An Excerpt from BEHIND THE WALL

Logan pulled his SUV up to the little cottage, turned off the ignition and sat in silence for a moment or two before disembarking and approaching the door. When there was no response to his knock, reflexively he tried the latch; it was unlocked. He toyed briefly with the idea of coming back later but the simple truth of it was that he could not leave. Knowing this might upset Cassie yet unable to reconcile his feelings of trepidation and longing, Logan entered her house.

As he moved through the vestibule and into the hallway, even though it had been less than two weeks since he'd been there, he had the bitter sweet sensation of the distant warmth and familiarity one experiences when he visits the childhood home he'd left long ago.

With a barrage of memories assailing him, he moved through the darkened cottage. His breath caught in his throat as he stepped into the library alcove. The overstuffed sofa where they had so often lain entwined reading and discussing books was unnervingly disheveled, its down-filled pillows tossed to the floor. The woven silk blanket Cassie had always treated with such care had been wadded like a piece of crumbled paper and likewise discarded, shoved under the table. Standing menacingly close to the edge was a bottle of Pinot Grigio, opened but untouched. One of the glasses they had bought at the estate sale was lying on its side in the center of the table, its rim cracked. He smiled resolutely as he bent down and, with a gentle puff of his breath, extinguished a double-wicked candle that had been carelessly left burning. Next to it he eyed a book of matches and a silver bowl containing an obscure love note Jamie had written to Cassie and several photos of the two of them. The antique pewter frame in which Cassie had encased her favorite photo of Jamie had been taken apart, its pieces discarded haphazardly; there was no sign of the photo. Logan sat on the sofa, leaned back and heaved a heavy sigh as he assessed the scene laid out before him. Eventually his gaze made its way to the fireplace. He hadn't noticed until now that the painting of the cottage was missing from its perch above the mantle, the poker likewise missing from its hook.

As he entered the living room he discovered the missing poker lying on the floor in the center of the room, its pointed end proximal to the painting which had been set upright with its back against the settee. A disbelieving breath escaped Logan's lips as he drew his hand to his brow and down the length of his face. He blinked back the moisture in his eyes and cleared his throat as he continued his survey of every gut wrenching detail.

As he continued numbly through the house, he found the kitchen uncharacteristically pristine, though the aloe plant was in dire need of water. The sun-room door to the garden had been left wide open. He descended the three steps to close it but as the cool night air caressed him, he suddenly turned and hastened back though the house to the stairway that led to Cassie's bedroom.

He bounded the steps as though he were being chased but he paused at the top and entered cautiously. He closed his eyes as he basked in the scent of her perfume. The moonlight glaring through her window illuminated the bed which looked as though it had not been touched since he'd been there, except that this pillow had been removed. So had the patchwork blanket he'd given her. Overtaken by vivid memories of the two of them wrestling in the throws of passion, he sat on the bed taking her pillow into his arms. Clutching it to his middle, he rocked inconsolably, his flooding eyes fixed on the crescent moon.

Resolved to being systematically eliminated from her life, a despairing Logan eventually made his way back downstairs. He'd decided to leave her alone; he would not hurt her anymore.

Mechanically, he located a small box from the studio and began to pack some of his things: Paintbrushes, CD's, his camera, a couple of shirts. He remembered the small photo of the two of them that Cassie had kept on the windowsill in the kitchen and went to retrieve it; it was a surefire bet she would not miss it.

He hadn't intended to touch anything except to take his things, but the drooping aloe plant was begging for water. Believing she would not notice, he removed it from the sill, lowered it to the basin and was instantly afforded a clear view of the garden and his easel. It dawned on him how much he'd invested in this relationship. He'd never given himself over to anyone like this. He had made this woman his reason for living and her little cottage his home. Refusing harborage to the pain that once again threatened to overtake him, he let the water run into the watering can to set, relieved the plant of a dead stalk and decided he needed to remove the easel. She'd probably be grateful to be rid of it.

He shook the water off his hands, dried them on the dishtowel and made his way to the garden. As he began to turn the wing nut on the easel, he was distracted by a rustling sound behind him. Turning toward it, he was stunned by what he saw.




~~~~~~~





There was Cassie sound asleep in the Victorian hammock with the patchwork quilt hanging off her legs. He furrowed his brow as he moved silently toward her drinking in the sight. Looking down at her, his eyes widened as his heart broke with joy. She was wearing the white nightgown he'd bought for her, her loosened hair cascading over her shoulders. She was clutching his pillow to her breast and in her right hand she held the deframed photo of Jamie that had been her favorite. Two of the DVD's that had been sent to her in that cursed box were on her lap still in their sealed cases. Unable to help himself, Logan bent down and kissed her tenderly on her forehead. "I'm here now," he whispered. She turned toward his kiss and sleepily sighed affirmation that she had heard him, "Jamie..."

He lifted the blanket over her being careful not to wake her, left the easel where it was, and made his way to the house. His eyes softened and the corner of his mouth lifted as he turned around to look at her before stepping inside. He would come back in the morning.

As he was deciding whether to place his things back from where he'd retrieved them, he heard the garden door open and close.

Cassie had awakened and wrapped herself in the blanket. Momentarily unsure whether she was still dreaming as she entered to find him standing in her library, she beamed at the sight of him. "Jamie!" She cried as he turned toward her, his arms outstretched. But her bright eyes and beaming smile vanished as the agonizing reality of all that had transpired between them hit hard. Her voice caught in her throat as she corrected herself. "Jamie... Lo--gan... Jamm... Oh my God," she sobbed bitterly, "I don't even know your name. I don't know what to call you..." She stepped toward him and with her open palms began to pound upon upon his chest. "You bastard... Why did you do this to me? Why? What kind of a man are you? I loved him... You bastard. How could you..." She raised her fisted hands into the air as though she wanted to strike him but froze, incapable of doing so.

Logan grabbed her wrists to calm her. His proximity and his touch were unbearably painful to her. Cassie tried to pull away from him but as she turned to twist out of his grasp, she merely succeeded in wrapping his arms around her. With Logan holding her wrists, her arms crossed against her chest and her back drawn into him, the warmth of his body penetrated her hysteria. She no longer had any fight left in her. Her knees buckled as she collapsed into his embrace, utterly broken, desperately mourning the loss of Jamie. "I can't do this. It hurts too much," her sobs turning to whimpers. "This is my nightmare... How could you... This is my nightmare."

Logan cradled her softly whispering words of comfort as he gently lowered himself to the floor. Emboldened by the realization that she had not stopped loving him, he kissed her face as he stroked her hair. "I'm here now; it's all right. Don't cry, Cassie. It's going to be all right now." It was him she loved and there would be a way to show her that. This was not the end for them; he would see to it.


CM
Copyright © 2007 Carol Marsella, BEHIND THE WALL. Newprose.org. All rights reserved.