A Road to Nowhere. Bradleigh Munk
forward, and Mary was baptized on the first Sunday in June and never stopped being the joy and love of Martha and Clark’s life. Soon the family found themselves in the throes of another harvest; Martha was also having a different type of harvest and was expecting the gift the following February.
As the summer harvest moved into its third week, everyone, except Martha, looked forward to the completion of another season; this particular day became unbearable. Humidity hung in the air as clouds started to build and predicted a crisis soon to unfold. Martha, having unusual pain, found herself in the bathroom for most of the morning. Around eleven, Henry sent Glen to fetch the doctor; however, when Glen returned, he exclaimed, “Dr. Stan was unable to come out because he is tending to his sick mother.” He suggested that they bring Martha into town, and he would be able to treat her condition. Glen bridled their horse again, and the whole family loaded into the wagon to head to town. The approaching storm showed its colours as soon as they had gone a short distance from the farm; before they realized it, the tornado quickly descended upon the small group. Glen, trying to stay the course, was the first to be pulled from his seat. Clark was holding his daughter close; however, the force of the storm was too great to be able to hold on to her. He was not sure when the other three—Sara, Henry, and his beloved—were taken. As soon as it had started, the tragic storm ended, leaving Clark waist-deep in thick mud; pulling with all his strength, he was able to rise above the devastation in search of his family. Several hundred feet out in the field, he could see strips of the shirt Henry was wearing: green with white-and-black blocks. There was no movement. Off to the right several more feet, Sara lay on her back next to Martha; there was no movement. Glen and Mary were never found. Struggling to walk through the thick mud, Clark, several times, found himself stuck; however, he persisted, slowly moving forward, and after what seemed like hours, he was finally able to crawl up to Sara. She was gone. Continuing to Martha, holding her in his arms, with centuries of pain running through his heart, a flash of white light, and he was back lying next to his friend. Dropping his arms and releasing the amulet, he found that he couldn’t move for several hours; uncontrollable tears streamed down his grief-stricken face.
Chapter Six
The Harvester
The weeping continued, floodgates wide open. Turning on his side away from his friend, he fell into a deep, restless sleep, dreams with flashes of blue light and amulets glowing red. After waking up several times and still too emotional to return to his flat, he decided to stay. His friend would probably not mind. It’s not like he would know, he said to himself, falling back to sleep. He found that the weight was too great to find relief. Sobbing and shaking, he finally slipped into the void, searching for comfort and the family he lost.
Comfort did return, however; he was too exhausted to question the source. Slowly opening his eyes, he felt the warmth of someone close. An arm held him, and his breathing began to sync. Like waves on a beach, he drifted back to the unknown. This time, however, his dreams included fields of scrub oak, sagebrush, and crisp, refreshing air. Music soon joined the adventure. Still holding on to the surrounding comfort, he slowly opened his eyes to find himself alone. From the front room, music filtered through the flat; he slowly moved toward the door and opened it. To his amazement, the room was filled with bright light, and a field of green stretched for as far as the eyes could see. Placed in the middle, like onstage, Thom was playing his piano as if his life depended on it. As soon as Clark stepped into the room, like a fog dissipating, the scene changed, and Thom was left alone sitting on his bench. Looking up at him, Clark could see the pain and anguish flowing from his eyes. Remembering the drama, within his dreams of the past two years, Clark could not hold back his tears; Thom simply stood, walked over, and embraced him.
After a few minutes, they both separated and settled on his couch; for what seemed an eternity, neither one spoke. Thom broke the silence by saying, “Losses will stay with us longer than any love expressed.” An agreement was reached between their eyes, and then he continued, “Would you like to get some grub? I feel as if I haven’t eaten in days.” Back at the corner pub, a cabbage-and-sausage casserole was placed between them. Feasting on the food still bubbling in the crockery and gulping down pints of ale, they both sat in quiet reflection. Speaking while looking directly into his eyes, Clark asked about the earlier events. He simply couldn’t answer; the pain was still too great within his being. Sensing this, Clark ordered several more pints.
“I need to ask you a question: why do you drink so much?”
Clark wavered and then said, “To forget that I hate myself.” Thinking that he might have said too much, he hesitated and then said, “Is this too much to hear?” He thought a moment, remembering how much he hated himself every day, and no matter how much he drank, it never allowed him to escape. It never made him numb or drunk; alcohol simply didn’t affect him. His mind wandered back to the day’s events. He had never been affected with this much emotional pain. It made no sense; he was an immortal and generally felt nothing, no love for men, or women. He simply didn’t have the emotions. Then why was he so moved by what Clark experienced when he accidentally accessed his amulet? The vessel was only to house souls taken; he never realized it also stored the event. (Why was Clark able to step over that barrier?)
He was beginning to think that the pain must be payment for all the enjoyment he felt when taking souls, enjoyment in line with the sexual addiction he had in his last physical life (always pushing for the next high), and until he was presented with this new way of existing, he knew nothing of his effect on others. Maybe this was a lesson for his ignorance of cause and effect. It might not be in his best interest to continue down this path—collecting souls just to trade them for his own freedom.
Looking back at his friend, he replied, “We both have problems with self-loathing, and when I look at you, all I can see is a kind and wonderful soul trying to make it through each day.” (From the front of the pub, the local news was reporting the daily drama just unfolding, released onto a willing public.) They both finished their meals and what was left of their drinks. Clark had decided to return to his flat when they got home; however, when trying to get up, he had trouble getting steady, as he fell over slightly. Thom held on and provided support for the walk home. It took longer for the two to arrive back at their flats, and after first stopping in front of Clark’s door, Thom could see the panic in his friend’s eyes. Without words, the two continued onto the second door. Clark stayed with his friend for two additional days when, finally, it was time to see what was waiting for him at home. Slowly opening the door, he surveyed the skeletons from the last week’s party. Sighing, he started the cleanup. There was a note pasted to his refrigerator from his sister saying, “Since you are not returning to send off your guests, I took care of business. The food is in the fridge. It’s up to you to clean up the rest.” Setting the note down, he felt warm and alive having finally connected with the outside world; he would call her later as soon as he could get back into his routine.
Chapter Seven
By the time they rolled me into the Royal London emergency room, I was sitting up, and the blood was down to oozing small drops, easily caught by gauze, held on by that stretchy tape used nowadays. “We should arrive shortly. Hopefully, you won’t have to spend much time here,” the EMT said. After rolling me in and a quick look over by the physician on duty, they took me down the hall to have several x-rays to confirm that there were no internal issues.
Returning to the examination room, Paige was waiting nervously, walking back and forth; when she saw me, she said, “Sweetie, you look like hell.”
Wincing in pain, I said, “Thank you. That was the look I was going for.”
Behind us, the doctor just shook her head, trying not to laugh. Then she got serious, saying, “We have some relatively good news. You have a couple of broken ribs, which will heal, and the bruising should fade over time. The one concern is that you have a slight concussion that you will need to keep an eye on. You are lucky to be alive. We are going to release you. However, if at any time you start to have excessive pain, come back in, and we will have a look.”
“That’s a relief,” said Paige.
Just then, a smart-looking woman dressed in the local