CHAPTER FIVE

 

“Mademoiselle, is there anything wrong?” The receptionist with the fake French accent was staring at Kara, who stood transfixed by the monitors. 

 

Kara looked at her briefly and looked back at the monitors. Quickly she composed herself. “Oh, nothing… was just noticing your e-mag headline. That’s quite a title.”

 

“Yes, we like to catch the public’s attention,” explained the receptionist. “There is so much competition in the e-mag industry these days that you have to grab your readers immediately before they succumb to the lesser e-mags.”

 

Kara nodded, still fixated on the headline glaring from every monitor: Annihilation. The word seemed to jump off the screen at her, triggering flashes of the images in her paintings. Everywhere she looked in this room, on all the walls, were monitors with that single-word headline looking back at her, as if taunting her with the word, with the images, with the man from the gallery, with Carlos. She felt weak and reached for a chair and sat down quickly.

 

She was attempting to calm herself when the lights in the room began to flicker. She looked up as the receptionist swore under her breath. Suddenly the monitors went black. All around the room, every monitor, all black. That word disappeared. The receptionist swore again and spoke into her headset, requesting that the tech department fix the problem.  Kara could hear people in other rooms, concerned voices talking about a system shutdown, about rebooting the CPUs, and other technical jargon she barely recognized. The next moment all the lights went out, for just a brief moment, and came back on. The monitors came back on.  That word still glared from their screens.

 

The editor of the magazine, a chubby balding man with a gentle face, came into the waiting room and over to where Kara was seated. He apologized profusely for keeping her waiting and for the glitches of a moment ago. She stood and shook hands with him and he escorted her into his office for the interview.

 

By this time, Kara was feeling uneasy and really did not want to deal with being interviewed. She smiled a tense smile as he asked the usual mundane questions about who her favourite artistic influences were and what styles of painting she used. She stretched her thoughts to bring freshness to her well-worn answers and hoped that the editor did not see how much she really wanted to be done with the interview.  When he brought up the subject of people seeing other images in her work she felt herself tense up. Did he know about the images in this latest collection? She waited for any question that would give her a clue as to how much this man knew but he only seemed cognizant about the lesser images that others had seen in her previous works.

 

The interview was over in an hour and the editor thanked her for coming to the office. She gratefully made her goodbyes and left his office, passing through the lobby on the way out of the building. Instead of that word, now there was a picture of her, from the photo shoot this afternoon with Carlos, looking back at her. Her image, looking like the icon she had become. Normally seeing herself this way would bring a brief wave of embarrassment, but today it made her more uneasy.

 

“I really need a drink,” she said to herself as she walked to the tube. Inside she placed her palm on the encoder and was whisked away from the magazine. She felt funny inside, like a growing gnawing in her stomach. All she could think of was to get home and shut the door behind her. She needed the safety of home and needed it fast.

 

The first thing she did when she stepped out of the tube at her flat was to engage the locking device. She was tired and didn't want to be disturbed tonight. She poured herself a glass of scotch and drank it. Then she poured another and drank that quickly too. 

 

“Fucking hell!” she screamed out loud. “What the fuck is going on around here? Why is this shit happening?” She paced around the flat, talking to herself, trying to make some sense of all that had occurred since the gallery showing last night. None of it made any sense to her. And all that stuff that Carlos had told her… what the hell was he talking about? She finished her drink and poured another.

 

By this time the scotch was working its magic and she was feeling much calmer. In the bedroom she undressed and slipped into a black silky kimono. In the kitchen she threw together some vegetables and fish for a salad and retired to the sofa to eat. She was about to turn on the monitor when she decided she didn’t want any more surprises. Nor did she turn on the audio system. Tonight she would read, she thought. Maybe a children’s book, a fairy tale! That would certainly make her forget the craziness of the day.

 

She went to her library and began sifting through the rare books she had collected over the years, mostly children’s stories and the odd classic. After some consideration she chose one about a maiden living in the forest. With book in hand she settled back on the sofa, opened the book, and began to read:

 

“Once upon a time, deep in the forest of a faraway kingdom, there was a tiny cottage. Inside the tiny cottage dwelled a whimsical maiden. This maiden shared her life with many forest creatures. She spent her time in daily chores and fretted about the little things in her life. When she would feel too daunted by her lot in life, the whimsical maiden would wile away the hours in blissful daydreams.

 

The whimsical maiden would dream about such whimsical things as dragons that came to tea, leprechauns who shared their pots of gold, arias played by lyrical dragonflies, and unicorns who danced in the moonlight.

 

One bright spot in the whimsical maiden’s life was hearing the exciting adventures of a great and brave explorer named Sir Liam of Louth.

 

Kara stopped reading for a moment to indulge in a giggle over the name of the explorer. “Sir Liam,” she chuckled. “I wonder if the Liam I know has the makings of a great and brave explorer.” She giggled again and continued reading.

 

The whimsical maiden had met Sir Liam when he traveled through her kingdom in his quest for new horizons and adventures. She yearned for adventure herself but was unable to follow that quest so she lived vicariously through her correspondence with Sir Liam. He regaled her with tales of all he saw. He searched for truth and knowledge and always rose to defend the downtrodden. When Sir Liam left her kingdom, as sad as she was to see her new friend leave, she knew their friendship would bridge the vast miles.

 

Over the ensuing years the great and brave explorer and the whimsical maiden enjoyed their friendship through correspondence. Sir Liam wrote of far-off lands where elephants and monkeys roamed through jungles and where fragrant exotic blossoms scented the air. He wrote of the places he visited, the people he met, and of his many adventures.

 

His stories always brightened the whimsical maiden’s rather dreary existence, and she eagerly awaited each letter. She would share the tales with her little forest friends and everyone enjoyed the great and brave explorers thrilling adventures.

 

Not only did Sir Liam write of his adventures, he also wrote of his personal hopes, dreams, and of his frustrations in life. In return, the whimsical maiden wrote to him of her life and all its uncertainties. They gave each other much-needed advice and support, as all good friends do.

 

Eventually Sir Liam returned to his kingdom in Louth. He continued to correspond with the whimsical maiden in the faraway kingdom. For many years their friendship flourished.

 

There came a time, however, when correspondence from the great and brave explorer ceased without warning. The whimsical maiden was confused and worried by her old friend’s long silence. She searched everywhere for an answer to explain what had happened. Perhaps he had traveled too far and had fallen off the edge of the world. Or maybe he had encountered an evil sorcerer who turned him into an enchanted toadstool.

 

The whimsical maiden continued to send correspondence to her friend but no replies were forthcoming. She decided to seek advice from her forest friends but they, too, were confused by this long silence. They advised their whimsical friend to be patient and to stay vigilant.  Things aren’t always what they seem, they told her.

 

Things aren’t always what they seem. Where had she heard that from? Kara shook her head a bit and continued with the story.

 

The forest creatures said that perhaps the great and brave explorer had entered a cave seeking new adventures and would soon emerge to continue his correspondence with the whimsical maiden.

 

So the whimsical maiden sent forth another letter. Then she sat down on her little stool, in her little cottage, with her forest friends, to wait for a reply.

 

She waited.

 

And she waited.

 

On a bright, sunny afternoon the long wait came to an end. The whimsical maiden finally received a letter from Sir Liam of Louth.

 

Kara found herself cheering a little for the storybook character, and giggled at doing so.

 

The great and brave explorer had, indeed, discovered new and challenging adventures, right in his own kingdom. He wrote of battles, fought on fields of blood, where men faced each other with swords and daggers. He wrote of the stench of death, of seeing good friends cut down by the enemy and falling in the mud and blood of the killing fields. He wrote of leading his men into this battle, and of their victory over their enemy.

 

After reading about the battles, Kara felt almost certain that was where she had picked up the images in her paintings. That had to be it! She had read about it in this story and subconsciously painted it in her work. She breathed a sigh of relief and settled in to finish the story.

 

Sir Liam also wrote of an enchanting songstress he met on his journey. She was beautiful, smart and very talented. This songstress captured his heart and soul with her good and kind spirit. They were wed upon his return to his kingdom of Louth.

 

The whimsical maiden rejoiced to learn that her old friend was safe and happy. His description of the battles made her cringe with fear and she said a silent prayer of thanks that he had survived such horrors. She was also gladdened to learn that he had discovered his special soul mate. She vowed to quickly put pen to paper and convey her warmest regards to Sir Liam and his new bride.

 

As she wrote, the whimsical maiden fondly remembered her long friendship with Sir Liam. His experiences had been related in such great detail as he described the flavours and feeling of each place he visited. She recalled the many vivid visual descriptions he had sent her way. Although she would never personally visit these lands, she felt as if she had actually been to each of them and knew the treasurers they held within their borders. She felt truly blessed to have enjoyed such a precious friendship with Sir Liam of Louth.

 

Yet something about Sir Liam’s letter troubled the whimsical maiden. There was a finality to its tone, as if Sir Liam was saying farewell without actually writing the words.

 

The whimsical maiden instinctively knew that this would be the final time she would hear from her dear friend. In his new life there was no room for old friendships. This adventure was one that Sir Liam would not be sharing with the whimsical maiden. Someone new would now wait with anticipation to hear his stories and be part of his travels in a way that the whimsical maiden never could. It was a new beginning for Sir Liam.

 

Unfortunately it was an ending for the whimsical maiden. Though deeply saddened by this knowledge, she wished Sir Liam well and asked the Gods to bestow on him all their blessings as he embarked on this new journey. She would never forget his kindness and friendship.

 

As her letter sped towards the great and brave explorer Sir Liam, in the kingdom of Louth, deep within her heart the whimsical maiden felt a tiny light go out.

 

The End.

 

Tears streamed down Kara’s cheeks. This was such a sad story and she felt the little character’s unhappiness with such intensity that she couldn’t stop sobbing. “I thought fairytales were supposed to be happy stories,” she sobbed. “I want my happily-ever-after ending!” She hid her face in her arms and cried uncontrollably. Eventually the tears slowed and she reached for a tissue to dry her eyes, sniffling a bit as she did so. She felt silly crying over a fictitious character. Something in this story struck a chord in her.  It had been a long time since she had cried like that. In fact, she could barely remember doing so, and certainly couldn’t remember why.

 

Pouring another glass of scotch she went into the bedroom and turned off the lights. At the window she looked out over the city. This was her castle in the clouds. That was what she always called it. From this vantage point she could see for miles around.  This was her sanctuary.  With a last swallow of scotch she climbed into bed and closed her eyes. After crying so much she felt drained, exhausted. Sleep quickly enveloped her.

 

From two other vantage points in the city, two others stood looking out their windows into the dark night. Both were thinking of one woman. This day had been unnerving for them. Like a cool breeze on a late fall day makes one feel the oncoming winter, so too did today’s events give the feeling of what was to come. They knew it well. More importantly, they worried for her.