A Storied Man

(Note: You may read the page with Part One and Part Two to get caught up, in case you’re just joining us. It will link you right back here when you’re finished.)

Herein are several people whose lives at first do not seem connected. Their paths converge unexpectedly. This is Part Three.

Parts: 1|2|3

Part Three

Doug sat in the end of a church pew, alone, ornate stained glass windows looming above from every stone wall. A raven smashed through the window behind the altar and lit on the offering table. Its black feathers shimmered in the sunlight pouring through the hole in the multi-colored glass.

“Consecrate me!” squawked the bird.

A window on the far wall shattered. A raven emerged and flapped away twinkling glass shards as it flew to the offering table.

The shaft of light brought up welts on Doug’s face. He covered his eyes and the backs of his hands started to boil. Shrieking, he struggled to tuck his face into his shirt.

Now all the windows seemed to be exploding at the same time, the oil-black birds bursting through them and joining their kind at the altar. “Consecrate me!” the birds squawked in a deafening chorus.

Sunlight filled the sanctuary. To escape it, Doug closed his eyes and sank to the floor to roll under the pew.

His shoulder smacked the floor hard. He opened his eyes. Room-darkening drapes, barely touching the tan carpet, swayed in the wake of his fall. Sunlight rolled like ocean waves over the baseboard, getting slower and smaller until finally the drapes hung still.

“Bad dream,” Doug said. His voice croaked, his throat dry from breathing through his mouth all night.

He pushed himself off the floor and climbed back into bed. The silk sheets still warm on his side, he slid his legs into a cool spot.

The drapes on the other bedroom window still were shut tight, too, with sunlight barely peeking out the tiny spaces between the drapes and the wall. The hallway seemed much brighter than usual.

He remembered the church, the smashing windows, and all that burning sunlight. “Better check the rest of them,” he mumbled.

Doug threw back the covers and grabbed a burgundy silk robe from the hook on the wall. The cool fabric enveloped him and quickly warmed up to his body temperature. He looked down at the robe and admired its glossy shine. “Thanks again, Uncle Curtis,” he said.

He got only a few steps into the bright hallway before retreating. Grumbling, he stormed over to his nightstand and picked up the phone. As he punched in a number on the cordless, he yanked open a drawer and pulled out a blue stress ball.

He took a few deep breaths. Three rings. “Come on, pick up, dammit.” Finally, after five rings, an answer.

“Hello?”

“Steve, it’s Doug. Can you come over here to my new place on your lunch hour?”

“What’s wrong? You sound pissed.”

“I am. One of the shades in the living room is up.”

“Your dead uncle’s cat again?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. Of all the things he left me, that damn cat was his favorite. I think I’m going to have to get rid of it.”

“Or get new skin.”

“As soon as you find that for sale, you let me know.”

Doug held the stress ball close for a better look. Blue silicone tubes of varying lengths were arranged in a spherical honeycomb pattern. He gave it a squeeze.

“What was that sound?” Steve said.

Doug read the white letters. “Jelly Smacker Stress Ball.”

“Sounds disgusting.”

Doug held it closer to the receiver and gave it a few more squeezes.

“Stop, man. Please,” Steve said.

“I figured it’s about the only way you’ll be hearing that sound.”

“You know what you need, Doug?”

“A girlfriend?”

“Besides that.”

Doug worked the stress ball rhythmically. “I got nothin’.”

“Come on, man. Remote control shades,” Steve said.

“That’s cheaper than new skin, but Uncle Curtis left me stuff, not money. You gonna pay?”

“Sure-sure, yeah-yeah. Look, I’ll be over after lunch. Just sit tight and keep squeezing your kooch.”

Doug kept at the gelatinous toy and, matching the rhythm, made three quick kiss noises. “Here, kitty-kitty.”

A large, black Persian cat flowed slowly around the corner into the short corridor.

“You’ve been messing with my shades again, haven’t you? Bring your black ass over here.”

The cat approached and purred loudly as it rubbed its face and body along his outstretched hand. Its tail lifted as it finished, revealing a tiny, puckered pink circle devoid of fur.

“Whatever you’re expecting when you do that, I’m not up to the call. Sorry.”

He turned on the viewer atop his armoire and pulled up the weather forecast.

“Shit.” He threw the stress ball, narrowly missing the cat. It made a wet smack as it hit the wall. “Sunny.”

——-

“Wow. You’re right. That was a weird dream,” Steve said.

“It isn’t the first time I’ve had it, but it’s the first time I’ve fallen out of bed,” Doug said.

“Silk sheets will do that to you.”

They sat at the kitchen table, fluourescent overhead light blazing, room-darkening shades pulled down tight.

“That’s a mighty fancy garment you’re wearing there, sir. Somehow I never pegged you as the silk robe type.”

“It belonged to Uncle Curtis.”

“Yeah, I know, just like everything else I’m looking at. Now, what’s this you’ve whipped up as the ‘perfect chaser’ to my meal?”

“Turkish coffee,” Doug said and picked up a small brass pot by its long handle.

Steve pointed at it. “What’s that?”

“An ibrik.”

Steve laughed. “Sure, you gotta have a good ibrik for your Turkish coffee. Everybody knows that.”

Doug carefully tilted the pot to fill a small porcelain cup decorated with blue and red flowers. He handed it to Steve on a matching saucer.

“Let that settle a minute before you drink it.”

“Why?”

“So the grounds can all go to the bottom.”

Steve peered into the cup, then looked at his friend. “So is it this condition of yours that’s turned you into such a freak, or is this inheritance going to your head?”

“It’s good coffee, ass face,” Doug said. “Trust me.”

They sat quietly, letting their grounds settle. The cat slinked into the kitchen and rubbed against Steve’s calves. Static electricity crackled as the long, black hairs clung to his tan slacks.

A car horn sounded from the street below. A woman screamed, “You coulda killed me, you meathead!”

Steve lifted his cup. “Here’s to the city.” He sipped cautiously, then swallowed. One corner of his mouth pulled up into a grin. “Not damn bad. Not damn bad at all.”

“You’ll start to notice the grounds as you go. Just stop when you can’t take them any more.”

“Okay, freak.”

(to be continued)