Where I Lay My Head
The Stairwell Encounter
Rachel had no choice but to leave Cecil's apartment and stumble over the tasks of normal, off-tour life amidst a gauntlet of theories haunting him. He would return every day that week, not only searching the grounds for Cecil but any signs of life at all. And he came up dry every day until the fifth.
Just as he reached the fourth floor on that fifth day and hooked his fingers around the blotted chrome handle to open the stairwell door, it swung open with no thanks to himself and revealed a tired, troubled couple who were clearly of relation to Cecil and most likely to Adeline. There was simply no mistaking it. She wore a powder blue dress fit to her neck and wrists, brown leather boots and a white linen bonnet which was tired and tilted and allowed tufts of disheveled honey hair to poke out. The man was her senior by at least a decade but clearly her husband, with one hand on her lower back as she wept and another holding the door open. His face, swaddled in a thick, well-kept beard and shaded with the stiff straight brim of a straw hat was grave and stern. Rachel immediately placed it to the voice which he had heard on the answering machine.
They stared blankly at him for a split second before stepping past and lowering themselves down the stairs. Rachel was stunned for just a moment and the electric pounding of his heart was all that captivated him before looking down to the lesser floor.
"Rebecca?" he inquired hopefully, nervously, causing all three hearts in that stairwell to skip a beat.
Their heads jolted upwards at the curious man above. Long dark locks and a group of chains reached down to them and his face hovered just above in faint shadow. "'Diah?" he continued.
A minute of silence occurred as they all stared at one another, stiff as statues and rampant minds. Rebecca's face was now smooth with innocence and her crying had ceased. Her head was angled up at him, traced with a filigree of crystal tears and possessing the pure, natural beauty of a fantastic girl that he once knew. Her polished sapphire eyes shone with clarity and peace.
"Rachel?" her breathy, soft voice echoed throughout the stairwell like an angels voice would sound at the Golden Gates.
A tidal wave of realization slammed into him and his eyes widened; his body tensed and his slender white fingers clutched the steel railing which he leaned over. This couple could have given him the answers that he yearned for. They could have eased his exasperated mind. But an instinct beyond his own will was drawing him towards that flimsy door reading '63' and in an instant, the couple stood alone in the stairwell and the only trace that Rachel had left behind was the steel door of the fourth four, swinging in and out, in and out, until it had stopped swinging completely. The couple looked to each other assuredly before continuing their journey down the stairs, braced with the gift of full composure thanks to Rachel.
Just as he reached the fourth floor on that fifth day and hooked his fingers around the blotted chrome handle to open the stairwell door, it swung open with no thanks to himself and revealed a tired, troubled couple who were clearly of relation to Cecil and most likely to Adeline. There was simply no mistaking it. She wore a powder blue dress fit to her neck and wrists, brown leather boots and a white linen bonnet which was tired and tilted and allowed tufts of disheveled honey hair to poke out. The man was her senior by at least a decade but clearly her husband, with one hand on her lower back as she wept and another holding the door open. His face, swaddled in a thick, well-kept beard and shaded with the stiff straight brim of a straw hat was grave and stern. Rachel immediately placed it to the voice which he had heard on the answering machine.
They stared blankly at him for a split second before stepping past and lowering themselves down the stairs. Rachel was stunned for just a moment and the electric pounding of his heart was all that captivated him before looking down to the lesser floor.
"Rebecca?" he inquired hopefully, nervously, causing all three hearts in that stairwell to skip a beat.
Their heads jolted upwards at the curious man above. Long dark locks and a group of chains reached down to them and his face hovered just above in faint shadow. "'Diah?" he continued.
A minute of silence occurred as they all stared at one another, stiff as statues and rampant minds. Rebecca's face was now smooth with innocence and her crying had ceased. Her head was angled up at him, traced with a filigree of crystal tears and possessing the pure, natural beauty of a fantastic girl that he once knew. Her polished sapphire eyes shone with clarity and peace.
"Rachel?" her breathy, soft voice echoed throughout the stairwell like an angels voice would sound at the Golden Gates.
A tidal wave of realization slammed into him and his eyes widened; his body tensed and his slender white fingers clutched the steel railing which he leaned over. This couple could have given him the answers that he yearned for. They could have eased his exasperated mind. But an instinct beyond his own will was drawing him towards that flimsy door reading '63' and in an instant, the couple stood alone in the stairwell and the only trace that Rachel had left behind was the steel door of the fourth four, swinging in and out, in and out, until it had stopped swinging completely. The couple looked to each other assuredly before continuing their journey down the stairs, braced with the gift of full composure thanks to Rachel.