* * *
For the next hour I drove aimlessly, replaying the newly released memory in my head. Part of me was afraid that if I let it go it would fade away and once again be lost. This was not the case. Instead the more I focused the clearer the images became. Still the memory as a whole remained broken, disjointed and lacking a coherent narrative.
An illuminating light on the car’s dashboard drew attention. Having been well behaved, the old beast was finally screaming for fuel.
I pulled over, extracted the remains of my money from an ATM and put half straight into the tank. Quick calculations revealed I would be stone cold broke in about a week, assuming I ate like a prison inmate. And this thought brought to mind another concern, namely; where I would sleep.
A glance skyward confirmed that the sun was only just beginning its decent and I decided it was not uncalled for to stop for a cup of coffee before making decisions.
So it was back to The Holy Carousel. The third visit this week, and not comforting that I had started to consider the stool at the bar to be “my seat”.
The barman did not even pretend to like my face as he dumped a mug of black coffee on the counter. Since I had not so much as cleared my throat since entering, never mind hinted at ordering something, I considered it a second sign that my visits were becoming too frequent.
Nodding my gratitude, I took a sip of coffee and let out a shuddering breath. Regardless of how unprofessional the rest of the establishment was, there was no denying they had good coffee.
And now it was time for some serious thought.
There was something jarring about finding out you had been under a spell a large portion of your life. Kind of like finding out a gang of thieves had been living in your garden, going completely undetected despite having a club house and team flag. The good news was that I now knew more spells were present. It was a matter of finding them.
I glanced around, confirming I was alone, and allowed myself a moment to delve inward.
Systematically I attempted to recall events of my youth and inspected them, looking for signs of artificiality or lack of continuity. There was no way to know if this was the correct method to detect spells, but it seemed logical enough and I had few other options.
I recalled a summer day by the pool, my father cooking hamburgers on a carefully nurtured outdoor fire, as my mother and I splashed in the pool. He was always very proud of his fires, my father, something which I would often laugh about. Sometimes he would spend hours just arranging wood and coals, lecturing on the importance of selecting dry wood and kindling…
I recalled an afternoon spent helping my mother trim the grass in the backyard. Always, when the sun was especially hot, she would proudly wear her ancient straw hat. The silly thing was practically falling apart and looked ridiculous. My father repeated numerous times that she should simply buy a new one. But she just laughed and said “I’ll get a new one when it’s time. This old girl still has years in her yet…”
Shortly after that experience in the backyard my father would be dead.
I attempted to remember the exact days that led up to his death and it was not long before something became very clear; memories surrounding the day had become a fragmented mess.
Yes, the recent revelations had made clear certain aspects of the moment, but this now sat in contrast to other established events of my youth. It was like having a magnifying glass on one inch of a map and realising that the rest of the page was out of focus.
With a sinking pit in my stomach I had an unsettling epiphany; I could not trust a single event of my childhood. There was no guarantee that any of it was real or as I remembered…
It was as if an enormous eraser had suddenly swept over my past and obscured it, blurring and mangling what I had long considered to be the most blissful times of my life.
What was real? What was not real? Who in God’s name was I? Who am I if not me?
Tendrils of panic began to creep and claw into my mind, a delayed reaction to multiple events from the past few days. It was all building up, breaking free and now trickling out. I was gazing into a massive, all-consuming abyss that could only be identified as lurking insanity; a new friend, late to the party, but arriving in impressive style.
Who am I if not me…?
But no, losing control was not something I could risk, especially not now. I resisted, pushed it all aside and reached out desperately for my place of calm.
The anxiety melted and stability returned, even as I acknowledged that the treasured memory upon which my place of calm was based might well be false.
It passed and I breathed a sigh. Then, with a quick gesture, drew the attention of the bartender, tearing his attention away from the TV.
“Wha yoo whuh?”
I nodded towards the kettle and he sneered in response, annoyed at being forced to move on a weekday.
Desperate to distract myself, I turned my thoughts to more pressing matters.
Where would I sleep?
Options were not numerous, but by the time my second cup of coffee arrived I had decided to ask Benny for lodging. Selena had indeed crossed my mind, God knows she probably had rooms to spare, but the idea was both appealing and utterly stupid at the same time.
“You got a phone?” I asked the bartender.
He stared at me, his good eye widening in a horror like I had just asked to sleep with his wife, then jerked a thumb at the phone.
“Thank you.”
“Yoo whul-cum.”
I approached the phone, wondering how Benny would respond to such a request.
He answered after the second ring.
“Benny Kingston.”
“Hey Benny, its Jet.”
“Ah, Jet.” He adopted the cheerfulness of a lifelong friend. “You’re right on time, buddy.”
“What?”
“The guest bedroom is made up, I’ll see you tonight. We’re still on for Jack’s Panic, right?”
I stammered in shock, still managing to be caught by surprise at his psychic level of prediction, “Right.”
“Good. Don’t expect me to cook, I can’t. Upside is I have a housekeeper who is pretty hot, if you lean towards mature ladies. Play your cards right and you might get lucky.”
“Good to hear.” I paused. “How did you…?”
“Know?” He chuckled, “Logical Prediction. It’s not that that hard, Jet. You really are slow sometimes. Look, observe, and the threads of life are pretty obvious…”
“You predicted I’d be moving out of my mother’s house based on…?”
“Based on the hole in the wall, and based on the fact it seemed the next logical event. Kind of like a movie script.”
I thought about this. “Sure, I guess.”
“You won’t blow a hole in my wall will you?”
“I’ll try not too.”
“That’s all I ask. I’ll see you later. Feel free to raid the fridge.”
“Thanks.”
I hung up, finished my coffee, and headed off to the residence of Benny Kingston.