The Lodger

By Nadine Cooke

Since staring into the hole in the old fig tree, school bully, Oscar has been housing a lodger...inside him. Hungry for revenge on the soulmaker who imprisoned it, the Lodger is taking control of Oscar to find her. Elanora Lacey is being hunted.
Losing his mind, losing his body, Oscar’s only hope lies with his number one victim, Ashden Jaybanks. But convincing him to help won’t be easy. And if it doesn’t work, he must face the nightmarish beasts in the second layer of the Timefold alone. One thing is certain, hosting a lodger won’t come without cost and everyone’s future will feel the effect.
A fast paced and intricately woven sequel to Soulmaker, The Lodger delivers you into the realms of the Timefold. Mythical creatures roam, hidden truths are revealed and Ashden and Elanora seem destined to part forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nadine Cooke
• Release date: Sep 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301056422

Nadine Cooke

After having taught everything from Kindergarten to Year 12, Nadine now teaches English, Art and French to students with special needs at a Sydney High School.Nadine lives with her husband, two teenagers and menagerie of pets, lamenting a failed organic garden but finding solace in her peculiar obsession with French cartoons.Nadine has been an avid writer for many years,including a successful episode as a songwriter.The sequel to Soulmaker will be released in coming months.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Ashden slammed his hand on the bench top, unable to wrench his eyes from her wasted expression yet desperate to look away.

"Mum, listen to what I’m saying! Dad didn’t leave you for someone else, he died fighting for soulings. For them." Again he appealed open palmed to the hand stitched monkey by the kettle. Tail curling. Uncurling.

Ashden’s mother continued gazing at the fresh painted cupboards while he glared, willing a reaction.

I’ll make you some tea, she said like the maternal drone she was.

I don’t want any tea, he fumed, reaching for the monkey and knocking a cup to the tiles where it shattered. Ashden glanced up, apology ready, but her passive eyes infuriated him.

You know what? I’m sick of tea, he shouted, I’m sick of you never talking about anything that matters. You never know what’s going on. And I’m so sick of all this paint! He kicked the open pots spraying paint to the cupboard tops.

Seven years of never getting through. Seven years of tea cups and paint pots since his father disappeared. But now didn’t he hold the answer to everything right there in his hand? Shouldn’t the truth rouse her from her stupor? He interlocked his fingers over his head and exhaled, nostrils flaring, eyes knit shut. No, she would go on filling teapots and painting crazy colour schemes on walls, screaming at the dark, oblivious to the rest of the world. And to him.

Forget about fixing her. I’m going back to Elanora, he thought, pacing the kitchen. The refrigerator caught his eye. He stopped and stared at it remembering when he had seen Elanora’s photo taped on her one at home. Love Elanora, she had written along the bottom in texta. Had that been an instruction or an endearment? The way everyone forgot her, even her own parents, it was likely a much needed instruction. Forgotten. But never by him. Since using his seeking ability on her, she would be with him forever. He had seen into her eyes and through to her spirit with its fire, its courage, its place for him. Waiting. And as if by stirring her spirit with his gaze, he had come away coated in her like paint on a stirrer. Ash scratched his brow and sighed at the mess. The smiling image of Elanora in his mind suddenly aged. Her red hair withered white. Her face crinkled. Her smile cracked and she stared up at him from the shards of porcelain at his feet. He blanched.

Fine, make the tea, he mumbled, bending to pick up the broken pieces, turning each fragment in his fingers.

His mother launched into her routine of filling the kettle and spooning out tea leaves. Ash slumped on the stool feeling for the pendant in his pocket, a gift for his mother. He rubbed the stone, solidified white from a droplet of the Great Destination’s coloured veil, delivered into his hand by his very own father from the other side. Nory, his friend from the old wares shop, had found a necklace from her collection in which to set it. One revelation was supposed to follow another and by now his mother should have been crying tears of joy, relieved to finally know the truth about her long lost husband. A hero of the Timefold, a saviour of soulings! Sure, it sounded farfetched but wasn’t his toy monkey, Eskatoria, alive enough to prove it? Even old Nory had taken less to convince.

He watched his mother fit the tea cosy, spin the pot three times and touch her fingers to the handle, as if her finely honed senses were predicting the precise moment when the last leaf settled. Seven years! He considered withholding the gift. She poured the tea, intent on the flow and drip of it into the cups, nodding at the wisdom of their silence as their open mouths were scalded. Ignoring the plush monkey reaching for her wrist, she placed the cup and saucer in front of him. Ash pulled the necklace out in his fist.

I think Dad wanted you to have this, he said, stopping short of flinging it at her across the bench, instead holding it up in the light.

Her eyes darted to catch its movement, its pearlescent whiteness shrinking her pupils to pin pricks.

"Not that it seems to mean anything to you, but Dad gave it to me from inside the Great Destination. The Great Destination, the place you go after you die, in the Timefold. Doesn’t anything sink in?"

He dragged his fringe from his eyes, noticing her lips part like a little girl in awe of a magic trick. The tension in his face melted. Of course she didn’t register anything he was saying. How could he push Timefolds and Great Destinations onto a woman who had no reference for such things? He should be taking small steps, getting her to walk down the street for once or start a discussion about buying a new dress. Or go through some old photos. Help her paint the sunroom.

Anyway, I hope you like it, he said resignedly. Ashden leaned across the bench to fasten the clasp behind her neck. Sitting back on the stool he admired how it gleamed against her skin. That looks really pretty.

Suddenly the kitchen light went out. It was late afternoon and well lit enough for now but Ashden checked his watch and made a quick calculation in his head. The light was only a precaution against the approaching dusk and Ashden was glad it had chosen now to blow, rather than later. Shadows frightened his mother. The darkness caused her to cry out, or screech until her face drained white. He stood up and checked the other switches and power points.

Great, Ash sighed. Don’t worry, Mum, I can fix it.

Here, take this, he said, handing her a torch, I’m going out to fix the fuse. Will you be okay?

Her face was still. Her fingers cradled the handle.

Right, then, he said, heading to the meter box outside.

Ashden silently thanked the handymen who’d been regular visitors over the years. They hadn’t just repaired and maintained things around the house, they had taught him. Given him the skills he needed to keep this living arrangement going.

Ashden turned the screws to hold the new wire, reinserted the fuse and flicked the switch. Nothing. He pulled it back out for a closer inspection, the meter lid resting on his head. No sign of a broken wire.

Should work, he muttered, slotting it firmly into place. Still there was no light. Don’t tell me the power’s been cut. That was it. Starting tomorrow he would contact the man in charge of bill paying and demand to take control. He didn’t need their kind of unreliable service anymore. Ashden ripped out the fuse again and threaded a new wire just in case. He found himself biting the inside of his cheek. His heart beat just a little quicker. Leaves shifted in the wind. He froze. The handymen, the bill payers, the steady income all these years, his ability to live as a kid with a mother who could barely function. That wasn’t a kind arrangement courtesy of some government department, or an insurance payout for an absent father. Insurance wouldn’t pay a claim for a man who, for all they knew, just took off with another woman. And what did the government ever give anyone?

No. He stepped out from under the meter box lid which slammed to, startling the dog asleep on the patio. No. It was Elanora. It had to be. What had she done? A trust fund? An inheritance set up for him in her old age right before she slipped back into the Timefold? Those same lawyers who organised Nory’s will probably manage it all. A smile ripped across his face as he charged up the steps to his mother. At the front door he stopped. The lights were back on.

It’s fixed, Mum. I’ll be back in a minute. Come on, he called to Cooper and led the old dog in a jog back to Elanora’s house. How could he not have thought of this before?

Chapter 2

Wafting chop grease met him at the bottom of the Lacey driveway. Cooper licked his lips. Ashden stooped and skirted around the side of the house. Keeping his ears pricked to the slightest sound from within, he crept to the window he knew opened into Elanora’s old room. She had been erased from time but what did that mean? Would every trace of her be gone? There might be something he could salvage.

Clinging onto the windowsill, he lifted his eyes to the glass.

"They are there," he marvelled to Cooper, who responded with raised ears.

Ashden stepped back from the window, his eyes watering and round. He rubbed his chin then scruffed up his hair.

I know, he said and skirted back to the front of the house, up the steps and straight to the front door upon which he knocked.

Oh, hello again, Mrs Lacey squinted at him, dry brown curls dragging to her shoulders without the energy to bounce.

Hi, sorry to bother you again…

No power at your place? she asked, securing a hand on a hip and slouching sideways.

Oh no, it’s nothing like that, he said, fidgeting with the neckline of his t-shirt. I’m here because I’m doing a collection of soft toys for charity. You know, for the hospital. They need toys for the young kids that come through. And I’ve been asking all the neighbours if they’ve got any lying around that their children didn’t need anymore, he paused for breath. So I thought I’d ask you. Just in case you had any you didn’t want…anymore.

Toys, you say, Mrs Lacey responded, a puzzled expression appearing then fading.

Ashden nodded.

You will have to ask the young lady who owns them all. And you’re lucky she’s not long come back home…what was your name again?

Ashden couldn’t reply. His stomach was twisting. Young lady?

Mrs Lacey’s fingers strummed her hip.

It’s Ashden, he stammered. Who’s the young lady? he asked nerves afire. Who owns the toys?

My daughter, of course. Are you feeling all right?

Ashden nodded, Sure. I’m fine. Is your daughter here? I thought your daughters lived away from home.

Ha! I wish! she laughed dryly. Go on through and ask her yourself. You’ll have to be quick, mind, dinner’s nearly on the table.

A cloud of fatty lamb smoke irritated Ashden’s eyes and coated the back of his throat when he walked inside. He couldn’t see well enough into the kitchen as he was ushered passed to notice if Elanora’s photograph was still attached to the fridge. He couldn’t work out how it was happening, but sure enough he was about to meet Elanora outside the Timefold. Nice trick of her to play on him, not coming around straight away. When was she planning the surprise reunion? How did she return to this time without looking like the old lady she was? That’s what she said would happen if she ever came back through the gateway. Maybe she’d been wrong. Ashden’s heart leapt.

Mrs Lacey stood in the middle of the space obscuring his view of the room and pushed open Elanora’s bedroom door, There’s a boy here who wants to ask you about the toys. What’s your name again?

There was silence.

Your name? I’ve forgotten, Mrs Lacey repeated.

Oh. Ashden. It’s Ashden, I didn’t think you were speaking to me, he said, leaning forward to see a girl dragging boxes out from under her bed.

Well, who else would I be speaking to? It’s not as if I would forget my own daughter’s name, now, is it? Don’t be long. Dinner’s in five, she said, leaving Ashden gaping through the doorway.

Yes? What did you want to ask? A dark haired young woman, maybe mid to late twenties, turned to him, her hair escaping a ponytail in harassed chunks.

Ashden raked his fringe. His stomach was somewhere down around his ankles and his eyes sunk. I came to ask about the toys, he said, colouring.

What about them? she asked, tossing a bag into the wardrobe and closing it. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Do you need to sit down? the young woman asked, softening and showing Ashden a chair beside the window which he refused. My name’s Rebecca. What did you want to ask me?

Ash shook his head. Are these your…toys?

Aagh these toys! Crazy aren’t they? Yes, I suppose they’re mine, she said. I’ve inherited them, anyway. Between you and me, she lowered her voice and leant closer, I don’t think my parents coped with me moving out. I’m the youngest, you know, and they wouldn’t admit to it, but they miss us girls. I think they bought all these toys because they were in denial that we’d grown up. They didn’t adjust to their empty nest, she circled her index finger at her temple, A bit cuckoo if you ask me. I mean, I never even had many toys when I lived here. Suddenly when I move out, they’re going berserk collecting a whole menagerie of them. They deny it, of course, but they didn’t walk here themselves, now, did they? To be honest, they kind of freak me out. She looked around the toy filled shelves and shivered. Ashden followed her gaze and felt a tingle in his pupils as they dilated.

Dinner! Mrs Lacey yelled.

So, what did you want to know? Rebecca asked, patting Ashden on the shoulder as if he were a poor, unfortunate boy whom she felt sorry for.

I’m collecting toys for charity, he said, his eyes flicking to the dresser where he wondered at the papers or books hidden inside with Elanora’s imprint on them.

Charity? Great. Take them all. Mum will just have to cope, won’t she? she laughed. You’ll need a roll of big garbage bags to fit them all in. A trailer, maybe? I’ll see what I can find. Hey, you’re really doing me a favour, kid. There’s no way I could move back into this room with all these faces watching me. I was almost ready to head back to the city. Wait there, I’ll get you some bags.

Ashden sat on the bed nursing his head in his hands. Well, it wasn’t like he’d turned up expecting to see Elanora. He’d only come to see if the soulings were here and they were. Success. He could take them all back with him into the Timefold. Still, it hadn’t taken much to get his hopes up. You will have to ask the young lady who owns them all. And you’re lucky she’s not long come back home. Nice trick indeed.

A sudden hum vibrated his ribs, alerting him to the glass eyed soulings lining the shelves. They urged his attention to the window where Cooper balanced his paws on the sill and barked. The sun! It was down. Were the lights still on?

Oh no! he cried, dashing from the room and colliding with Rebecca’s armload of black garbage bags.

I’ll be back, he called, leaping down the steps.

His house was enveloped in darkness. And silence. Cooper was already at the front door, head tilted, as he climbed the porch steps. Ashden looked at the meter box then back at the house, where a dozen beams of light swiped the darkness.

Mum? he called.

Ashden crept along the hall into the kitchen, swallowing hard. There his mother sat, staring at her fingers as if inspecting a stain, an imprint, a blister. Radiating from the pendant were the light beams, illuminating her face. But Ashden wasn’t looking at her face. He focused on the pendant. In case it helped, he pressed his eyes but it didn’t change what he saw. The stone was pulsating, its pearly surface liquefying into filaments of colour that uncoiled over the silver edge onto his mother’s skin. Colourful strands that climbed her neck and unfurled on her chest. Her lids closed over rapidly darting eyes but her breathing was deep and honey sweet. A rainbow layer of light divided and multiplied over her flesh until it blended into the brightness of her clothing and the art palette walls of the house. Ashden stood transfixed. The peacefulness of the Great Destination emanated from her and he could neither move nor speak.

Slowly her lids opened and the colours sank into her skin. The pendant was drained and still. A matt black pebble. She clutched it, rising unsteadily to her feet. A barrage of memories struck like blows to her head. Who she was. Who she had been. All that had happened. She staggered, mouth agape at the returning memories. The lights buzzed then flickered back on but Ashden’s mother outshone them all.

Mum, here, come to the sofa, Ashden guided her by the elbow, his skin tingling against hers.

*

She heard the word mum. Mum, it didn’t fit, it didn’t sound right. Eshalowyn, was what the colours said to her. Eshalowyn was her name, her ancient name, and the sound of it mingled with the painted walls and spun into a whirlpool that fused them white, sending her back into her memories, back into her past. To Crete in an ancient time. The time of her childhood.

-i-

Eshalowyn knocked the fish back into the urn from which it tried to escape. Water wet her tunic as she trod the steps to the cave, rocks wedging in her sandals. On a boulder halfway up, she rested to shake them out. The stones raced to the sea which rolled skyward like a tightly woven rug. Grey cliffs to either side staggered up sharply from the shore. She rubbed her feet before slipping her sandals back on and continuing her ascent. Her legs were strong and toned from constant traipsing up and down, fetching and delivering on behalf of her father who rarely left the caves. As strong as they