CL
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The Lost King
Chapter One - The Day of Days
“Joshua Merrion you swine I am-”
The slender, alpine man cradling the phone just inches from his ear slouched uninterested as the screeching litany carried on. Casually he flicked a fly from the top of his unoccupied hand and burrowed himself further into the little hovel he created for himself, in which he felt like a giant. The worn, wooden desk in front of him is littered with papers, pens, the occasional pencil, unopened mail and books aged with dust. One of the legs of the desk is shorter than the others and a misused King James’ Bible propped it level. The over-stuffed acidly colored avocado green lazy chair that he buried in already wilted under the unaccustomed weight. The whole room in which he has inhabited these past months seems a disaster zone out of an Orwellian nightmare. There is a burnt coffee table, just salvageable, two very uncomfortable television chairs straight from the sixties complete with the rusty, silver television set, and dusty, neglected turntable. One door opens to a miniscule bathroom with rusted out facilities, another to the bedroom littered with dirty clothes, more papers, books, and a frayed matress.
The man bored with the constant strain on his ears held the phone farther away and clicked his nails hideously. Then, like the sound of the Second Coming of Christ, a loud beep shattered the wailing.
Quickly the man brought the phone to his mouth, “Listen Sylvia, stop this madness I am not your human thrashing bag any more, somebody else is on the line. And isn’t there someone else you can spout your monologues of ´Josh needs to just fucking die already’ to?” He didn’t even try to conceal the sneer in his voice and he audibly heard her grinding her teeth together. He was about to hang up on her, but at the last minute she broke the silence with a huff.
“Bastard, I may be your ex Joshua but I think I deserve-”
He has no more patience for her and cuts her off.
“Hello?” He silent hoped it wasn't the bank.
“Josh, is that you? Good. Listen-”
A sigh escaped through traitorous lips, today really isn’t his day. It is his editor Ken Grimes, the man continued on, his cheery disposition grinding on Joshua’s nerves almost as much as his ex-wife’s snarling. There is a neon flashing thought in the back of his mind - 'Why can’t people just leave me in peace?'
“How’s the new book coming?”
The lie comes so easily like butter sliding over a cake tin, “Just fine Ken. Actually I’m working on it right now.” Even though every time he writes something it ends up a crumbled little ball in his ever growing trash.
“Oh good, I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll call again soon on particulars and such. How are the kids?”
Ah, such menial pleasantries, he sighs, again, “Fine,” even though he hasn’t heard from either one since he arrived at this dismal cabin in the Northern California wilderness.
“Good, good. Talk to you later then.”
“Yeah, later then, Ken.”
The click sounded harshly on the other end and he placed the phone back in the cradle. His head buried in his hands, he ran thin, pale fingers through rapidly greying hair and exhaled loudly. After a while, he start to massage his head attempting to abolish the headache that has been there for so long he thinks he was born with it.
He lifted himself out of the chair and headed towards the small, dingy kitchen, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. There on the counter is the decanter of amber scotch half full and an unwashed coffee mug from yesterday. He poured himself a mug full and swallowed a good amount to clear his head. Leaning his elbows on the cold linoleum of the counter he looks out of the murky tarnished kitchen window to the darkening forest beyond. He queries the absence of ambition in his mind, - ‘Can you really drink yourself to death?’ – for it seemed like the possible answer.
*
The next day proves to be no different than the last. Still he gets more mail he never opens; frequent calls from ex-wife-monster Sylvia, and editor Ken, along with various others that he doesn’t want to speak to, and he still can’t write. Which is quite a crisis from a struggling out-of-work writer; his last endeavour, a book, The Jade Princess had done quite well but that was two years past. Since then nothing he wrote seemed decent. He blames it on Sylvia, he likes to think that she killed his muse along with his libido – the bitch. It seemed to him that she was getting along fine, and well she should, most of the settlement money went to her in the divorce, but he still got numerous calls from her. Just like this one he had decided on to answer, he let the machine pick it up.
"Joshua, Joshua Alexander Merrion! Now I know you're there. Pick up the goddamn phone and talk to me. You know I absolutely abhor answering machines. Oh-rggg....fine. What about the kids, Joshua. Last month you said you could take them for the time I'm in New York. Listen Joshua Merrion, you know I loathe for them to stay with you but I've got business affairs...”
Joshua cursed his memory, he had forgotten completely that he had told her or more her spineless lawyer friend, that he could have the kids over. He wasn't sure why Sylvia wanted to ship them out they were old enough at seventeen and fourteen to take care of themselves. And it wasn't that he didn't love them but he wasn't the fatherly type. He had tried at Sylvia behest, when they had been married and hadn't made any progress then. Kyle and Stephanie were still as strange to him as they were when they were born. He supposed this forced merger was Sylvia's way of making sure he could still overrule his world, just a little.
“Here are the dates, the night of the 26th, you can pick them up right I don't have to call a cab for them, through the 29th of the next month.”
He frowned at the answering machine as if it was the cause of all his problems. It gave him three more weeks of solitude before hell opened it's gaping jaws to swallow him whole.
*
In Autumn on Monday nights The Highlands was always full to the brim like a warm pint of stout. The night's football game plastered on each of the four tv screens in the dark, oaken bar. Lazily Joshua swilled the last of his beer, his eyes following the string of dates on the calender pinned to the wall. The barman leaned his potmarked, tanned face towards him.
“How's it going my man?” His voice was rough like a new piece of sandpaper.
“Not as planned persay.” Joshua looked away from the hellish calender to meet the man's dark eyes.
“Sorry to hear that. But if there's anything-”
“Nah, thanks for the offer though Dan.”
“Looks like it going to be one hell of a night.”
Joshua tipped his head in concurrance, the lashing of the night's rain pounding off all sides of the building.
“Well I better be off, don't want to wait till it get's worse.”
Dan gave him a crooked smile, “See ya man, saving drive home ya here.”
Joshua raised his hand in a slight wave and wrapped his coat a little tighter, if he was lucky he could make it to his Jeep before getting throughly drenched like a drowned rat.
Scree-thump-scree-thump. The wipers battled back and forth, Joshua could barely see past the onslaught of water. But he knew the road home by heart unless someone rerouted traffic, he could get home blindfolded.
Joshua blinked his tired eyes, he hadn't see anyone on the road tonight, though he doubted he would, but he was reminded of the rampaging deer incident weeks before. Rubbing his raw eyes again, he reached down to fiddle with the airconditioner. Taking his eyes off the road he looked to change the temperature, to blast himelf awake with cold air. When he looked up something bright flashed in his headlights. Slamming on the breaks, with speed he didn't know he was capable of, the car came to a sudden halt but not before hitting whatever was in the road with a loud bump.
“Shit.”
Trying to slow the racing of his heart, Joshua took a few deep breaths, put the car in neutral, unbuckled his seat belt and rubbed the spot that throbbed on his neck, where surely there would be a bruise tomorrow. Pulling on his coat, Joshua stepped into the impending storm all the while praying - deer. Wiping his face Joshua made his way to inspect the damage.
Even in the dark and the rain Joshua knew that what he'd hit was certainly not a deer.
Quickly he rushed to the person's side. On closer inspection - it - happened to be a young woman with long, platinum blonde curls slick with rain, stuck to finely chisled features, her thin clothes and woolen coat pregnant with water and dirt. Joshua checked her pulse – Thank God – it was normal and put his palm to her warm, thin, blanched lips to check her breathing. Shallow puffs tingled against his frozen fingers. He looked around there was no sign of blood, something in the back of his mind said that was good. Joshua breathed a grateful whisper of relief. As mindful as he could Joshua lifted her, and layed her out in the back of his Jeep. Dripping with rain, he contemplated the situation. He was certainly no doctor, but the nearest hospital was Mercy, and that was a good 45 minutes away. With a bright flash of sudden hope Joshua turned the car around and headed back towards town.
*
Balancing the young woman's frail figure against his chest, Joshua franticly knocked on the the newly painted, baby blue door. He could here the rustling from inside and the door was pulled opened to reveal the scraggly, white face of Dr. Christensen.
“Son, what's the-”
When he saw what he was holdng, the Doctor ushered him inside.
The elderly Doctor Christensen led him through his neatly kept house to his personal white-washed, sparkling clean surgery. The bright white of the lights temporarily blinded him for a second, and the Doctor clad in his fluffy, dark green robe and striped pajamas helped him lower the young woman on the settee. It was the first good look he had of her. At first he noticed how petite and tiny she seemed wrapped in her wet, woolen coat and jeans. She had a pale face, small mouth and golden tinted lashes. Immediately the Doctor went to work removing her wet clothing.
“What happened son?” The Doctor placed her wet clothing over the large wooden desk chair.
Joshua was momentarily dumbstruck and couldn't make his mouth work. It felt dry - as if full of sticky, creamy peanut butter and no one was there to hand him a glass of ice chilled milk. Finally after a few minutes of kicking himself he managed a - “Found her on the road going home.”
The Doctor just nodded as he inspected the woman's ribs through the thin cotton grey t-shirt she wore.
He turned to Joshua, “Hmm... In my bathroom there is a robe, a dry shirt, and pajama bottoms. Grab those, we don't want her to catc pnemonia.”
“Right.” - and Joshua dashed out.
When he returned the Doctor took the clothes and shooed him away with a look that Joshua swore he must have learned from his mother.
While waiting in the Doctor's living room, Joshua fashioned himself many tales of how and why the young woman was on the road that only led towards his cabin and the hiking trails, in the middle of the night, in a storm. Each was more bizarre than the last. He finally settled on one, that she must have been lost and trying to flag him down. Which then set his stomach churning.
The Doctor's living room was a comfy, comel place white blue and white furniture and curtains. Such a constrast to Joshua's disaster cabin.
The Doctor finally came out, his whiskered face betraying nothing.
“She's going to be fine, but a little rest wont hurt. She doens't have any id on her so I could try and keep her here but -”
“No,” Joshua said in a sudden heat, “I'll take her back to my place.”
“All right, she should see a doctor at Mercy if anything still hurts after a day or so.”
“Okay. Thanks Doc.”
“No problem son.”
The Doctor helped him get her into the front of the Jeep and handed him her things.
“Drive safely.”
Joshua managed to get home without the woman waking as Joshua feared she might. It would be quite something to explain to her her – the unfamiliar clothes, the car, himself. He cringed at the thought. When he arrived at the dilapidated place he called home, the rain had slowed a bit as if the heavens were giving there blessing that he help her.
He managed to get her into the house and settled her with his only comforter on the bed.
With her clothes in the dryer and the rooms passable, he had this urge to clean, to not make himself seem so much a slob, he flopped down in the avocado green lazy chair and let his thoughts carry him away.
He had just run into a complete stranger. He had taken complete stranger to Doctor and brought complete stranger home on a whim and a feeling of obligation. He had done something he had berated himself never to do again, he had let said complete stranger into his life.
But a part of him was very curious, she had looked so innocent, angel-like when he had left her to sleep. Weren't there people who care about her and why were they not looking for her, or were they? If she where mine, I surely would, he pondered. And he pondered himself righ into a deep sleep.
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