The Promontory - Chapter 2

The Promontory 17,000 words

-2-

The next day was a work day. I was up with the sun and on my way into the city with thoughts of the old house only a vague tickle in the back of my mind. Halfway through the day, in the middle of one of my boss, Abe’s, interminable status meetings, I realized we had left the shutters open. This caused me to start suddenly. Everyone looked over, expecting me to offer some new revelation or significant comment.

But I merely cleared my throat and went back to wearing my standard, slightly droopy lidded, but stoically professional, meeting face. I almost decided to share the story but people were wondering enough about me as it stood. I had enemies at the job and I didn't need to encourage them with tales of trespassing abandoned properties.

That evening, as Julie was putting the final touches on dinner, I excused myself and went to the bathroom to clean up when I noticed a new addition on the shelf. It was one of the little, cut glass bottles we had discovered inside the old house the day before.

"Julie! Can you come here for a minute?” I called down the hall.

"Coming!”

As I waited, I examined the small, pink colored bottle. It was delicate and finely crafted, yet the pure cut glass had a certain, pleasing weight to it.

"What is it -- oh, the bottle,” she intoned, interrupting herself. "I'm sorry, Peter - it's so pretty, I couldn't resist.”

"Did you lift this yesterday during our adventure?” I asked, holding it up to the light

"I know you're mad.”

"Big time. We're not even sure anyone lives there - or what's really going on over there. You stole something, Julie!” I exclaimed, a bit surprised at my own anger.

"No-one lives there,” she retorted in a flat, stern voice. Her body tensed.

"How do you know that?” I challenged.

"I don't know how I know. I can just sense it.” Then more gently, "It's a house frozen in time and lying in wait. No-one will ever return.”

The certainty of her conviction stunned me into silence. She seemed so sure. Eventually I found my voice. "You're going to take it back.”

Her eyes widened as she exlaimed, "By myself?"

It was tempting to say yes, but I realized she couldn’t be trusted. "No. I'll come with you. First thing Saturday. Bring your little prize.”

* * *

Saturday morning found us clad in rugged outdoor clothing, and equipped with cameras and flashlights.

Julie was feeling mischievous. "Just look at us. You'd think we were going on a safari or something.”

"Better safe than sorry,” I glumly answered.

We crossed the empty road, and pushed on the iron gates. They squealed and scraped as they reluctantly swung open, as if in protest. It had rained the night before and the stones of the surrounding perimeter wall glistened wetly around us, making the structure seem to be alive. Exchanging a momentary glance, we dove into the dew soaked brambles and pushed our way to the front entrance.

We entered the foyer space. Despite having left the shutters open during the expanse of days since our last visit, and the steady rain of the night before, everything was dry and free of detritus from the outside world. Untouched.

We held our breaths. To break the growing silence, I tried to speak. "Pretty wild,” I said.

It came out in a hoarse, high pitch, quite unlike my normal speaking voice, which only served to make us both feel worse.

We climbed the broad, winding stairway to the second level and on the way to the master bathroom, passed the library. We slowed. The rich carpets and comfortable chairs within beckoned. Suddenly, I was relaxed and confident. Erudite. A book lay open and waiting on the reading stand aside the leather wing chair set in the center of the room. I suddenly wanted to turn the pages of that weighty book and rub the weave of those crisp, cream colored pages. I wanted to graze the dark ink and soak in the meaning of the silent, susurrating words. Bright sunlight shone in through the tall, paned windows. It warmed my face and dried my damp clothing.

"Peter, I don't remember opening the curtains.”

No longer hearing Julie, the room seemed to almost physically draw us in.

I sat in the chair. Julie wordlessly handed me the book from the stand. I read from the book.

Comprehension was an atmosphere in which I reveled. Empathy enveloped me -- with the author and with the times in which he wrote, with the reverberation of a man of that time writing about a yet more distant time.

Julie shook me by the shoulders. "Peter, wake up!”

She pushed the book away and let it fall to the ground. I fought down a feeling of annoyance and looked up at her. Julie’s face was creased with concern.

“What happened?” I mumbled haltingly.

“You floated away. I was talking to you but you weren't listening. You just kept turning pages faster and faster.”

I shook my head trying to clear it. "It was wonderful. Here, you try it.”

I rose from the chair and gestured for her to sit. In a moment, she was staring into the book and turning pages at an alarming rate. I forcibly removed the book from her grasp. She looked up, slightly dazed, as I had been.

After a moment, she asked, "Do you think all the books are like this?"

I stared at the high shelves in silent wonderment. Could it be?

"Let's take this one home,” Julie suddenly pronounced.

"No!” I snapped, then I looked away to hide the temptation in my eyes. But Julie knew me too well.

"You want it, don't you?”

I shook my head. "It's not right. This place is still alive. These books belong to someone.”

Julie’s voice insisted at me. "Someone long dead, Peter. This book, the bottle, the condition of everything in here, is an invitation. A sign to you and me.”

"No. This is an abomination, Julie, or a trap. Something unnatural.”

"This is an adventure. Aren't you the one that's always saying that life is an adventure? That we should embrace experience? Isn't this an 'experience'?"

Damn, I did say things like that all the time, didn't I?

As we argued, sunlight traveled with seeming intent across the floor to surround us. It was warm, good light. It felt so comfortable in here.

"All right. Just this one book.”

She pounced. "And the bottle. If you can keep the book then I can keep the bottle.” She set her jaw defiantly.

"I've been set up.”

“You have. But not by me.”

I knew exactly what she meant. “Alright.”

We grabbed the book and left the old pile once again. Returning to our place, it seemed as if we were taking refuge from the watchful eyes across the way.

Sitting on the sofa I expressed my dissatisfaction. "Somehow this didn't work out the way I planned. Instead of coming back empty handed, we now have two artifacts illicitly obtained from our absent neighbor's premises. I feel manipulated.”

"Honestly, Peter,” she said and rose up from the sofa in a feigned huff. I actually wondered if she was in cahoots with the mysterious forces that, I felt with increasing conviction, must dwell inside the Promontory.

To be continued…