been the same since Samuel died.” Her eyes darted to the corner of the room, as though to signal that this sentence would be the only talk of the matter. “Follow me, I’ll show you to your quarters” she quietly stated. 9

Obediently, Mason followed Mrs. Lathaway and nodded and replied in simple, one word answers to her chatter. A long time ago he had ran these halls, when he was naught but a boy and in years later to that he had also ran these halls, but in a far different chase. However, that was a long time ago, a part of the past that he had long since moved on from. 10

He had not seen the Lathaways since the summer he was eighteen and had left to study at university to become a lawyer; he had left behind his most cherished and best childhood friend and the girl he had intended to marry. In his own selfish acts and a quest for success he had left behind the only two things in his life that had mattered to him. He was young and foolish, at the time he did not stop to think of his actions and the consequences therein. Thus, he was left with the guilt of feeling that he had brought ruin to the Lathaway’s family. 11

For years since, he had blamed himself for Samuel’s death and had refused to attend the funeral. To his surprise, the family was not angry at him; instead, they were much more understanding and forgiving than they should have been. Inside, that had enraged Mason, but he had sought out to find redemption for his acts by accepting to take care of Miss. Anna Lathaway in her time of need. “Where is Anna, Mrs. Lathaway?” the words tumbled out of his mouth as he watched the old woman spin on her heel.12

“Mason, my daughter is in her bedroom, surely you remember where that is?” The woman fluffed bright red and orange skirts and then opened an oak door to reveal a room with a large, wood bed, matching nightstands and dressers, as well as a couch, and a curtain to get changed behind. “She may be sleeping and I certainly would like to inform her of your arrival before you startle her awake. I am not sure how she will take to the news of you caring for her while I am away on business.”13

Setting his bags next to a dresser, Mason walked over to the bed and sat down on plush covers of silver and red. It felt nice to sit down on a soft surface, especially since he had ridden in a train and then a car for close to a day. “Yes,” he replied softly, almost in a whisper, “that sounds quite reasonable.”14

“Dinner is at six-thirty, so you know,” she began to walk away, but suddenly turned around, “and thank you, I have missed having you around.” With her final statement, Mrs. Lathaway exited the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. 15

Collapsing onto the bed and succumbing to sleep, the last thing Mason could think about were the earlier, younger years. As he closed his eyes, his last glimpses in his mind reflected that of a young boy with fluffed, soft, brown hair curling at the end. In his mind’s image, the boy scurrying down a hallway with a lamp in his hand whispering, “found you,” into the dark. Needless to say, he missed dinner.16

Morning light crept into the window, rays beamed eagerly onto the young man, waking him from his deep slumber. Yawning, he rubbed his eyes and slowly sat up. He had fallen asleep in his clothes, wrinkles invaded them, and he sighed in frustration. After attempting to smooth out his black cotton vest, he grabbed a gold pocket watch and flipped it open to reveal the time which read eight thirty – nine. Getting up, he walked over to the window and placed his hand on the pane. Outside, the sun seemed determined to melt all the snow that had rested on Earth just a day before. His room overlooked a pond in the backyard, thin ice covering the surface, giving it the appearance of diamond as the sun shone off it. He squinted and stepped backwards, swearing for a second in time he was caught somewhere eight years prior. 17

Putting on a shirt, he exited his room and rushed down a winding, stone staircase into the dining area. Mrs. Lathaway was sitting at the end of the table, spectacles on, and a book in her lap. She lifted her head when she heard Mason walk into the room, even though her hair was in a tight bun, wisps of silver hair hung in her face. “Sleep well?” her dulling, brown eyes didn’t even look up from her book. 18

“Yes,” Mason responded, even though he well knew it was a lie. He did sleep for a few hours, but found himself constantly tossing, turning, and moaning in his sleep. Stabs of pain and guilt from the past lunged into his every being. He hated sleep but longed for it so much that the thought of it drove him mad. He took the chair on the opposite end of the table that Mrs. Lathaway was in. In front of him lay ham, three different types of breads, strawberry preserves, a variety of fruits, and a few poached eggs. 19

Footsteps clicked just outside the dining room, a servant in a long, pale blue dress and over that an off white apron and auburn hair curled and cascaded down her shoulders. Upon her arrival into the room, Mason rose to his feet out of respect for her. Her eyes drifted over to him and a soft shade of pink befell her cheeks and the corners of her mouth lifted to form a small smile. “Mrs. Lathaway,” she said, quickly looking away, “your daughter is ready to join you for breakfast.” Again, Mrs. Lathaway did not look up from her book. Instead, she swiftly flicked her wrist and hand to a beckoning gesture.20

A scraping sound against the floor echoed through the room followed by steps. A thin, white claded figure entered the room. Due to an unfortunate circumstance, the figure had walked with a cane, dragging its left leg slowly behind the rest of the body. Dark, stringy, long hair fell across the figure’s face and pale, brown eyes appeared through the strands of hair. Mason stood standing as she entered, he recognized her instantly despite the difference of her appearance. He brushed away light brown hair from his face and his eyes met with the figure’s in an instant. A figure named Anna Lathaway.21

Anna leaned on a cane, she rested her elbow on the handle and scowled at Mason, but words began to form at her lips. “Mason, you…” she was cut off by the servant girl, who urged Anna to sit. Anna took her place at the table, to which, Mason swiftly sat down. Anna’s eyes lowered to the empty, porcelain plate in front of her that matched her complexion. She opened her mouth several times during the course of breakfast but nothing ever seemed to come out.22

Finally, breaking the silence Mrs. Lathaway spoke. Her voice was almost cold, “Anna, Mr. Mason has come to take care of you. Surely you remember him, don’t you dear?” Mrs. Lathaway stared at her daughter, who froze mid-bite and looked annoyingly at her mother than at Mason.23

“Is he now?” Anna spat, her words now came out and did not just form. “Well…” her voice trailed off and she dropped her fork to her plate and stared at the half-eaten food in front of her. 24

Mason picked up the girl’s anger and annoyance. 25

“We can discuss it after breakfast. I do not believe breakfast is the time to talk about such an ordeal.” He sighed and carefully spread some honey against a piece of bread as he stared at the old woman across the table from him, her nose in her book. The girl to his side, whose coffee-like eyes were beginning to brim with tears, caused his mind to begin to wander.26

Eight years ago, he was standing outside, just a few yards from the fountain. Crystal water lapped against the sides and sitting on the edge was Anna, her long, dainty fingers sliding slowly back and forth in the water, creating tiny, diamond like waves. Giggling, her eyes sparkled and met his as a warm summer wind rushed through her dark hair. “Hey,” she laughed, throwing her head back and then looking back at him, “when did you arrive and how come I did not hear you?” She rose to her feet, a long, yellow and blue striped dress clinging to her form, she quickly took some pins out of her pocket and threw her hair up into a bun, not perfect, pieces of hair had missed the pins, but she didn’t seem to mind. “Mother says women shouldn’t have their hair down in the presence of a man, it’s not polite.” With a smirk on her face, she picked up a flowered parasol leaning against the fountain and spun it around in her hand as she held it above her head.27

Mason strided over to her and cupped her face in his hand, “Well, I happen to like your hair down.” His hand moved up to her hair and began to remove the pins from her hair. The whole time, he stared intently into her eyes; he could see his image reflecting lightly off the dark part of her eyes. She turned her head away, her cheeks reddened, and she stared at the ground, wringing her hands together.28

The sun beat down harshly on the back of Mason’s neck, as beads of sweat dripped from either side, just as they were now. Once upon a time, Anna Lathaway was the most beautiful girl in town. Her eyes were filled with stars, her hair was dark and waved to shape her face, her complexion was the color of porcelain, and boys were worshipping at her feet. Somewhere down the line, Mason had gotten caught up in her whirlwind of her life, her glamour, and her poise. Out of all the men pleading for her affection, she decided to choose Mason over them all.29

Right now her face was blank, but she was staring directly into him. Her face a pasty white and dark circles encompassed her eyes which had a crazed, horrified look in them. She had not in sense become less beautiful, just more haggard. “Then we shall discuss it after breakfast,” she hissed then returned to the food on her plate. “Maya,” she snapped, “take me upstairs, after I get dressed up, please ask Mason to join me upstairs.” The pretty, auburn haired maid standing against the wall behind Anna’s chair, quickly approached her side and helped her up, leading her out of the room, but not before stealing a glance at Mason as she walked away, linking arms with Anna.30

Ten minutes passed before the maid entered the room again and grasped Mason’s hand. She took him upstairs and as they transversed the steps, she talked on about her sister who was leaving off for the university next fall. Mason added small remarks here and there, but he listened half-heartedly. He was dreading the inevitable conversation that was closely coming up. 31

Anna was standing at the window when he entered her room. The back of her hand brushed the blue, velvet curtains that billowed to the floor. Her other hand was pressed against the window, frosted with ice, and a cloud of fog covered a part of the glass where her breath touched it. “Anna,” Mason said, his words calming, almost soothing. She turned to him slowly, but kept her face away towards the window. “I just want to say sorry, make up for what I did. That’s why I’m here.” 32

At last, she faced him and streams of tears paced their way down her cheeks. “You’ve been gone,” she whispered, “for seven years. Seven years.” She walked slowly over to Mason, leaning on her cane and then stopping in the middle of the room. “You think trying to help me, while my mother is away will fix everything?”33

“No.” Mason swallowed the lump that dug its way into his throat. “…but I do hope it will help.” He met her in the middle of the room and attempted to grab her hand, but she quickly pulled it away. “I’m not saying that it wasn’t right for me to leave, especially after Sam’s death, but it was just hard for me to stay.” Her eyes had drifted to the carpet and Mason lifted her face to look at his. “Please, forgive me.”34

She held back any more tears from falling. “I waited for you, for almost four years,” she muttered, “I loved you Mason.” Both Anna and Mason could barely stand to look at each other, yet they continued to hold their gaze. Finally, she broke it off, stumbling to her bed and sitting down, Mason followed her; but all he could think was that he had done this to her.35

“Something about tonight reminds me about that summer,” Sam had said, “when we went horseback riding and hunting, when the air was brisk and warm.” The words echoed in Mason’s mind, it was one of the last conversations he had with Sam before his death. They had been lying in the front lawn, it was nighttime and the stars glittered like diamonds against a black canvas. 36

Sam was an outgoing, free-thinking, rebellious boy, a year older than Mason and two years older than his sister, Anna. Yet, Sam had a calming and serene deposition. Being around him was enjoyable; he could brighten up a sad atmosphere and give peace to those struggling in soul and mind. Mason had first met Sam when he was five years old, their mothers would often go calling on each other’s homes. Sam had often showed Mason new things and had helped him shed his shy interior.37

Sam was so full of life; he was fond of dancing around in the rain and singing at the top of his lungs for the amusement of others. He cared naught what anyone thought, but was deemed since the beginning of his time to be all he could be. 38

Mason was not there when Sam had died, but Mason was supposed to be there. He had been feeling ill that morning and had decided to stay in bed. Somewhere during the day, Anna and Sam’s car had hit a bump on the way to town. Sam was not a terrible driver, but he was not the best when taking control. The car had swerved and hit a tree and unfortunately, Sam had lost his life. Anna’s leg had been broken and crushed; she would never walk normal ever again.39

Mason always believed if he had gone and drove that car to town, then Sam would be here and Anna would be fine. Instead, his absence had cost him both of them. He had heard through word of mouth that Anna had fallen ill, losing her brother, her fiancée, and her leg in a single day. She also began to lose her mind. When Mason had heard this, he instantly wrote Mrs. Lathaway, a long time motherly figure to him, saying that he was interested in making amends and even helping to take care of Anna and getting her back onto her feet and back into society. 40

Mason had believed that Mrs. Lathaway would dismiss him, rebuke him even for the abandonment of her daughter. Instead, Mrs. Lathaway had responded in a small note and it simply said in fine script: 41

On January 19th, I will be leaving my home to visit some friends in Chicago. Perhaps you can come then and try and talk to Anna. I don’t see how anyone can still hate you after all these years.42

Thus, Mason had found himself on the door of the Lathaway manor the next day and now he was facing his demons and his past, as well as the girl he had left behind. “I didn’t mean to leave you,” he soothed, gently stroking her hair, which she had left down. 43

“Was it my leg?” she said as she looked down at her leg, although covered by the folds of her dress and sitting up wasn’t even visible. Even so, she still was aware that it was there.44

“No,” Mason replied, and it was the truth. He wasn’t scared of Anna, nor her leg. He did not want to leave her, but he did, because he didn’t want to face the mourning of an empty home that had lost all its life. In a way, he felt as though he also lost his. Without saying another word, Mason got up and left the room. 45

That night, Mason lay in his bed as hail pattered against the roof. It wasn’t the weather that didn’t make him sleep, but the constant worry of not being accepted back into Anna’s life. He had loved her once, was going to marry her. In a way, he had still loved her, but the lapse of time had made his mind and emotions change. He could not bear the hurt he had brought to one family, let alone himself. Mason was stuck at a road he could not cross out of fear. He just wanted to make up for all the wrongs he had caused.46

At around two sixteen in the morning, Mason had glanced at his pocket watch for the time and realized he had been laying in bed for five hours and thirty-nine minutes with barely a wink of sleep. It was maybe around two twenty-five that he started to hear a shrill, high-pitch scream from down the hall. Mason sat up with a jolt, frightened out of his thought and his heart pounded widely in his chest. His door opened fiercely and a slender, womanly figure entered Mason’s room as he struggled to catch his breath and throw his legs over the bed. 47

She held a candle in her hand, light illuminated her cream colored face, her hair was braided and thrown over her right shoulder and a long, white nightgown fell loosely around her shoulders and the top of her bosom and then floated down to the floor. “Mr. Mason,” she whispered, it was Maya, the maid, who had been at breakfast. “Mrs. Lathaway sent me up here to tell you not to worry about the screams. Sometimes Anna has nightmares; the doctor said it’s normal, even years after a traumatic event.” Her voice was soft, musical almost.48

“What are you talking about?” Mason inquired, his heart almost dropping.49

“I know how to deal with it,” Maya comforted, “while Mrs. Lathaway is gone, you do not need to venture into Anna’s room. I don’t think you, or anyone would want to see her like that.” Maya leaned against the wall, placing her candle onto a small desk next to the door and crossed her arms. In the flickering candlelight Mason could see her eyes fall, he thought that maybe the household and the depression was getting to Maya as well.50

When Mrs. Lathaway left the home, Mason was left in charge of servants and workers, as well as taking care of Anna. He had begun to grow accustomed to Anna’s screams of terror in the middle of the night, even sleeping through them on rare occasions. He had listened to Maya and did not try to enter Anna’s room, although sometimes he wondered if Maya knew how to sooth Anna’s scream, why did it take so long for her to stop?51

One night, it all seemed too persistent. Anna continued to yell and sob into the night air. Mason lie in his bed, listening to it for an hour, unable to relieve himself to sleep. Another hour passed, normally, Anna would have quit by now. However, Mason swore it was getting worse, louder. He heard a dog outside bark; however, it may have been completely unrelated. 52

Against his better judgment, Mason threw himself out of bed and ran into her room. Worry and fright pounded in his head. “Maya!” he called out, hoping she would rush to his aide, but alas, she never showed. Mason threw open Anna’s bedroom door and swore he thought for a split second that standing next to her window; his arms crossed behind his back, a blonde haired boy staring out the window. When Mason turned to look again, the boy was gone. 53

Anna was crying, screaming and Mason rushed to her side and gripped her hand, running his fingers through her hair. “Please,” he whispered into her ear, “I don’t want you to cry.” 54

Minutes later, her sobbing resided and she looked up at him with tear soaked eyes. “Why didn’t you come sooner?” she asked between gasps of air. She bit her bottom lip and tightened her grip on his hand.55

“I thought Maya would be here, I’m sorry.”56

“Maya?” Anna said, and then shook her head. “I saw you when you came into the room.”57

“Yes?” 58

“You looked towards the window, and then seemed surprised to see nothing there.”59

Mason stayed silent for a minute and thought about the phenomenon that had taken maybe forty-five minutes before. “There was a blonde haired boy, standing by the window” he replied, but didn’t mention that the boy also looked like Sam. “It was just my imagination.”60

“It isn’t,” Anna said softly, closing her eyes. “I see him; I see all of them.” Mason was unsure of what to say, but he crawled up into bed with her, lying next to her and looking at her. He just wanted to be there for her. 61

She stared at him, wide-eyed for one moment and spoke with a chilling voice, Mason found goose bumps run up and down his arms, “They are the reason that I cannot sleep at night. They all haunt my dreams.” With that, she closed her eyes and leaned into him, and feeling as though it was appropriate, he gently wrapped his arms around her.62

Minutes passed, maybe thirty, when he heard words said hardly audible, as one half-asleep would talk, “I never stopped loving you Mason.” 63

“I’ve never stopped loving you either,” Mason whispered back to her and lightly placed a peck on her lips. He was not lying, he loved Anna Lathaway, but he stopped loving her as the woman he wanted to spend his life with a long time ago.64

When Mason awoke the next morning, he found himself back in his own bed. At first, he was confused, and then reasoned that the most probable cause was that somewhere in the middle of the night he had left Anna’s room and returned to his. He blinked, opening his eyes and rubbing them with the back of his hand to get rid of the sleep. Light dripped in from his window between the curtains at such a perfect angle that it hit his eyes directly. Mason squinted and then sat up slowly, feeling as though he did not sleep well, although he never remembered waking up. 65

He looked at his pocket watch, his eyes heavy with sleep. It was 7:14. He collapsed back down onto the bed and threw a pillow over his face. The house was still quiet and Mason would fall back to sleep for another hour and a half before he would be awoken by a shrill, piercing scream coming from down the hall.66

“Mason! Mason!” the words echoed throughout the mansion in an urgent and desperate plea. There was screaming and faint crying engulfing the air. As in a dream, where one cannot run fast enough and everything seems to move so slowly, Mason jolted down the hall but could not run fast enough. His legs refused to carry him, he felt weak. A sudden and overwhelming feeling of fear and dread filled his being, his mouth felt thick, and his heart heavy. 67

When Mason finally reached Anna’s room, Maya was standing outside, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. Her eyes were closed and streaks from dried rivers of tears stained her cheeks, to which all color was drained. She slowly looked at him for a long lasting minute, their gaze locked. She inhaled deeply and Mason clenched his fist as in a slow-stepping motion he pushed the wood door open. On the bed lay a body, stiff, but still warm. Mason rushed to its side and gripped its hand. Anna, her face had gained that porcelain color, the bags under her eyes had vanished, but her neck lay at an almost impossible angle. Her lips were the most perfect shade of purple and blue, as though the sun had just begun to set on them. In the corner a chair lay overturned with a cracked arm rest and a cut piece of rope dangled from the ceiling and its missing piece, which was hastily cut, lay on the floor below.68

“I tried,” came a shaking, quivering voice. “She was already gone.”69

“Maya,” Mason said, his vision not leaving Anna’s face. “It doesn’t matter. She is peaceful. Look at her.”70

“I know.” She walked over to him; he heard her nightgown brush against the carpeting of the bedroom behind him. “I don’t think I’d ever seen her look as happy as she does now.”71

“I’m leaving in the morning, Maya. I can’t stay around for this again.” Mason wiped the single tear that had fallen from his eye, and rested on his wrist. He stood up quickly and wiped his pants off with his hands, releasing a sigh. “I shouldn’t have left her last night,” he said as he turned to look at Maya, all her weight shifted onto her right leg.72

“What are you talking about?” Maya inquired, “I was with her most of the night.”73

“No,” Mason replied, shaking his head and rubbing his temple, “it must have been after you fell asleep. I went to her, she was upset.”74

“Perhaps,” Maya responded, “you might want to be gone before Mrs. Lathaway returns. I phoned her, she’s on her way, but can you really leave again?”75

“I can’t face this; it was my fault last time. This is my fault now. I come here, trying to redeem my actions for Samuel. Yet, I just find another guilt build up. Tell her I am sorry for the loss of both her children.” Mason began to walk to his room. Maya followed closely behind him. 76

“You can’t blame yourself for everything, Mr. Mason, please listen to me,” Maya pleaded she tugged at the back of his shirt and ran swiftly behind him. 77

Mason swatted her hand away. “Stop,” he growled. Thoughts raced through his mind, he walked faster and faster towards him room to scramble up his belongings. “I came here,” he repeated, “to redeem myself.”78

Maya stopped; she gave up but continued screaming down the hall, falling to her knees. “Fate declares our numbers! You doing anything cannot prevent the inevitable! If they were meant to die, they were meant to die. You just need to accept that!”79

Mason disappeared into his room, slamming the door. Mason leaned against the door and dropped to the floor and for the first time in years succumbed to the emotions that had so long held him back and he cried. 80

***81

A few months had passed, Mason found himself lost, stumbling around a tavern with his head feeling as though it weighed a thousand pounds. The sound of glasses clinking against finely polished oak tables and the soft sound of conversation echoed throughout his ears. His brain, his head pounded. He had to stop getting drunk. 82

How much time had gone by, without him noticing? It seemed like it was no longer important, just another man-made invention, set to ensnare him in that constant feeling of mortality and dread. It no longer mattered, he lost track of it, lost track of the one thing he was sure of. He stumbled again, tripping over his own footing, until a hand reached out and grabbed his arm. “Careful mate,” the hand’s owner said and chuckled slightly, “we wouldn’t want you to fall over and make a scene.” 83

Mason turned his blurred vision to the apparition in front of him. “Who… who ith that?” he slurred, clutching onto the man’s arm to steady himself. He could just make out the color of tan skin, dark eyes, and straw colored hair that slowly blended together to form a shape that looked as though three different colors of paint had been swirled together to make one final color.84

“You can call me Paul, dear friend,” the man spoke, helping Mason stand and balance on his feet. He walked him over to a booth, putting his arm around Mason’s shoulders and dragging him along to a booth. 85

“Thankths Paul,” Mason laughed, almost slamming his face onto the wooden table. His new friend rubbed his back, patted his head, soothing him quietly.86

“I think we have a lot to work on now, Mason.”87

First, Mason’s drinking habit had to be vanquished. Second, his head had to be cleared. Thirdly, he needed someone to care enough about him to help him. Over the next few days and a period of waiting for him to sober up, Mason managed to spit out the details of his life since he was eighteen. Paul had told him exactly what Maya had said that fateful day, almost word for word. Except Paul had added in one, tiny detail, Mason could still try and find that forgiveness within himself that he so badly longed for.88

So, on a warm, but breezy day in October, Mason ventured out to a cemetery, with two banquets of wildflowers in his hands, along with Paul. He stopped by, paying homage to three gravesites. He knelt down by Samuel’s grave and embraced it, sobbing and muttering how sorry he was. Saying and whispering things to himself, hardly heard, but the last words to a dear friend that would never hear them. He did the same thing to Anna’s, and again his words disappeared as vapor into the wind. On the last grave, he laid a single flower, as he noted that Mrs. Lathaway had passed on, just weeks after Anna’s death. For some reason, Mason wondered why he had not joined them.89

Mason noticed Paul standing in the background, his bottom lip shaking with emotion. Mason breathed in and out deeply, relishing every breath that he took. He finally felt happy to be alive. 90

Mason, with Paul at his side stood to take the town by storm. He began by doing odd jobs, encouraged by Paul, for people who needed help. It had churned in Mason’s mind that charity work would cleanse his soul; he could make up for all the pain he had caused. 91

A man he worked for, named Mark Freeman, befriended Mason, even welcoming him into his home. Mason had started to feel happy again, like he had so many years ago, running along twisted corridors. He once again found himself twisting along on adventures to find secret passageways. Laughing and jokingly playfully in the dark, a candle in his hand. Except, the thrill was different, it was acceptance. A running spiral of momentum back from that happiness, a high to which he felt he could never fall. However, he knew the sick, sad truth. He could fall, spiral just as fast downwards as he had climbed, he had before. Once again, a feeling of regret and dread, it had happened before and anything could happen again. 92

“So, do tell us,” Mr. Freeman had said one night at dinner, “what is it that you do?” 93

Mason wrinkled his brow, thinking of a response. “Well,” he finally said, “I’m a writer.” He shrugged, stirring around some vegetables on his plate, before joking, “Other than being an Angel of helping.”94

“Oh?” Mrs. Freeman awed, she sounded a bit surprised, as he had seemed to be such a handyman lately around the house. Painting over the chipped walls and fixing a leaky roof. 95

“Yes,” Mason said, “a writer. See, I have this brilliant idea for a story. Its true actually, imagine that.”96

“A true story, you say?” Freeman chuckled, “Ah, Mr. Mason, you should tell us!”97

“Yes, indeed,” Mrs. Freeman agreed.98

“Well,” Mason said, “if I told you that, you may steal the idea, and I could never be accredited for the story.” To which, the three of them shared a laugh. Mason took a bite of potatoes, winking at Mrs. Freeman with a feeling of approval. “You see,” he spoke again, “its true in the sense that it should have happened, but instead, fate took a different course. By the way, Mrs. Freeman, you cook a lovely meal.”99

“Why thank you,” she blushed, color flushed her face and she looked down at her hand and then grinned, looking over at her husband.100

“You two should meet my dearest friend,” Mason said suddenly, “I believe that you two would quite enjoy his company, he is a good man. A nice man, actually. If it weren’t for him, I might have found myself dead in some ditch.”101

After dinner, Mason agreed that he would return in a few days with Paul. The three of them visited for a couple more minutes before Mason began to walk down the path leading from the porch of the home. He stared up at the sky and admired the stars shining so brightly. They made him think of Samuel, but he didn’t feel that constant pang he had once felt. He continued to walk down the path, in taking the fresh and warm air into his lungs.102

Perhaps, a week later, Mason led Paul to the Freeman’s home. Paul had a confused, puzzle look in his eyes, but he followed Mason into the house and he held up a conversation with the Freemans, letting out random bursts of chuckling, whether it was appropriate or not. Mason shot him some looks of disappointment; in fact, he was displeased with Paul’s behavior the whole night. In fact, Paul was normally calm, collected, shy even, but always, always mature. 103

The next day, Paul and Mason took their usual stroll around the local park, covered in bright, blooming wildflowers and billowing maple and oak trees that fought to be the tallest in length. The sky was bright, despite the fact that the sun was setting, resting gracefully in a majestic bed of pink and orange. Mason found himself still upset at Paul from the night before and decided to confront him, stopping abruptly on the brown, cobblestone path. “How could you make me look so bad, last night, Paul!” he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists as he stalked away from his friend.104

Paul seemed to catch up though, his footsteps echoing behind Mason, shouting out chilling and disturbing words, “Alright, you can drop the joke now, Mason. It was funny while it lasted.”105

“Joke?” Mason growled, “Was this all a joke to you, Paul? I like those people; they welcomed me with open arms, despite all the terrible things!”106

“Mason!” Paul yelled, grabbing a hold of his shoulders and solidly shaking him. “You led me into an abandoned shack and sat me on the ground, while I pretended to eat food off of pieces of scrap metal!” Paul let go of his friends and flung his arms into the air, while a group of birds fled out of a nearby tree out of fear. “No one was there! I played along; I carried on with your shenanigans, thinking it was all a game.” He calmed down for a second, regaining his composure. “Now, Mason, look me in the eye and tell me, were there really people there?”107

Mason shook his head. He looked down at the cobblestone path beneath his leather clad shoes. They made odd shapes and patterns, to his left a family of daffodils made their home. Mason looked back up at Paul, what Paul was saying had yet to completely register in his brain. “I’ve got to sit down.”108

“I’m sorry,” Paul said sincerely. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.” He helped lead Mason over to a bench, where the two of them sat down. “Listen to me, nothing was there. I need to know, are you serious, you thought people were there?” Paul steadily held Mason’s gaze. 109

However, Mason broke the eye contact. He felt like he had to throw up, he turned away in shame and looked down at the cobblestone path again. Had he created all these things in an effort to escape the peril and guilt that had so tightly bound him? Had anything been real at all? For a second, he questioned everything he knew and held dear. “You are a liar, Paul,” Mason whispered.110

“No, I’m not, Mason. We both know that.”111

“They were all real. I could touch them, see them, feel them, the same as I can to you,” he was still looking at the path. “I just don’t understand it; I couldn’t have just made it all up.” Sighing, he gently massaged his temples with his index fingers trying to relieve the upcoming headache. 112

He heard a metallic scraping noise against the rock. An old woman, carrying a cane behind her walked past Mason and gently tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up to face her. “Young man,” she said softly, her voice quavered from her old age, “who are you talking to?”113

“My friend…” he trailed off as he looked to his side. Snapped into reality and to his dismay, no one was sitting next to him.