Chapters 5-8 of D.R.E.A.M.

Chapter 5



The road was long and winding. Dying red leaves danced in the wind along either side of the curves as the morning sun was nearing the top of the sky. The outside air was cool and calm. No one else traced the outlines of the curves except for Draven. He had been driving all night, desperately trying to reach his destination.
Draven reached into the console of his car and pulled out a blue Bic lighter which he used to light a cigarette. Considering that the whole world was slowly crushing his very soul, he felt quite calm for the moment. Robb had let him sit on the couch long enough to have a beer to ease the trouble that was on his mind along with the advice to “be happy while he could be.” Draven knew that Robb was right; he was always right. Things could be a lot worse than just gaining a little more respect from the world through his books, poetry, and art. Afterall, the world seemed to love him already.

The sun barely peaked over the hills of the lone countryside. The country had changed considerably in the short drive, and Draven had slowed the speed of his driving to match. He had left behind the small town persona and emerged into the lonely, desolate hills of the Ozark Mountains. Rugged dirt roads twisted and turned, confusing and losing the driver of the black Mustang. Early morning fog crept across the land, enshrouding fields of cedar and oak, century old houses in need of paint and repair, ghost cars which themselves whispered stories of long-forgotten tragic wrecks: both life changing and life taking. Every so often white-tail deer jumped out from seemingly nowhere, leaping into the air and across the road to one again dissinigrate into the nothingness of the beyond.




The land called out to Draven in its own silent, yet screaming ways. Secrets whispered past his ears and played with his mind, promising him the safe comfort he long for, yet cautioned him to hold back. It was in every means the perfect setting in the perfect place and time.
Draven continued driving until midmorning when he finally reached his destination. Countless hours of side roads and backtracking had taken its toll on his mood, leaving him mentally exhausted and in a rather pissy mood. He was relieved when he finally saw the double gates of the gate that surrounded the property of Silverthorn Estates. Surrounded on all sides by a nineteenth turn of the century iron fence, the only way in was the single front gate. Draven had to get out of the car and physically push it open. Taking nearly every bit of strength that he possessed, the rusted gate finally opened. ‘At least,’ Draven thought to himself. ‘If anyone ever does manage to find this damn place, they’ll have a hard time getting past the gates.’




Draven drove his car in and parked it between several trees. The black of the car blended well. Finding an extra screwdriver he took off the license plates and hid them in the backseat. He decided to walk the rest of the way to the house.
The house itself was old and hardly visible from the road he was on. There was no yard to find, only several acres of dead trees and weeds grown up nearly as tall as Draven. It had been unoccupied when Draven found it. The for sale sign had hung on the gate outside was the only clue that there was even a house to be found among all the brush. For some reason, as soon as he laid eyes upon the land, Draven had fallen in Love. It reminded him of his parents, once so beloved beings, no dead and forever buried to be forgotten by all.
Draven had called the phone number listed on the sign and spoke with an executive from Seattle. He had purchased the estate several years back with full intention to fix it up and move there with his bride. Now divorced, the man had no use for the house or the memories that went along with it and quickly sold out. Draven was surprised at the cheap price; he would gladly have paid its full worth, but of course was not going to argue about the money he saved. Robb, of course being Robb, tried desperately to talk Draven out of purchasing the house and property. He claimed it was nothing noteworthy, there were millions of other places worth the money that Draven had paid. He opted Draven spend the money instead on a beach house resort or a private island somewhere in the Pacific.
Not easily persuaded when it come to something he wanted, Draven gladly laid down the money in cash. He signed the papers under his real name; the rich exectutive never asked any questions.
Robb certainly did though. “What the fuck are you going to do with this piece of shit?” Draven, of course, had no idea. He was saw it and wanted it. Thus, he purchased it.
“I don’t know,” was all he replied. “I just like it, that’s all. Maybe someday we can all get together there for vacation.” Robb just laughed.
Now, as Draven looked up at the house, he could see once again exactly why he wanted it. It was beautiful. Created from a mix of Victorian and Gothic architecture, it was every bit as perfect as any story from Draven’s mind. Huge and ornate on every level, it was obvious that the mansion had at one time been very expensive. The detail alone proved that it had to have been built with Love in mind.





The previous owner had promised to leave Draven a key hidden near the door. Exactly where, he wasn’t sure. Draven had never been inside, or even this near, the house before. Assuming it couldn’t be that hard to discover, he began to search.
The rain had stopped and left only a light mist. The sky’s gray, overcast clouds allowed only small rays of the sun to penetrate through to the earth. Draven had taken to wearing his jacket as the cold air nipped at his skin.
“’Lo, there, young man.”
Draven stopped as he was picking up the rock beside the back door to look beneath it. Slowly, he set it back down and turned around to face an old man.
“Looking for something in particular, son?” The old man was dressed in a pair of ancient overhauls, faded and patched at the knees. He wore no jacket over his white long sleeve shirt buttoned all the way to the neck. He must have been at least in his eighties, if not older. “Maybe I can help you.”
Draven stared at the man, not quite sure of who he was or what he wanted. He couldn’t imagine the man not being cold, considering the threadbare articles of clothing he wore. “I’m just looking for a key to this house. I’m the owner. I bought it from a man named Phillips a few months ago, and he said he would leave me a spare key somewhere near the door.”
“Ah, you must be the writer feller then, huh?”
Draven’s head perked up and he opened his ears very closely to what the man was saying. He scowled.
“Oh, no worries,” the man replied. “I’m not here for any other reason than to help you out. I’m no one important.”
Thankful for that, and yet ready to get rid of him, Draven went back to his search for the key.
“I live up on top the hill,” the old man went on. “Up there in that white house on the hill. Get a great view of this house from up there. I heard you car coming and saw you park it a ways down the driveway. The way you hid it I figured you must be running from something.”
“Maybe I am; I’m not quite sure yet.” Draven edged over to the window and felt along the sill.
“Life’s not always as bad as you make it seem. It’s just what you make of it. In due time things’ll all work out. You’ll see.”
“Ah, thanks for the advice.” Draven’s own snotty response surprised even him. “Sorry, I’ve just had a bad day, that’s all.”
The man acted as though he never even heard. “Sold you the house, and the man didn’t even give you a key, huh.”
It was Draven’s turn to ignore the old man.
“About like the bastard that owned it. Everyone around here’s thankful he didn’t stay long. One night here and he left screaming like a bratty child. Swears he saw a ghost or something. Imagine that. Damned city folk with their suits and ties, he was just like all the rest. This house deserves more. Much more.”
The old man limped over next to Draven. “Did you look under that rock, son?”
“Yeah, that was the first place. I looked under all the other rocks too , and by the windows, trees, and shrubs.”
“Well, only one thing left to do then.”
Draven gave up. The old man clearly was hinting at something. Not that he really cared what, he just wanted rid of the man and would do anything to see to it that he left soon.
“Names Stevens, by the way.” With one last limp, his old black boots were planted on the ground next to Draven’s own.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Stevens.” It was the only reply Draven could muster.
“Oh, ‘Cody’ do just fine. Not too up on the mister part. It makes me feel like an old man. I take it you must be the young McAllister.”
“Draven.”
“Well, then, Draven, as I said before I’m here to help you.” Apparently tired of the games and conversation, pounded loudly on the door. “You can’t seem to get in one way, you might as well try the other.”
Draven was less than amused. He only wanted to be left alone, not mocked for his thoughtlessness.
“Please remember my advice, son. It may just come in handy for you one of these days. In more ways than one.” The old man winked and smiled, laughing with an ancient sparkle in his eyes.




Inside the house Draven could hear the stomping sound of feet approaching. The door peaked open to reveal a woman of about sixty. She was plump, of average height, and with long silver hair unbound by any ribbon or tie. Her eyes showed surprise and she silently questioned the presence of the two men. “Cody? That you?”

“This be Hannah,” said the old man Stevens. “She’s the caretaker of this here place. I’m afraid that when you purchased the house you also unknowingly purchased Hannah along with it. She’s all alone here, least ways, til her kids get back to help her.”
“Yes, he’s right. I live here, I hope you don’t mind. It was in the contracts you signed.”
“I’m sorry,” Draven said. “I must not have read them too well. I don’t recall there being any mention of the situation anyway.”
“No matter, boy,” Stevens said. “Hannah’s right helpful. You’ll soon grow to Love her as an adopted grandmother.”
The old woman beamed and her cheeks took on a rosy glow. “I’m only here to help. Same as what Cody probably told you.”
“Yes,” Draven replied. “He did mention something to that effect.” In all honesty Draven could not have cared less. The only thing on his mind was a cold beer and a warm bed.
Stevens chuckled. “Ah, the Estates only bred a special type of woman, it right did. None the likes of which could ever compare.”
“Anyway. . .” Draven interrupted. “I uh. . .”
“Why yes, yes.” She looked down at Draven. “You must be Mr. McAllister. Please, do come on it. The rain isn’t far off and if you stand there staring off into nothing all day you’re likely to drown yourself.” Her smile was that of a grandmother. She reached out to Draven’s hand and pulled him inside.
Stevens followed them into the house only long far enough to cross the threshold. Hannah continued pulling Draven along. “You must be hungry, dear. You look as though you could also use a good cup of hot coffee. Please let me show you to the kitchen.”
“No, thank you. I’m not really hungry, or in much of a mood for coffee.”
“Hannah?” Stevens called from behind.
The old woman turned, shocked at the sight of the man in her house. Her mouth dropped open and her grip on Draven’s hand went limp. “Cody? You are still here?” Draven thought the comment rather rude, but kept from saying anything. Afterall, his own manners were not the best at the moment.
“Yes, well, I was just leaving. I just wanted a quick word. Hannah, please, whatever you do, just make sure Mr. McAllister here feels at home.”
“Of course, Cody. You have my promise.”




Chapter 6

Les oz des piedz & ides main
Enserres
Par bruit maison long temps
Inhabitee
Seront par songes concavent deterres
Maison salubre & sans deterres
Habitee
~Nostradamus

Translation:
The bones of the feet and the hands locked up, because of the noise the house is uninhibited for a long time. Digging in dreams they will be unearthed, the house healthy and inhibited without noise. . . . .






Draven had once thought that he had seen a ghost. He also thought that he had once been in Love, too. The ghost had turned out to be merely distant headlights reflecting off of an angel statue in St. Catherine’s Cemetery. The Love of his life also turned out to be just that as well: light reflecting from a stone chiseled into the shape of an angel. Although, Draven still swears to this day that he saw the sculpture move.
The girl, or woman rather, was Nichollette Vernes. She was already 28 years old when Draven first became acquainted with her. Draven had only been 18. Nikki was an actress of sorts. She was very thin with straight dyed black hair cut just beneath her ears. She was also tall, 5’11”, standing just beneath Draven’s 6’2”.

Nichollette had once had big dreams of becoming a famous actress someday. She could sing, dance a little, and skillfully cry at will. She had been married at least once before to a man named Edward Archer. However the marriage didn’t last, she had told Draven, because Edward did not want her to succeed in show business. Truthfully, though, the matter was that Edward had lost his job doing construction and could no longer “finance” Nichollette or her hobbies. So, rather than wait around for another month for Edward to find work elsewhere, she packed up her bags, two year old daughter, and headed straight for the nearest bus stop. ‘But,’ she also told Draven, ‘It was not like I ever betrayed him or anything. Afterall, during the times that he was actually home, he was not a father. And the bruises on my own body proved what kind of man Eddie really was.’ Draven also knew these to be lies, too. One night after heavy drinking on both parts, Nichollete confessed to leaving Edward ‘just because she could’. She no longer Loved him or her life with him, so she cleaned out the money from his savings account and left for her mother’s in Virginia. She was only there long enough to drop off her baby and wait around for the next bus. She never admitted to the bruises, though Draven had seen with his own eyes the self-mutilation the woman put herself through. That, she claimed, was solely for the knowledge and experience required for acting. Draven had never so much as taken a drama class in junior high, so he dared not argue with her on the matter. Nonetheless, it hurt him immensely whenever he watched her dangling a dull knife in front of her own face.
Draven met Nichollette the spring that he had turned 18. She had come to town only as a stop on her way into Hollywood. Travelling with a man and another woman whom she had met a bus stop somewhere in Oklahoma, the soon tired of her. She didn’t know who they were; she hardly knew their names. They had traveled by Grayhound to a town near where Draven had been working as a mason at the time, and rented a room there for the night. That night as Nichollette slept off a hangover the unidentified couple had taken what cash Nicki had left as well as an antique necklace that she claimed to have gotten from her grandmother long ago.
The next morning Draven had met Nichollette walking down the road in the rain. He stopped his green Chevrolet and picker her up. He offered to take her to the police station when she recounted her tale to him, but she declined. ‘Why, I feel safe enough now,’ she crooned in her deep southern accent. ‘With a big strong man such as yourself by my side, what else could I possibly ask for?’
Feeling pity for her as well as lust, Draven helped the girl get back on her feet, renting a hotel room for her to live in while she stayed the duration of her visit there. He bought her food to eat and clothes to wear. He bought her a blue Ponitiac so that she would have transportation. He even gave up most of his extra money to her so that she may get what few private things she desired. Unknown to Draven at the time, the only thing that the money went for was Nichollette’s own secret heroin addiction.
Nichollette stayed at home in the little motel room for nearly nine months. Draven would come to see her daily. At first it was just to ‘check up on her’. Soon, it became an unspoken ritual for him to come see her as soon as he got off work. Nichollette was flirtatious and surprisingly outgoing, which attracted her to Draven. She was so unlike all the other girls that he had met before.
Every day after Draven got off work he would get in his truck and drive to the motel room to see her. She would always greet him at the door in her sexy black lingerie, although never letting him any closer than just a quick kiss on the cheek. She seemed genuinely Loving most of the time. Yet at other times she was hateful and violent. Afterward she always made up, saying that she Loved Draven and only acted out of fright that he would leave her.
Draven never left. Even after he learned of the strange men that frequented the room while he was gone, and even after he discovered all of the needles. He thought that someday she would eventually stop. He told himself that she needed the money for her carreer, and that she was just fightened and scared. . .
Nichollette left town the same as she came. In the dead of night she packed those things which Draven had worked so hard to support her with and left with her “friends.” Draven never said good-bye.
Several weeks later when Draven’s father had come back from a weekend seminar some 40 miles away, he mentioned an article he read. Something about an unidentified young woman’s body found lying beside the road. The woman had apparently been traveling through the state by way of hitchhiking. Draven spoke nothing of Nichollete. It was the only secret that he had ever kept from his father.
Meanwhite he prayed lividly that the body was not the woman whom he had given his hear to. To the knowledge of the state , no one ever claimed the missing woman or missed the woman found. Draven’s only solace was the fact that many months after the discovery he received a postcard stamped Hollywood, California, with no words or return address. It was then that Draven realized and accepted what had occurred in his life. Although perhaps not dead yet, the drugs and prostitution would soon take their toll. No film ever released, past or present, contributed to the acting abilities of Nichollette Vernes, even in a minor role.
It had been years now since Draven had last thought of Nichollette. Well, it had been years since Draven had thought seriously about her, at least until now.
For the past several hours Draven had only paced the upstairs hallway. He was scared and unsure. He was worried for his friends and how their lives were now changed. It was his fault, he knew. But what could be done to change it all now? It was nearing dawn and he had been up since dusk two days ago. Although exhausted he could not rest.
Thoughts and memories flooded his mind until he could no longer take it. He decided he needed something to calm his nerves and sooth his soul. He found a near empty bottle of bourbon in the kitchen, downed the rest of it, and ran some bath water. Now as he soaked his body, she was deeply on his mind. The only thing he ever craved from her was acceptance, to be her partner in any way. The only thing she ever freely gave was pain. Out of every woman that Draven had ever slept with, he count not count Nichollette among them. Not that he had never tried. She had just always refused. ‘Why complicate things with Love?’ she had said. Draven had never had the heart left to tell her that she already possessed his heart. There were also times when Nicki begged Draven to tell her how she could ever get close to someone that she claimed looked like little more than a living WWII casualty. For years after, Draven was very sensitive about the scars on his face.


Draven also thought of Danny and Maria. They felt he had betrayed them, and how could he ever prove otherwise? He did not have the chance to give them the money. Surely Robb was doing all right. That man adored attention from anything or anyone. Sammie would have her baby in style, with paparazzi all around. For that, Draven was certain, she would ignore the possible rumours that the baby was really his instead of Robb’s.
But was of Isabella, the sweet woman he had recently befriended. She worked at the café and had for some time. Draven had known her as a kid in junior high. Isabella was in high school. A cheerleader, girlfriend of the most popular football player, and beautiful and perfect all around, she was every adolescent boy’s dream date. Draven had never paid much attention to her as a person until later on in life. It was one week after her high school graduation that her boyfriend had died in a car crash. Three days later her father committed suicide after a drunken fight with his wife. Isabella’s mother suffered permanent brain damage from a powerful blow to the head compliments of her husbands ability to weild a baseball bat. Isabella moved on to college, but dropped out her third year when her professor had violently raped her. Isabella was never the same.
She moved back home to care help care for her mother, sure that the rape was a sign from God and punishment for putting her mother in a nursing facility. Now at the age of 39, Isabella still worked at the same café as she did when she first moved back home. She lived with her mother and alcoholic brother.
Draven had always thought Isabella pretty, but it was not until last spring that he actually thought to speak to her. The woman, he learned, was still blaming herself for all the terrible things from her past. She was also very lonely. The only person that she trusted in life was Draven. It was on Saturday nights when neither had to work that he would take her to the rock quarry. Draven would lay a blanket on the rocks and together they would sit and talk until after midnight. Then Draven would slowly peel off her clothing, piece by piece, and together they would swim while no one was looking. Toward early morning they would return to their blanket she would plant kisses all along his chest and make Love to him until the sun shown.

Draven did not consider Isabella his girlfriend. He knew that for the most part she did not even consider him in any way, except for Saturdays. The woman was anti-social, to say the least. And Draven did not blame her considering everything that had happened in her life. He just hoped that everything would work out in her benefit.
“What have I done?” he whispered. “I’ve carelessly let slip away all that I ever cared about.”
A sudden rush of cold air swept through the room. Draven’s skin chilled as goosebumps rose. He reached for a towel and draped himself in it.
“Damn drafty house,” he spoke to noone but himself. “It’s fucking cold in here.”
Delicate wind brushed against his back and legs. He made a mental note to somehow fix the draft and pulled on his boxers and t-shirt. The bathroom was a small space, with only a bathtub, sink, and toilet, surely it couldn’t be that hard to fix.

Looking around in the small cabinet on the wall, Draven came across a razor and some soap. He really did need to shave; he could not remember the last time that he did. He stood in front of the sink and turned on the water.
As if though suddenly, Draven realized that he was completely relaxed. He felt calm and peaceful. His soul was no longer tormented, but at ease and rested. At least the bath had washed off the dirt and stress from the day. Right now, bed sounded just as soothing.
Lathering with soap, he covered his face and neck in the thick liquid. With precision he glided the razor across his skin, discarding the foam into the sink. The temperature in the air began to rise back to normal.
With a few more quick strokes, he rinsed the razor under the water one last time. He sat it behind the faucet as he always did at home, and took the white towel to dry his face and wipe off the excess foam. It was as he drew the towel back and looked into the mirrow that he noticed the tiny red rivulets on his face. He had cut himself and begun to feel the pain of it.
“Dammit.” He reached once again for the towel to wipe his cheek. Then the temperature once again plummeted. The same gentle sensation as before glided over his skin. Sensual ardor raced through him almost to the point of arousal. His breath quickened as the passion almost overtook him. Slowly and easily he felt himself raise the towel to his cheek. The pain was gone immediately.
His mind snapped back into reality. “Damn, that was weird.” He shook his head, his wet hair flying. “I really need a nap.”
On the floor below he could hear footsteps. Hannah, he assumed, had awaken and was beginning to go about her daily work.
With one last sigh, Draven left the room in search of a bed to lie down on. He could once again hear raindrops falling onto the roof.




Chapter 7



Draven finally fell asleep just after daybreak. Hannah showed him to a room that she assured he would ‘just adore.’ She directed him to a room on the third story. “Bellie’s old room” she called it. Draven wasn’t overly interested, so didn’t bother asking what that meant.
“If you need anything, Mr. McAllister, anything at all, just call out and I’ll hear you. I promise.” And with that she left him.
The room was decorated completely in blue. Blue curtain, blue walls, blue canopy and bedspread. It has its own calming effect. Draven was so dead tired that he fell asleep nearly the instant his head hit the blue pillow.
The deep, peaceful dreamless sleep that Draven had so longed for did not happen. Instead his mind raced back and forth with multiple thoughts occurring at once. Even in his dreams he could hear the rain.
Rain. . . the beach. Draven was standing on the shores of a white sandy beach. On all sides of him lucid, crystal water lapped and resided, lapped and resided, lapped and resided. Above him gulls called to each other. Draven could look into the sky without the sun burning his sensitive eyes. It was day, yet the stars were out. The moon shone large and orange, full and round. It was so close that he only had to reach up to grab it.

“Draven. . . Draven, sweetie. . .” He turned to look behind him. Isabella swam in the waters. She no longer had legs, but instead a long green tail grew in their place. She splashed beneath the water and was gone.
Behind him he heard a giggle. There she was.
“Izzy. . .”
She giggled again. “Yes, my Love?”
“Izzy, what are you doing here?”
“I’m here to forgive you, my Love?”
“Forgive me? Forgive me for what?”
“I want to forgive you for making me fall in Love with you.” She dived deep into the ocean once again. She was gone the moment her tail hit the water.
“No wait!” Draven extended his arms toward where she last was. “I don’t want you to leave.” He lost his smile and went back to the dark scowl that he always wore. He closed his eyes and lowered his head.
“Draven.” His head shot back up.
“Isabella?”
“Yes, my Love. Come swim with me.”
He obeyed. Walking toward the water she was suddenly visible, sitting atop a rock in the ocean.
“Come, my Love, and I will sing you a lullaby.”
.

She beconed him with her fingers. “I will help you to sleep, my Love.”
He waded through the water and found his way to her. “I’m so glad you’re here, Izzy. I’ve got so much to tell you.”
She pulled him ashore and close to her breast. “Shhh. Talk can wait. Right now just rest your head. I will help you sleep.”
“No, Izzy, I can’t. I have to tell you something first.”
“Shhh.” She put her fingers to his lips and he was silenced. Suddenly he could no longer speak. He laid his head upon her lap and let her gently stroke his hair. He always Loved it when she did that. It reminded him of the way his mother would do that when he was a child.
Izzy sang to him and cooed that she Loved him.
Draven wanted so desperately to tell her that he Loved her, too. It was so easy. All he had to do was open his mouth to speak those words to her. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. She waited so long to hear those words, he knew. His lips opened. . .
And suddenly she was gone.
“Izzy!” No one answered.
“Isabella!”
Draven was back on the white sandy shore. All around him was once again water, although it was no longer clear, nor was it water. Red blood oozed onto the sand. The air was becoming thin and he began to have a hard time breathing. Looking upward he could see Isabella twisting in torment. She squirmed and shook, silently screaming, until she was gone. In her place a bright sun beat down upon Draven’s back.
To his side he heard thunder. Draven turned his head just in time to see lightening. A storm was quickly rolling in. He turned around, but there was no where to go. Only the red bloody ocean was before him. He turned around again. From no where rocks began to tumble down from the sky. Draven looked up, but he was too scared to move his feet.
“Draven! Son, come this way!”
Draven turned around again, this time to see the sandy beach stretching on forever. In front of him was a grass hut. He raced toward it.
“Draven!” It was his mother’s voice. He stopped running. The sweat poured from his body.
“Mom? Is that you?”
He blinked. He was now standing in a field. His mother was before him.
“Hi, Draven. I’ve missed you.”
Beautiful as always, her hair was braided and pleated. She wore the same green dress that she was married, and buried, in.
“I’ve missed you, too.”
“Come, my son, let me hug you. How I’ve so wanted to hug you all these years.” Draven walked into the embrace of his mother’s arm.
“I Love you, my baby.”
Draven did not speak. The moment felt to good to let it waste away to words.
“I have a surprise for you, dear,” his mother said. He looked up. She turned her head away and whistled. A huge black dog came bounding up and jumped on Draven.
“Hawk’s with me, son. He heard you whisper to him when he passed. You asked him to watch over me, did you not?”
Draven could only nod. His eyes welled up with tears.
“Do not cry, my baby. This is not a time to be said. It is a time of reunion. A gift of Love. Be happy, dear. We are together once again.”
Draven spoke for the first time. “My father? Where is he? Why is he not with you? He Loved you.”
His mother laughed. It was the one thing that in all Draven’s years, he swore he would never forget. Her laugh was as beautiful in death as it was in life. “Your father is here with us. He is the one of the souls who brought us together this night. You cannot see him yet, but you can feel him, can you not?”
Realization spread throughout him. “Yes, I can. Thank you.”
She laughed again. Then hugged him. “I am so happy you understand.”
Looking around Draven recognized the field. Their feet stood upon the same patch of earth that his mother was buried in.

“Do you hurt?” he asked. “You hurt when you died. Do you still hurt?”
Her sweet laughter rang out once more. “Why would I hurt when I have you here to comfort me?”
He looked into her eyes.
“Baby boy, I have not felt physical pain since I came to this place. I am with your father, who Loves me, too. We speak here through Love, the same as in the last world. We speak, also, in words, though not as often.” Looking at her, Draven could see his beloved mother blushing.
“Here,” she said. “Your friend has been wanting to play.” She handed him a blue rubber ball. Complete with teethmarks, it was the same ball that Draven had buried Hawk with.
He was so happy. His mother, his dog, the presence of his father. . . It was all so real to him.
Lightening in the sky flashed.
“We must be going, son.” His mother called to Hawk and they began to walk away.
“No,” Draven called. “Please, don’t leave me yet. I don’t want you to go away again.”
His mother put her fingers to her lips. “It is time. We will meet again, do not worry. Right now there is someone who needs you.” And with that she was gone.
Draven stood still on the grave of his mother. He didn’t want to leave the feeling of happiness that he felt with her there.
Then, realizing that he was dreaming, Draven forced himself awake. The curtains were drawn and little light came through the window. He closed his eyes once more, hoping to once again attach himself to that happiness. He fell back asleep.
The remainder of his rest he was aware of being at Silverstone Estates. He was in a big bed covered entirely of blue. It was peaceful. A pretty lady with long hair stroked his head. It felt good. She sang to him. She had a soothing voice. He put his arms around her. She let him. She kissed his forehead. He felt wonderful. She brought him peace.




Chapter 8




Hannah Sanbourne’s laughter echoed throughout the entire house at Silverstone Estates. It was contagious and Draven McAllister’s own quiet laugh was equally alive.
“Ah, dear,” Hannah sighed, wiping tears of joy from her eyes. “I have not met a man of your talents in many a year, Mr. McAllister. I can swear by my husband’s grave that you are indeed a rare, beautiful soul.”
“Rarity is not as admirable in this day as it once was.” Draven responded. “People cling to the same, dull, assiduous judgements as the next person believes. It is easier to listen than to think for oneself.”
“All the more reason I have come to be so infatuated with you.” The old woman batted her eyelashes toward the younger man. Draven blushed.
“Ah, that you were older.” She sighed again. “I would make sure that you knew just how special you were.” She winked. Draven blushed once more. Hannah laughed in her own resilient, lively way. Draven thought it both energetic and beautiful, that a woman of her age could be so alive and alert. He had quickly come to like the woman and truly did think of her in a grandmotherly way that Cody Stevens had promised.
“Could I interest you in another helping, dear?” Without waiting for a response she scooped more casserole onto his plate. “As I’ve said, it isn’t much. I’m afraid I was not expecting visitors, so I did not bother to stock up on supplies. I promise tomorrow I shall go into town to shop and tomorrow we shall feast like kings.”
“You do not credit yourself enough. It’s very good.” He shoved a full fork into his mouth.
“Well, you do not go through more than fifty years of experience and still call yourself a novice.” She helped herself to another helping.
“Fifty years? You have worked in this house that long?”
“Oh, much longer, Mr. McAllister, much longer. I have lived here nearly my entire life, all 67 years. This place is as much a part of me as I am of it, I’m afraid. I am a direct descendent of Charles and Elennora Silverstone, you know.”
“Charles and Elennora Silverstone? I’m sorry, but I don’t know who they are.”
Hannah straightened herself upright in her chair, beaming with glee for a new audience. “Surely Mr. Donovan, that man from Seattle, told you some of this house’s history when you signed the papers.”
“No, actually he didn’t. To tell the truth he seemed rather in a hurry to get the ordeal over with.”
The old woman smiled. “Well the, Mr. McAllister, I cannot honestly say that you would be a good homeowner until you know the history. Charles and Elennora Silverstone were the original owners. It was Charles Silverstone who built this house for his bride, Elennora.”
“Built it. Do you mean by himself? With his own two hands?” Draven looked up from eating. “Surely that must have taken a lifetime.”
“Oh no, dear,” Hannah shook her head. She rose up with her plate in hand destined for the sink. “Charles did use his hands on the construction, but he had much help. The Silverstones were quite rich. In his youth Charles invested in a business venture of some sorts. The likes of which have been forgotten as he never spoke of it much after he met Elennora. Her own father was quite well-to-do, so the combination of their monies when they were married was quite astounding for the time really. Charles sold out his share to his partner and moved here from North Carolina. Once here Charles went into business again as a banker. He found another business partner by the name of Morgan T. Stockton, who was wealthy by his own means. Together Charles Silverstone and Mr. Stockton opened what is today known as Commerce Stockton Bank.” Hannah shuffled back to the table and cleared away Draven’s plate. “Would you like some coffee now, dear? Or some tea? Tea is good for the stomach after eating so much.”
“Sure, coffee is fine, thank you.”
“Oh, you are a coffee man, then. Quite an admirable trait for a man.” She laughed again and winked. Draven thought it amusing that the woman found such odd traits so irresistible in a man.
“Coffee and cigarettes,” he replied. “Together they provide me more substance than food.”
She laughed again. “What a man!” Draven smiled as he pulled out his box of Marlboros, lighting one up.
“Your husband must have smoked, Mrs. Sanbourne?”
“Just plain Hannah do fine, Mr. McAllister. And yes, rest his soul. Sometimes I wake up still to the lingering smell of coffee grounds and nicotine. I do miss him so. He was in every way a good man.”
“He was quite a lucky man to have landed such a woman as yourself, Hannah.” It was her turn to blush. Her laughter rang out again and filled the air.
“Luck have nothing to do with it, my dear Mr. McAllister. I be the lucky one in the situation. Otis picked me up out of a life where I had nothing and gave me everything: his Love.” She pulled two coffee mugs from the cabinet, filled each, and handed one to Draven , keeping the other one for herself. “Love is everything. And you remember that, young man! When it comes your turn to choose between two paths, you must not think too hard on the matter. Take the one that ends in Love and it will never fail you, dear.”
“You seem quite the expert. I take it you’ve chosen many times your path?”
Hannah rolled her eyes and smiled. “For someone so wise, you know so little. True Love comes but once for each. I thought that for sure you of all people would realize this.” She winked again. “Just think of the confusion that would take place when you die. Who would you choose to remain with? It is possible to Love more than once, but not True Love. True Love is forever and knows no bounds.”
Draven looked down into his coffee. “Do you really believe it’s that simple, Hannah?”
The old woman did not laugh. She did not smile and she did not take her time in answering. “Draven, if you don’t believe in Love, then you don’t believe in anything.”
Draven didn’t know how to reply.
“Charles and Elennora Silverstone,” she went on acting as though the later part of the conversation never took place. “moved into this house during their fifteenth year in marriage. It was not their first house on this property. That one is the one Cody Stevens lives in now.”
“It is on the same property then? Where does the line of my ownership extend to then?”
She laughed her girly laugh. “Why, Mr. McAllister, if you had bothered to read any of the print you signed before handing the money over you would know, now wouldn’t you. You do, in fact, own the house that Mr. Stevens lives in, and all the land surrounding. The property line you speak of included everything within the walls of the fence. Approximately 300 acres.”
“Really? I bought all that? Are you sure?”
“Quite sure, dear. And when you decide to sell it, it will all go. That, too, was in the contract. If and when you decide to discontinue your ownership of the Silverstone Estate, all land and buildings purchased will go to the new owner. You may not break apart the land into lots for any reason.”
“Oh. I see. Thank you for explaining all of this to me. I had no idea.”
“They never do, dear. It’s not your fault. Owners come and go around here. The first contract was created that way when Charles Silverstone sold the estate all those years ago.”
Draven sipped his coffee. He stood up and looked out the window to discover the rain had finally subsided enough to let the moon shine through. There was little doubt in his mind, though, that the rain would return.
“Hannah, I do have a question. “If you are Charles Silverstones’s descendent, why is it that you do not own the house? I mean, you’ve lived here your whole life.”
“Ah, it has been many years since that was asked of me. Sit back down and let me pour you another cup of coffee. Smoke another cigarette and I’ll tell you the rest of the story.”
“It all goes back to Love,” she began. “Charles Silverstone Loved his wife. She, of course, Loved him in return, and when Charles first suggested a house created of their Love she quickly agreed. It was to be his monument to her and the legacy their enduring story. He hired this house built in 1887 and used his own hands to help in the construction every day since day one. Finished in 1889, they moved in on the day of their fifteenth wedding anniversary. Their first night here was the night that the conception of my grandfather took place. Already a mother to a ten year old daughter, Elennora gave birth to a son and christened him Connolly Laurence Silverstone.
“Together they were the perfect happy family for eight year. Then tragedy struck. An disagreement between Charles and his banking partner, Mr. Morgan T. Stockton took place. Their partnership was destroyed and Charles Silverstone was left with the bad end of the deal. All those years of having everything, and then they went to having nothing.” She paused to shake her head. “They moved back into the little house that they had lived in their first fifteen years together. That’s how the contract began. It states that during any time that any member of the Silverstone family lives, they may remain residents to the land and under no circumstances be forced to leave.

“Charles sold the house and land to a new owner. His name has long been forgotten as it doesn’t really matter. He didn’t stay here for more than a few months. The house passed from owner to owner from then on until the 1930’s. By then the mansion was in need of decent handyman work and the Love of a family to hold it together. Luckily Alexander Stevens finally purchased it.”
“Do you mean Stevens, as in Cody Steven’s relation?”
“Yes, dear, Alexander Stevens was Cody’s father. Cody, too, grew up here. And by that time Connolly Silverstone was also back here. You see, when Elennora caught sick and died soon after leaving the mansion, Charles’s death was not long after. He Loved his wife so much that some say he died of a broken heart. Connolly was left penniless and had no where else to turn. So he did what he must, not only to survive, but to make sure that the legacy of his parents lived on. He turned to work at the mansion as a stable boy.
“And, mind you, the stables are all long gone, so don’t get it in your head to go horseriding any time soon. The horses were all long gone by the time the stables were lost to fire in 1969.”
“So,” Draven said. “If Cody Stevens family purchased the estate, why is it that he doesn’t own it either? He must have sold it then?”
Hannah closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Mr. McAllister, first you must understand that this place has a long history. Not all of it was good. Yes, Cody Stevens father purchased the estate and the family did live here for many years. However it was Cody’s older brother who inherited the place.”
“But Cody remained close by. He lives up on the hill.”
“Yes, he does. And, no, it isn’t in the contract that you must allow him to stay there. He would probably like nothing better than to remain where he is, but it will be entirely your choice.
“As I’ve said before, this place has a history. Once intertwined with it, it will not easily let you go. Although I grew up here, I was not born until 1943. I was only three when Cody’s brother sold the house. My mother may have wished otherwise, but what is, is. I was once a foolish girl, too, with dreams of my own. I moved out and married when I was 15. It was not until 11 years later that my mother died in the stable fires and I inherited the job.
“This was all long after Cody Stevens moved into the house up on that hill. In fact, I was only a tiny baby when he got married and turned that house into a home. Three years later his brother sold out to another man. His name, also, has been forgotten over the years. After the Stevens resided here, no real family has called this place home.
“It passed from hand to hand for many years. Right after my mother died a man named Wright bought the estate. He owned it, but never stayed here. He was eccentric, to say the least. One of those millionaires with so much money he didn’t know what to do with it. He sold the house to that man in Seattle just before dying. And that’s the man who sold it to you. In all these years that I’ve been here, I’ve yet to see this house made into a home.”
“What about your children, then?” Draven asked. “Surely they made this place joyous at one time.”
Hannah’s smile faltered. “Oh, yes, for a while they did. Of course their father never liked living here. We only stayed one year after my mother died. By that time that millionaire Baines had purchased this place. He paid well to see that I took care of the place in the daytime. And with the money that my husband made working at the mill on into town, we could afford a house outside of here. Cody watched the place at night to make sure no teenagers ever broke in and partied. It was when my children moved off to college and my husband died that I moved back into the mansion. I’ve stayed here ever since. It’s more than likely that I’ll die here.”