Description

The sun had gone, and night came. High above the shack and woods, the black fabric of space hung, speckled with billions of stars. Damien sat in an old chair, reclined back, staring up through the skylight at the wonderous, radiating cosmic fires of the universe. Painting ghostly shadows on the floors and walls, toasty candle-like light from an antique oil lantern travelled from the bedroom, waving and flickering with a warm breeze from an open window.

Creating warm musical notes, smooth fingers plucked and gently strummed the strings of the magnificently crafted harp, sending marvelous soundwaves throughout the evening; Lorna’s voice gently hummed along with an enchanting feminine tone. Moved by her sound, soothing waves of peaceful feelings circulated through Damien’s body, massaging his inner core while easing a stinging pain within his muscles and bones. He carefully listened and watched the sky; the outside air was still and the faint howling of wolves called out, deep from within the wooded distance, tickling his ears as well with their delightful calls.

Lorna ceased playing. “Damien.”

“Yeah?”

“Come here. Will you please? I don’t like talking through walls.”

He slowly rose and stretched. His feet and calves feeling heavy, Damien next teetered to the bedroom. He stood and leaned against the entry. “Yeah . . .?”

She looked up at him from a stool, with a recording device in her hands. She went to speak and momentarily studied him. “Are you okay?” “Why?” “You look a little pale,” Lorna replied with concern, “and like you just saw a ghost.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts. I don’t believe in angels, either.”

“Really, Damien. Are you all right? Because you don’t look well.”

“But I think I’m looking at one, right now.” He swayed and moved his right leg up and down.

“Looking at what,” she pondered.

“An angel,” Damien answered, glassy-eyed and obviously very weary to her. “The lantern light on you. Your light blue teddy, negligee . . . white knickers and socks, you, sitting there. Your tan skin, under it all, playing and humming. You look and sound like an angel. It’s . . . you. You’re so beautiful and it’s soothing.”

Lorna could see a few paltry bubbles of sweat on his forehead build up.

“That’s so sweet of you.”

“Really, I mean it. By all means . . . please keep playing.”

“You’re in pain, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been in pain, on and off my whole life,” he replied with hollow eyes.

“But hearing and seeing you like this, washes it all away.”