Chapter One: [draft]

She’d been sitting there for a long time. She’d stopped counting after several hours, but much more time had passed. Days, at least. Every now and again she’d get an urge to pace, but fear would take hold and, close on its heels, despair. That alone would weigh so heavily on her she couldn’t imagine standing up. She cried, on and off. She could feel the hot tears slipping down her cheeks and dripping cool off her chin, but they never so much as dampened the spot of carpet onto which they fell. Observing this usually caused her to cry harder. Sometimes she felt like she couldn’t breathe, she was suffocating and no one cared. That was her mantra, playing over and over again in her head. No one cares, no one cares, they should have noticed but no one cares.

Finally Mr. Torpino came to the door. He’d come and knocked – called, too – about five times, since - She didn’t complete the thought. She couldn’t deal with it, right now. Today, though, now, he was opening the door. Something like hope quickened her pulse; ha, there was a thought…

Harold Torpino, the superintendent for Hesperia Groves, gave this statement:

“She hadn’t paid her rent yet and she’s usually pretty punctual, so I called a couple times and stopped by and knocked on the door – not going in, mind you, just knocking, you know, to see if she was in. All in all, I gave her an extra week. Then I said ‘enough is enough. I’m going in there and if she’s not there, I’m leaving her a notice of eviction.’ Telling her ‘you pay or you’re out’ sort of thing, you know? I liked the lady okay, she’s – she was – always polite, but enough is enough, you know?

So. I opened the door with my key and the minute I get that door open I’m thinking ‘that stink-!’ I think, ‘maybe she’s got a pet in here, I got it on the lease no pets, so what is that smell?’ And she’s just sitting there on the couch… Everything looks dusty and I hear flies. I’m getting plenty mad, then she just raises her head. I swear she only looked at me for maybe a few seconds, but it sure felt like a long time! You know, you hear that stuff about somebody’s heart skipping a beat or something, but mine skipped more than a few. ‘Felt like it just up and stopped. I thought I was having a heart attack, which is not a thing I want to start doing, I’m not a young man, you know. But she looks down again, actually squeezes her eyes shut. Like she saw something was wrong with me, like her looking at me was what was causing it. I tell you, that scared me almost as much as looking at her. Well, looking at her eyes. You look at the rest of her, she seems okay. I’m not one of these ‘sensitives’ or whatever they call them, but I could see her, plain as day.

I say ‘Miz Cantel?’ I was planning to say more, like about ‘there’s this rent you owe me, a week past due’ and ‘what’s that smell?’ and, real big in my mind right then, ‘what’s wrong, that look you gave me, ‘felt like I was having a heart attack, just now!’ But she just points, over by the door, near me. Her face just crumples up, like she’s crying, but I don’t see no tears. I start to take a step toward her ‘cause I don’t like to see no woman cry like that, be in that kinda pain. I say ‘what’s wrong there, miz?’

Or I start to say, ‘cause then I look over my shoulder where she’s pointing and there she is. Or maybe I should say there she was. ‘Cause ‘was’ is definitely the word you use for a person in that state. I’ve seen dead people, well, not dead people, like that kid in that movie classic, no. I mean I’ve seen corpses. And this was not the most ripped up or anything. But I think I would say that this was the deadest I’ve ever seen anyone. It hurt to look at it, to tell the truth.

Deadest? I mean she’d been dead a good long time, and pretty well preserved at that. Sure, it smelled, but parts weren't fallin' off her or anything. Sure, yeah, there were a few flies on her, on her body, I mean. I think they came in with me, actually. But her, she just looked – Good Lord…

Her throat, it was cut. Pretty badly cut, but like I said, I’ve seen worse of that kind. Her eyes were half-open, like she’d started to close ‘em, or blink or something, and just died. So I wasn’t looking at that blank gaze you get from corpses, you know? Well, of course you do, you’re a Homicide cop, aren’t you? Right. So, she didn’t look so bad, as corpses go. For live people, she wasn’t looking so hot. Sorry, that was in poor taste. I didn’t mean any disrespect to the lady.
So I look back over at the her on the couch, ‘cause it wasn’t really getting through to me, what was going on here. I’m thinking ‘is that her there or that her here?’ and looking back and forth. Then she opens her eyes again, but she’s looking toward the window. She says something, but I don’t quite catch it, so I say ‘what was that?’ She closes her eyes again, turns her head toward me and says, clear as anything, I’m telling you, ‘I’m dead, Mr. Torpino. That’s my body; my corpse; me, there on the floor. This is me, also. I think I’m a ghost, Mr. Torpino.” Then she starts that crying again, without the tears. I think I didn’t react real well, there. I think I said something like ‘holy shit’ or ‘mother of christ’, one of them, and I ran out of there real fast. I left the door open at first, then I thought better on it after running halfway to the elevator and went back and closed the door. I heard her start to wail or something when I went out the first time and it really kicked up a notch after I closed the door. I ran right to the phone and called you guys.
Here’s the thing, she’s got family and all, I’m sure of it. Is she going to keep living – excuse the phrase – there or what? I’ve heard where that happens, families pay for the, well, passed on but still around, if you know what I mean, to live in some house or apartment or something. How’s that going to work, I’d like to know?”

[cont'd]

A ring

I want to be given a ring
with a cracked glass stone
that catches the sunlight in lines of fire,
that chimes upon metal with a faint broken sound,
that leaves a band of new-leaf green to circle my finger,
just above my knuckle,
that I’ll wear on a chain ‘round my neck
when the giver has left me –
along with the rest of my rings
with cracked glass stones.

Position

Well, I stand.
I stand corrected,
I stand to reason,
I stand over and understand,
I stand without and withstand,
I stand in and am outstanding,
I stand down and am upstanding,
Eventually, I’ll sit.

Strike

Strike thyself upon thy head
And play the role that thou art dead.
Still thy heart and freeze it fast,
That it pulse no more; beat its last.
Catch thy breath within thy breast,
Hold it calmed and silent lest
Thou betray that once thou lived,
A pain that thou hast ne'er forgived.
And for thy ache thou'lt receive fair price:
Thine eyes to stone, thine heart to ice.

Chapter 1 : Butte (2)

"Boys! Boys!" Madame clapped her hands together for the three brothers' attention. “Your Mama and Papa are coming to see you today. Surely you can be more studious than this?” Her rising tone made what should have been an admonishing statement into a question.

Heath looked up from his position on the scoured stone floor, where he'd pinned his younger brother, Polder. A young man of boundless energy, he exuded cheer and health. His tunic pulled tight across broad shoulders and his golden hair fell only just past his ears, earning him admiring glances from women, both young and old, of the town. He grinned in good humor and let Polder up. His first-younger brother, by contrast, was thin and lanky, hardly stretching his clothes at all. There was more of an air of fierce intelligence about him than one of heartiness. His brown hair was longer, but tied neatly back, so not a strand fell onto his pale face. Polder pushed Heath away, scowling – hardly even causing him to sway – and scrambled to his feet, straightening his clothes.

"If Master Groth were here, we would have cause to be studious. However, there is only Master Tellims, who can teach us nothing we don't already know." Polder snapped, crossing his arms and giving Madame a disapproving look, as if she were the pupil, and a slow one, at that.

Madame refused to be intimidated. Though a woman of sharp tongue and strict dress, she looked no more formidable than she actually was. Nevertheless, as the only constant disciplinarian to the sons of Sir and Lady Chersonese, she persisted in trying to curb the various enthusiasms of her charges. She looked around the classroom for the youngest brother and spotted him curled up beside the hearth, a book in his lap.

"Butte! Whatever are you doing! Your Mama and Papa are to arrive at any moment, and you are sitting - slouching - among the ashes!" Whenever Madame addressed Butte, she seemed to make every sentence an exclamation. To look at the youngest Chersonese, there was much to exclaim over. His clothes, sturdy yet fine, were smudged with soot from the fireplace, as was his hair and face, for he had leaned against the fireplace, unmindful of the effects upon his state of appearance.

Heath leaned back on his elbows and continued to grin as the plump, matronly governess fussed about his younger brother. Butte allowed himself to be stood up and dusted off with his usual quiet patience, but he clung steadfastly to his book. Madame knew better than to try and take it from him, but she scowled and fussed all the more for that reason.

Even Polder smiled at the bemused and dreamy expression on his little brother's face. Give Butte a book and a moment's peace, and he was lost to the world, he reflected. Though all three brothers were of drastically different temperaments, there was no loss of affection among them. The younger brothers submitted to the eldest’s enthusiasm for competitions testing strength and endurance, the eldest and youngest accepted lectures and challenges of mental exertion, and the two elder exercised as much patience as they could muster for the youngest’s apparent inattentiveness.

Madame was still fussing over Butte, Heath was still lolling on the floor, and Polder was still trying to reclaim his dignity, in order to haughtily oversee the proceedings, when a tall, nervous-looking man peered around the door. Dressed in a style corresponding to Madame’s, in quality, his clothes managed to look rumpled and dingy, though they were as freshly laundered (if not as thoroughly starched) as her own. He blinked at the scene, his forehead creased with worry, and ran a bony hand through his thinning brown hair as he cleared his throat.

Madame's head snapped up at the sound.

"Master Tellims! Thank the sweet Provider you're here! The Sir and Lady will be here at any moment!" She patted at her hair and smoothed the skirt of her dress, anxiously, while frowning at her recalcitrant charges.

"Ah ... Well, the fact is ...," Master Tellims began unhappily. The door was pushed open completely in a forceful manner and Master Tellims stepped to one side, embarrassed.

"The fact is that we are already here," Lady Terrene Chersonese finished for the flustered tutor. Sir Agrar Chersonese stood at her side, looking about the room in mild disapproval. Heath hastily stood up, drawing himself practically to attention, while Madame surreptitiously pushed Butte towards Polder, who, stepping forward, caught his arm and pulled him into line beside him. Butte hid his book behind his back.