THE VOICE OF REASON
Part of the Paranormal Shorts
By Rome
Copyright 2011 Rome
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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She had been at it again. It showed in the way she ambled around, in the manner she’d speak incoherently, her body no longer in synch and her soul, warped of the timeless charm and life she had always exemplified. Her mother was on the verge of a horrific breakdown and she knew it. So many times she would cry, sometimes quietly, sometimes hopelessly and many times more, she would just shut herself holed up with only bottles of ill smelling hard liquor to tide her life away.
Mary felt a little tear trail off the corner of her eyes. Not too much, just a little when her heart would feel that stab of pain at what stood before her now. She was still confident that better times lay ahead but each time she saw her drunk, she felt the anger seethe within her that her mother wasn’t trying hard enough the way she and Gillian did. If she raised the topic on Alcohol Anonymous, it would cause a fury in the house and Gillian would cry, much more than she ever wished. Gillian was the meek one who took after her father. She was the tough one, the one who was really like her mother. It was the way they were made of, each stamped with the genetic makeup that their parents had bequeathed upon them.
“Mama, stop drinking that damn stuff! You are killing yourself, why don’t you listen?” she cried out as she wrenched the bottle of bourbon from the broken woman’s hands.
She noticed it was half full and a purchase her mother had made recently to the booze store. It was where the money went these days. Into drinks and more drinks again to tide away the painful loss that was still seething through each one of them. Mama had her way of reacting to that bit of pain and so did she and Gillian, but Mama was killing herself into a drunken stupor ever so often it was making her into something she never was.
There were no lessons to prepare one for the loss of a loved one and Mama fared the worst of them all in the way she coped.
“Give me that bottle Mary. I am warning you!’ she pouted out loud, her clothes looking disheveled and her body language, terribly sour.
Mary watched her mother solemnly as she blinked hard at the sight of the bottle wrenched so fast from her. She stood up to grab the bottle but tilted back, her heels losing grip as she fell backwards into the comforting arms of the soft couch behind. It was the same couch they had for years and the same couch Dad sat on with all his girls on it. Now, it would be empty with one spot yet to be filled.
Mary bit her lips. She would stay strong. She would for Mama and Gillian. Someone had to.
“You are just a child. What do you know about how it feels in here?” she hollered, angry now as she hit her hand on her chest then slumped back into the sofa, groaning, making little sense of herself again.
Mary watched her mother sink in, feeling the pain crested deep within her. She knew the feeling. Couldn't Mama see that in her too? But life still had to go on right? That’s what she had been told a long time ago by Dad. That life always took a step forward regardless of the odds.
She fought hard to contain that sudden pain that hit her. Everything boiled down to what Dad said. Everything and yet, he had become nothing more than a figment of their weary imagination. He was gone and she knew how Mama felt but didn’t Mama know that life had to go on? Didn't Mama learn from Dad that life was always going to go on no matter what the odds were? Why couldn’t Mama realize that essential fact? There was a reason for everything to happen the way it did even if it meant without Dad by them anymore. That’s what Dad had always told her time and time again. Surely, he had said the same to Mama too?
She felt her mother’s eyes bore on her again, her face questioning, wondering what her thoughts were. It was the same look that told Mary that she had simply gone too far with her words and her ways. She felt her face soften seeing more wet tears stain the face of the older woman. She wished Mama would just come around somehow.
She could only wish. When Mama called her hard sometimes, cocky at times, it wasn’t that she didn’t care but she realized she had to fortify herself to make up for all the shortcomings Mama had been making off late. Someone had to be strong and to make it work in a home where three girls now lived.
“Gimme that Mary darling! I need it!”
Mary looked at her Mama. She would not flinch. Can't Mama see that? Not this time. But deep down, she wondered what had sapped the strength and conviction of the woman who had always provided an inspirational hope for their little family.
Gloria Percy was once the wife of a celebrated captain, at least up until July 14, 2008. She was a woman who glorified herself as a soldier’s wife, who preached that the love of the country stood before all but today she looked a complete wreck. She missed Brad, she had said. Not once, not twice but every single time his memory popped into her head like a broken record playing the pieces of the past. And like a machine gun, she would rattle of the days when they courted, chuckling somewhat at the time when they spent the whole afternoon eating ice cream and chalking his father’s AMEX charge card in a restaurant that sat in the plushiest section of their small town. And Mary remembered the restaurant. It still sat today the same way it did since the time Mama and Dad had courted.
“Stop killing yourself this way Mama. Please Mama,” she begged her eyes misting now as she sat down next to the sad woman.
"I can't Mary. It hurts too bad."
For once, Mama calmed down and Mary felt sorry. It hurt when one fought the salty tears back and she knew why. Two weeks more and Mama would have to walk her way to the grave again, her head up high and her body firm when they paid respect to the call that saluted her husband as a war hero, a patriot to the cause of the country. Mary did not think her mother was ready to go through the ceremony yet. Somehow, Gloria Percy still needed to understand that life was about living even without him by them anymore. Perhaps when that understanding became clear, life would be more tolerable and livable for all three of them.
Mary remembered the day when the officers stopped by their house, all dressed in their military gear, looking so fastidious and yet with the look of heartfelt sorrow spelt all over their handsome, chiseled faces. They had come to tell them news no soldier’s family wanted to hear. And when they brought her father home from Iraq in a box, she could not quite remember the man that had once held her so firmly in his hands and told her all those pretty stories that only a loving father tells his daughter. The bedtime stories that promised her everything in life if she did it right all the time, became glassy spoofed tales to tell now. Of course, he was a valiant soldier who fought for his country, a man who gave his life to preserve the American cause but he was also the same man who was dearly missed and loved beyond words could tell.
Now he was just gone, rudely taken with six blasted shots in his body and left to rot six feet under. They were told his life was to be celebrated each year amidst loud bugle calls, his name etched in a commemorative stone that housed and shared the names of all those who lost their lives in a battle gone awry. And when that day came two weeks from now, Mary decided she would read him the very book he captivated her with when she was a little girl. It was the story of the little cinder girl who waited for the day when a fairy godmother finally gave her the chance to meet a Prince who would whisk her off to a better life ahead. She promised to tell him that same story only she wondered if God had whisked him to a better life away from them. She hoped not because she missed him plenty and she would be sure to tell him that if he could still hear her. She felt the burst of sudden hot tears coursing down her cheeks.
It happened so quickly and so suddenly and for once, Mary realized she too was vulnerable. That she too could not contain the painful memory of losing her father. She remembered that each time he was home, they would rush out to the sea to enjoy the breath of natural sea salted air that he had said made life so refreshing and so untainted. It was their own time together when Daddy would tell her about being a big, brave girl and doing the right thing. He wanted her to do law, to be somebody one day and she had promised him she would.
But Daddy was so wrong indeed. Life was so tainted and in ways he would never know. The roots of pain had already sunk into their lives, in ways that destroyed Mama and Mary was not sure if she would get out of her own hole. Indeed, she was strong in spirit but each time she saw Mama, she felt the urge to simply sink in the way Mama did.
“Mama, you need to rest now,” she said gently as she stroked the woman who seemed so crushed now.
“If I had told him not to go with the boys that day, he would not have died in that horrible manner. Oh Mary, how nightmares come true! Why did I not stop Daddy? I remember seeing his frightened face each night and I did not know why,” she cried out, quite bitter now.
Mary reached for her mother and kissed her, then drew her hair away realizing the stench that the bourbon whisky held in her breath. Life was about living and Mama was not helping to keep the bad memories away.
“Daddy fought well Mama. Like a true American hero he was. You know that. Try and sleep and I will be back soon,” she had heard herself say and she wanted to leave, to visit the coastal front where she could sit by the sandy beaches and relish the salty fresh air like the way Daddy and her used to. The wide open sea was witness to the many stories Daddy used to tell her and they brought memories to bear, pleasant ones she wanted to remember.
"I have to go now but I will be back soon Mama."
“Where are you going? To the cliff again?” her Mama asked, her voice almost a protest.
“Yes. Today, I can try and enjoy that sunset from the cliff. You get a good view from up there Mama,” she heard herself say. It was a gentle protest.
The sunset was one of the glorious reasons why her father, a romanticist at heart, had chosen to live by the sea. On the short stints of holidays he sometimes took, Daddy would pen hours and hours of his poetry sometimes alone. His poetry captured the depth and love of the sea and it was amazing to sometimes swirl through his words, imagining and wanting nothing more than to romanticize the sea and its many whispers that fell upon your ears.
She wondered what her father knew about the sea and the many secrets it held. But try as she might, she could not find that book of poetry in his study room. It never came with the few memorable pieces that the military returned to them when he was gone. It was that book that held some of the best pieces of her father.
"You must rest Mama," she continued as she gave her mother a last minute hug.
She had to get out. She could not wait to spend the hour by the cliff where she could enjoy the breathless view of the sun’s orb as it made its way down into another golden realm and where she could enjoy the vastness of the sea as it stretched from Pearl Bay all the way to Montecut Island.
“Can I come?” her Mama asked suddenly.
“No Mama, you must rest. Maybe tomorrow we will go by the sea together, I promise. I will be just out for an hour anyway…won’t be long,” she had heard herself tell her mother.
There was no further protest but a nod, and she could tell her mother would soon take that much needed sleep anyway. She looked tired. One year had aged her in such a terrible way.
She looked at the time. Gillian would be back soon. Quickly, she grabbed her hat and a bottle of water, donned her jumpers and a pair of sneakers and decided she was quite dressed for the hour she needed to be away. It was a cool breeze that greeted her outside and she walked carefully to the barn securing her old bicycle and peddled through the secluded meadows basked with the tall willows and grassland, down steep winding trail roads that took her to the little boulder where she used to sit with Daddy as they reminisced the beauty of the old sea.
She remembered the hum Daddy used to sound as they made their way together, sometimes walking and at most times, cycling through the old dirt trail roads that had once taken them to an ancient cave no one quite knew about. Most times, they wound up on the cliff overlooking the sea or found the solitude watching the egrets and the coastal birds foraging across the blue sea where the invite of fishes stood by in abundance. Amidst the break in the waves and the sound of the sheep bleating in a nearby farmer’s land, it was just bliss that would greet them near the coastal shores. Daddy knew just the perfect place where they could enjoy the peace in a sheltered area that offered them the best views and even a spot where the passing wind sometimes captured the forgotten sounds of a cargo train making its path along the rickety old railway lines.
A smile greeted her when the familiar boulder emerged in sight. It would be the same boulder where she would sit and capture some of the thoughts that ran through her father’s head. The cool west wind blew directly upon her. She looked up feeling a little chill setting upon her then something else slid up her mind. Maybe, she could sit closer to the edge and pen her thoughts in her own little book. She had seen him do that sometimes, take a stab at the most unusual kind of activity that would spark his inner thoughts to pen the most creative.
She felt a slight shiver. It was the wind she least came prepared for. Maybe, if she had brought the coat along, it would have helped but no matter. She walked her way to the edge of the cliff then carefully settled herself, one leg out while she carefully hoisted herself to pull the other leg forth. When she was sure she had settled carefully, she had both her legs grasping the edge of the cliff as she looked down at the rocky hills below.
Beyond, she could see two yachts making their solitary voyage on the sea. She knew Gillian would have sounded the alarm but she was going to be brave. Life was a risk. Every game at play was a risk and she would take it like the brave girl her Daddy always thought her to be.
Then the voice sounded. It was clear and crisp, and Mary looked around wondering who called her name.
“Mary.”
It sounded again and she looked around but she could not find anyone who spoke her name. No one was in sight yet the voice was distinct, crystal clear.
She felt a strange feeling course through her soul, almost like a fear ridden kind of feeling that left one cautious and aware. And she was indeed wary because she could see no one in sight. Someone was playing a prank on her and it wasn’t in the least bit funny. She wasn’t expecting company.
She looked down at the cliff, feeling uncomfortable now. She was placing herself in a precarious spot and she had to get up and get away. Quickly she shoved her body up but then a break came under her. She could feel the hardness under her strip away, almost flaying itself. The cliff was giving way at the edge. She could see small rubbles rumbling down aimlessly. Far down below, the cranes arched around wading their way through the rugged coastal lines totally impervious of the fear that had come to bear on Mary as she battled the possibility of a loosening cliff below her.
“Oh dear God, help me!” she cried out, her voice crackling now. If she moved, she knew she could very well hasten the breaks and fall into the ravines and rocky slopes down below. She closed her eyes, feeling afraid. She did not want to die. Not now.
“Don’t move too fast and don’t turn,” commanded a voice from behind her, “I will pull you from where you are. Stay very still.”
Mary felt the words sounded behind her but she was quite sure no one had been around when she arrived. Who was it that spoke then?
“I am scared,” she found herself blurting her words.
“I know. Just stay calm and I will try and get you. The rocks are breaking and one slip could cost you. So stay calm, you hear?”
Mary could not turn and she knew. One slip could cost her dearly.
“Okay.”
“I am going to yank you from behind very quickly, just don’t resist. Got it?”
“I gotcha. Quickly, I can feel the rocks breaking,” she said fearfully.
She felt two strong arms pull her very quickly almost lifting her off the air and then the breaks began, hurtling large stone fragments of the cliff down to the valley below. Another minute and she would have fallen like some rag doll to a ground where rocky spikes awaited their kill.
She turned to her hero and found herself staring into the bright eyes of a young teenager. He seemed close to fourteen years of age, had the deepest greenish eyes she had ever seen and wore a black baseball cap on his dark brown hair. He smiled, hands in his pockets feeling proud of himself now.
“You almost did not make it. Did you hear that?” he asked as they heard the smash of the rocks sounding down below.
Mary smiled, thankful to be alive.
“If you weren’t here, I wonder what would have happened. Who are you?”
The young boy held a torn, black book almost tossing it under her nose. There was something familiar about the book although it seemed torn and almost tattered.
“The voice of reason.”
She laughed now tickled by his somewhat forthright disposition.
“The voice of reason?” she laughed repeating his words now, seeking clarity in his somewhat proverbial jest.
“Yeah, that the nature of our life’s very presence on earth is dictated by reason alone...always. I don’t believe in living life by chance. That was a stupid thing you did, sitting there and flirting with death. Don’t need another fall like that,” he muttered, hardly a smile flitting through his serious face now.
Mary was quite sure she had to look serious now. She was thankful for her life but she was not compelled to welcome his mindless talk of life in such nitty-gritty bits. He was just a kid. What did he know about reason? Nothing seemed to work so well now for them even with reasons answered. Dad was still six feet under.
“Who are you?”
“You mean where do I come from?”
“Right over there. It is a white dot from here, you can’t miss it. It is the only house painted really white,” he said pointing to the valley down below, “You love the sea, don’t you?” he sounded a little kindly now.
“Yes, pretty much live close by and the sea is the first love of both my father and I, oh correction, Mom always gets first place with him and poetry second making the sea his third love perhaps,” she said, chuckling a little now.
He smiled.
“Well, what were you trying to do sitting by danger lane?” he asked pointing to the cliff.
Mary blushed. It was indeed getting embarrassing and he was right. It was a stupid thing to do.
“Well, I was trying to pen poetry.”
“My Dad wrote poetry too. He wrote the voice of reason, the many reasons why man lives the way he does and why he dies the way he does,” he said proudly.
Mary lifted her eyebrows. She was quite sure her Dad’s pieces were more creative but she wouldn’t say.
“Do you come here often?” she sounded politely.
“Used to and many times when I’d catch my father at work,” he said as he gazed at the sea. It was just a miracle knowing that the sea bore testament to history, having borne witness to the emergence and death of civilizations as it shaped the world to what it is today.
“You love the sea,” she asked noting his boyish appeal.
He was a rather tall lanky boy but it was his green eyes that spoke. It sparked really green, almost like Daddy’s. There was something strange about him too that made her hair tingle but when she looked at his green eyes, she felt comforted almost like she was getting the same feeling when she looked at Daddy.
“I’m Mary Percy,” she said stretching out her hand as a polite salute.
“Brad Percy,” he said his eyes leveling almost at her.
“That’s strange. That’s my father’s name too,” she admitted, “How coincidental that you have the same surname too!” she remarked, laughing gleefully now.
“Yes, indeed,” he said his voice almost impish now.
He looked at her and then pointed to the sea, his eyes growing with interest as he looked at the coastal birds and the sight of the two lone yachts making their way across the waves.
“How can we meet again? You must come and visit us sometime soon, maybe for dinner. I owe you quite a bit now that you saved my life. If you had not come in the nick of time, I would have died down there,” she said feeling thankful for the help he rendered her. “That would have been just terrible.”
“Well, a thank you should be in order then,” he said smiling at her now. She could see he had the same big hands too like Daddy.
“How did you get here?” she asked curious now.
“I used to cycle up here all alone sometimes. It is amazing to stand above the cliff and view the whole stretch of the ancient sea just from here, don’t you think?” he sounded, “Well I have to go. Time seeks me out now in strange ways,” he said finally, heaving a sigh that spoke of a little sadness that had come to bear.
“Will you come visit us Brad Percy?” she asked.
He looked at her and laughed.
“For a nice dinner perhaps?”
It was Mary’s turn to laugh.
“Yes, a nice wholesome dinner. You must call me,” she said then quickly tore out a top page segment of the local newspaper that she had brought along with her for a quiet read. “Here’s our phone number Brad. Call me,” she said handing him the scribbled edges of the local newspaper.
“Mary, I will do that,” he said taking the note and shoving it into his pocket, “If you could only tell the words that I speak, you will see my soul for all that it keeps,” he trailed off his eyes focused on her fervently now.
“My Daddy said the same words too. Who are you?” she sounded off and then the chill struck her, causing her to sneeze so hard that it almost jolted her body.
She looked up.
“Brad?” she sounded. There wasn’t anyone standing before her anymore. She looked all around, the sun almost ready to make its descent now she could see, but there was no Brad Percy.
“Brad, c’mon. Stop joking with me. Where are you?” she sounded concerned now.
She was quite sure he was just a foot from where she stood. He couldn’t have taken off so fast. She looked all around casting her eyes in every nook and corner she could but apart from the sky, the wide open grassland and the rough, earthy terrain of the cliff, there wasn’t anywhere else he could hide. Then she saw the book on the boulder, the same black book he was holding.
She walked to the boulder and gently lifted the book, looking up to see if he was watching her from afar. He was nowhere to be seen.
She opened the book. The familiar cover struck her immensely and her eyes drew tears at the sight of the words that had almost faded off its pages. It was the very book she had been searching for all these months. The poetry book that belonged to Daddy but it was all tattered and torn, most of the pages torn at the edges but other than a missing page, the book was still intact with the long forgotten pieces of her father’s discourse with nature and life. Mary gently paged through the book, proudly settling her eyes on the words that spoke plenty to her and then mulling over the lost page.
“Oh dear Lord, how did it get into his hands?” she muttered.
She remembered his face, his eyes and his hands. Almost like her father. It was almost as if Brad Percy was a miniature copy of Daddy but how could that happen?
Slowly, she paged through the book again, tears wetting the precious pages that bore the faded handwritten poetry of her dearly departed father.
Then the page emerged that dedicated the whole book to her only, Mary Percy.
It read:
“To my little pumpkin, Mary Percy,
to the one who inspires and leads, to the very heart of my soul, I seek;
to you I celebrate my life and to you my darling,
I give my hope.
Daddy.”
“Brad!” she shouted feverishly now, “I need to talk to you! Damn you! Come out now!”
But no one returned her desperate calls and she heard the wind howl gently, the waves rippling with anticipation but there was no answer to her calls, only nature sounding its curious responses. She looked up and saw the sun set its descent quite complete now with the vibrant colors it promised for a new day ahead tomorrow. It was time to go home.
She sat on her bicycle and gently placed the tattered book on the basket, making her way back home, her mind thinking and conjuring but not quite understanding the strange events that had unfolded in the last one hour. She planned to stop by the white cottage and seek her answers the next day. Who was Brad Percy? Who was he?
She found Gillian already home. She had taken more time than she needed and her mother looked at her, the eyes somewhat sober and fearful.
“Where have you been Mary Percy?” she sounded sternly reaching for her daughter. “We have been so worried. We were about to call the cops thinking you were in trouble,” she explained, the tremor in her voice apparent now.
“I’m sorry Mama. I have just taken more time than needed.”
“I lost him in a terrible way Mary. I cannot lose both of you girls,” she said, her voice firm this time. "I was so afraid something happened."
Mary smiled. It had been a long time since she last heard Mama speaking with so much conviction. A glimmer of hope flickered.
That night, the three of them had a wonderful time, the first ever since the funeral of her father. It was almost like old times when Daddy would be away, and they would just find the time to wile their time away playing cards, watching movies or listening to the soft gentle music that Daddy always said straightened the soul.
The very next day, Mary made her way to the white cottage through the seaside town, driving cautiously and eager to seek out Brad Percy. She was grateful to him for saving her but she needed the answers. She couldn’t understand how the precious book had come to be in his hands and maybe, he knew something about Daddy she did not.
Mary almost thought she would get lost in the maze of little shops that sprung in the marketplace but when her small car got off the lane into a residential street, she found herself face to face with the white cottage. She quickly parked her car and rang the door bell.
It was an old man who greeted her, his eyes drawn in surprise at the sight of her.
“Yes?” he sounded almost questioningly. It almost looked as if he knew her.
“I am looking for Brad Percy,” she heard herself say.
She could feel the old eyes boring down on her, the look of shock clearly etched on his pudgy face now.
“How rude,” she thought.
“You a friend from some place?”
Then more footsteps were heard, heavy footsteps marked by the presence of light ones.
“Who’s there Peter?” sounded the voice of a woman and before long, Mary found herself looking into the most kindly eyes of an old woman and her little granddaughter.
“What brings you here now?” she asked gently looking at her husband in a manner as if she had been expecting Mary all this while.
“I have come to see Brad to thank him so much for saving me from a bad fall,” she said. It was a half truth of course but she explained what had happened.
The old woman looked confused, tears welling in her eyes.
“That cannot be young lady. You couldn’t have seen Brad. He never came home the day he walked out of here August 11 last year. Said he was going to the cliff to read but we thought he ran away. We tried looking for him, even called the police but it turned up nothing,” said the old woman, her face turning into a red pulp.
The old man sighed hard then settled himself on the armchair as his granddaughter sat on him, looking and wondering.
“Are you sure you met Brad?” he sounded looking hopefully at Mary and then the young face struck her. The little girl looked the way Gillian did when she was five years old.
Mary looked around sizing up the place, anxious now. Something told her Daddy had a link to the place in a way she least expected.
“Is that Brad’s photo?” she asking politely pointing to the photo frame that sat on the mantelpiece.
“Yes it is,” said the old woman and grabbed the frame for Mary to see.
Mary looked at the portrait. It was a picture of a younger looking Brad with an older woman holding a baby, presumably the little girl who looked so much like Gillian.
The old woman smiled proudly and was quick to explain.
“That’s a picture of Brad with his mother and our little Gillian,” she said looking at her granddaughter lovingly. “Something tells me you must be Mary Percy are you not? The resemblance is unmistakable. You are your father’s daughter.”
Mary looked at the old woman, wondering what secrets lay before her that she was not privy to. What had Daddy been up to all these years? And why did he give the same name to this child too? Mary felt the stab of revolt etching through her soul. For once, she felt the resentment towards her father. An anger that she knew would go up in flames if she stayed longer.
“Come here Mary,” said the old woman feeling a need to explain, “Sit here child,” she offered moving her seat a little so Mary could sit close by and she began her story, telling Mary everything she needed to know. “My daughter Lara was a staff sergeant assigned to the same unit your father was in and when she fell in love with your father, it was in a way that was most innocent,” the old woman said, her kindly eyes reflecting and then watching if Mary could digest all that seemed to be an infidelity on the part of her father.
“But how could Daddy do this?” protested Mary. She was angry. Anyone would be. “How could he cheat Mama like this?”
The old woman nodded, her old hands now cast over Mary’s shoulders wanting to hold the girl down. It was a show of comfort Mary chose to do without.
“There, there. I know how you feel Mary,” insisted the old woman firmly. “I did reprimand her and I want you to know I did all I could but Lara could not stop the feelings from happening. She never wanted to hurt you Mary nor your mother. Their love just happened and she died too, came in the box the way he did and two weeks from now, we have to face that ceremony and I am afraid,” sounded the old woman, her voice almost broken now.
Mary looked at the old woman. Her face was plastered with the same kind of sadness and anxiety that Mama felt. For a little while, she felt some sorrow for the old couple and then her constitution hardened again. No matter what, it would never erase the fact that Daddy betrayed them and parked another family he nurtured close by them. It was unforgivable.
“And Brad?”
“He is your stepbrother. We want to find Brad. Will you help us find him? He must be hanging around here if you say that you saw him only yesterday? He must come home Mary. This is where he lives,” declared the old woman vehemently.
Mary looked away. Brad Percy was far from her mind now. She was angry. Daddy had his secrets and he hadn’t been truthful to them. Couldn’t they see that?
“Are you going to stay with us?”
Mary looked at the little girl who spoke. She was a pretty sight just like the way their Gillian was when she was a little girl.
“I will come and visit you if that is ok?” she heard herself say reluctantly.
“Will you find Brad for us? I miss him so much you know,” little Gillian declared, nestling herself closer to her grandfather.
“I will,” she heard herself say almost coldly. It was a clipped reply, she knew.
“Can you please? I don’t want him to die like Daddy. He said he was going to fight like Daddy and if he is gone, I would have no one to play with,” she insisted, taking a little lollipop now from her grandmother.
“You must not mind Gillian. She is quite a talker,” said the old woman apologetically as she stroked her granddaughter’s head, “Brad has been our worry these days. We want him back home. It is where he belongs and with the memorial coming up soon, he needs to be here with his family. Will you have some tea with us Mary? Just a treat we have at this time in the afternoon. Peter’s English you know.”
The old couple looked at Mary with an encouraging smile.
“You say Brad went up the cliff?”
“Yes, quite sure,” replied the old man, “We want him back Mary. The two of them are all we have. I cannot imagine why he’d leave us so suddenly. He has always been a good boy.”
Mary mulled over the sudden course of events. She felt a sudden urge to go. There was something she had to do.
“I have to go,” she insisted abruptly.
The old couple looked at each other but it was the old woman who held Mary’s hands. Mary looked at her feeling the pain arise within her blue eyes.
“Please come see us as often as you can. Do not leave angry Mary,” she insisted holding Mary’s hand gently. “You must know your father loved you so much. He always talked about you to us,” the old woman said as she showed Mary to the door.
“I will be back I promise,” and it was all she could say when she walked down the path to her car.
She knew they were watching her but so many questions crept through her mind. She needed to know and she knew the cliff had the answers to Brad. Quickly, she drove up the long stretch of road that took her round the winding cliff until she found herself back at the spot where the terrible accident almost happened. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. There was no sign that an accident had even happened and that she could have lost her life in the most terrible way. Quietly, she paced up to the edge of the cliff and looked down below, careful to ensure that she held on to the old tree nearby. Mary felt her blood run cold when the feeling hit her.
“Oh goodness!” she moaned, “It cannot be!”
With no further time to waste, Mary quickly drove back down to the foot of the cliff and walked around the rocky boulders that stood jutting upwards in perilous ways. They protruded menacingly some as sharp as spires, dangerously sounding instant death calls to anyone who greeted them. Even the fir trees which grew close by offered little respite to the unwary victim. Still, enmeshed with the overall scenery, the dangerous boulders offered a natural landscape of the coastal sea which Mary and her father had always welcomed.
But today she knew. She could feel it in her bones but she knew no way of verifying if Brad Percy had met his death in the most terrible way. The climb was too dangerous for her to make. She summoned the police and the search began with helicopters and several police officers who trailed the area, searching and scouting for what she believed to be the rocky gravesite of Brad Percy, her stepbrother.
It didn’t take long before the police signaled their find for rooted in between the boulders were the skeletal remains of a young boy they determined to be almost fourteen years of age, his thin bony fingers still clutching tightly a faded and torn page that read the words “The Voice of Reason”.
But it was what Officer Charleston said much later that sent chills down Mary’s spine. A check in Brad Percy’s torn clothes had revealed some peculiar information that baffled the police for a crumpled tear of the local newspaper still sat fresh in his pocket. On it, Officer Charleston had stated were scribbled the telephone number to Mary Percy’s home and a frayed but discernible section that suggested the paper was but part of the newspaper print of yesterday.
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About the Author:
My joy for writing extends beyond just writing childhood memoirs and about a father gone so wrong. For those who have read "When Sally was 9…", you will know the hardships Sally went through but there's more to me than just what these books tell.
I love writing and I write to tell a story. So, you will find me writing just about anything that interests me from murder mysteries to supernatural stories that blur the division between reality and the other world as well as stories that tell about life and living.
I hope you will find interest in trying my collection of supernatural short stories after reading The Voice of Reason. Please check my blogs for any updates or information pertaining to my writing and new book releases.
Other Books by the Same Author:
Paranormal Shorts: Tales of the Unexpected
Protocols for Murder
When Sally was 9…
3 Young Sleuths Mystery Series: What Happened to Halloween?
Connect with Me Online:
Blogspot: http://forgettingsally.blogspot.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/forgettingsally
Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/forgettingsally