The Raised

By Allen Renfro

Adam O’Brien closed his eyes to go to sleep. When he woke four days later his world was gone. He was alone. His parents had disappeared. The gaping wound on his head and the scratches on his arms were the only testimony to a tragic horror. Waking in a room of luxury that seemed familiar he was greeted by Nicolas, a friendly stranger, who provided him a haven to rest and recuperate. It was not long before Adam realized something was very wrong and all that was held true was a lie. An unnatural presence lurked in the shadows, a force as strong as the devil. As Nicolas slowly offers Adam the answers he desperately seeks and reveals an unspeakable crime, Adam comes to understand that he is connected to a family cursed for thousands of years, born to bear a burden even they don’t understand.
The Raised begins the epic saga of the Morrelini family. Endowed with spectacular wealth and influence the Morrelinis arrive in post Civil War America and unleash a horror they cannot control. Spanning centuries The Raised is a story of revenge, betrayal and the supernatural. In their world of secrets there are some who are determined to make sure the truth stays dead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allen Renfro
• Release date: Oct 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465888198

Allen Renfro

Allen Renfro is a native of Tennessee and a graduate of Tusculum College. A published poet and artist in the zine culture of the 1990s he considers himself a "fringe" artist. He is an admitted history buff, horror movie watcher and reader of fiction. He is the author of eleven novels.

Book preview

The Raised

by

Allen Renfro

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY:

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Copyright © 2011 Allen Renfro

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Chapter One

Is that your name?

The voice was like a rickety old door creaking closed, the words piercing into my head. My eyes were looking through shimmering waves of water. The face of the voice a blur, the thin white hair, the wire rimmed glasses in front of eyes that stretched and moved with my vision. I could see fire, smell burning flesh and screams from the mouths of melted faces.

My name is Adam O’ Brien, I said the words but the sound was far away.

And your family? the creaking voice asked.

Tomas and Sarah O’ Brien, I said to the air around me. Where are they?

I felt the bed underneath me move suddenly, the face disappearing and the sound of footsteps drifting away. I followed with my eyes as the figure reached for a door, a light spreading from the other side made me cover my eyes. Someone stood at the threshold looking at me until the door was closed and the room was dark. I heard their voices, the sounds of anger outside the room. The scent of strawberries filled my head as I inhaled savoring the delicious smell.

I looked to the left and then to the right. This was not my room but my heart told me I had been in the room before. This was not my bed or the pillow I slept on. The shelves filled with books near the large fireplace were not mine. The bureau and the ivory chair in the corner near the window belonged to someone else. And yet every detail was familiar.

The bed I lay on was soft and comfortable. Blankets that covered me were elegant to touch. My head throbbed despite the soothing pillow that nestled my head. Awkwardly I sat up, my arms supporting me were weak and trembling. My stomach ached from hunger. I blinked and tried adjusting my eyes from the blurry vision. I jumped at the sudden loud thump of noise outside the room.

‘Hello?’ I called out nervously. A spray of light again filled the room and I covered my eyes.

Hello, a strong masculine voice came from the threshold of the door shrouded in the light from the hall. The young man stood tall with strength and confidence, his clothes were gentleman’s clothes, tan slacks and a button down shirt tucked neatly at his waist. He looked at me with a bright smile. His hair was dark and his eyes a penetrating emerald that glittered with every catch of light. His skin was pale and his eye brows thick and defining. His face was round and youthful, his lips full and turned upward in a natural smile. His voice, it seemed too confident for a man of his age, older. He was a handsome young man of 17 or 18 years. His movement was graceful and almost inhuman. Too subtle, too gentle.

He lit the oil lamps that were on the mantle of the fireplace giving the room a soft warm glow that my eyes could accept.

May I have some water? I whispered. My throat ached as if I had been on a long journey through the desert.

Certainly, he replied as he sat on the edge of the bed. How do you feel?

I don’t know, I said reaching up to touch my head. I had some sort of cloth or bandage on my forehead. I felt across my head more completely, bewildered.

You fell, the young man said. You could have died but the doctor saved your life.

I tried to speak with a clearer voice but still the sound rattled in my throat. Where am I?

You are safe, he said as he put his hands on my shoulders urging me to lie down.

Who are you? I asked.

I am Nicolas Morrelini and this is my home, he said graciously.

I looked at him, confused. I strained in my mind to understand. The smell of strawberries overwhelming I could not describe my sense of connection to the room. Why am I here?

Do you remember the accident?

I searched my mind, closing my eyes hoping the darkness might focus my memory. I remembered nothing. I shook my head. I felt a sadness overwhelm me, voices inside me warning of danger.

A smile grew on his face, a glow that filled the room with light. Don’t worry. Your memory will return.

Where is my family? I asked though I didn’t know why I was asking.

I do not know, he replied.

I was so confused but at that very moment all I wanted was to quench my thirst. Please, Mr. Morrelini, may I have some water?

He smiled the hypnotic smile. It seemed his eyes were dancing. It was a look of joy and relief. He was happy that I was awake and talking. I should think you would like some food as well and perhaps a bath? And please, I’m Nicolas. He said as he sat down on the bed next to me.In the oil light I noticed a strangeness about him.There was a large deep scar in his right temple almost perfectly round, a scar that was in the process of healing.I rose up in the bed gingerly until I was sitting and touched the bandage on my forehead. I wanted to ask questions but I did not know what questions to ask. Flashes of images flooded my brain but it was a blur of colors and voices, nothing I could discern. I looked at Nicolas Morrelini but nothing familiar came to me. He was nothing more than a stranger.But his eyes were magnetic, seductive. His eyes told me all would be known to me and I was safe. Now it was the only thing that seemed to matter.

He stood up from the bed. I’ll have someone bring water for you and something to eat. There are clothes in the bureau for you to put on once you’ve bathed.

The scent of strawberries was so strong I felt as if I could taste them. Please, kind sir, why am I here.

Nicolas paused for a moment, considering. His hesitation concerned me.

This is a vast plantation, Adam, he said. You work for my family.

I smiled at him with relief. His answer made sense to me even though I had no memory of such work. How long have I been here?

Here? he asked with a tone of surprise.

Here, asleep, I replied, tapping the bed with my hand.

Four days, he said.

Four days? I said with concern but he waved me off with a smile his emerald eyes sparkling seductively.

I shall return after you’ve eaten and bathed.

I smiled at him, I could not help but smile at him, his graciousness and his warmth were the only substances that felt tangible. Thank you. For everything.

He reached for the door and opened it. You’re welcome.

He closed the door behind him. I struggled to stand up. I wanted to see out the window to grasp at some sort of reality. The circumstances seemed dream like. With timid steps I walked to the window. Pulling back the curtains and opening the shutters I peered out. It was nearly dark but I could see. I was on the second floor of a huge house. The view was breath taking. The sky was gray and rain was falling. Lovely grass wet from the drizzle stretched from the edge of the house that I could see all the way to the trees a good distance away. A cobblestone road led from the house to a muddy road beyond a stone wall.I looked as far left out of the window as I could and then to the right but all I could see were tall cedar trees wafting slowly in the breeze like green paint brushes against the gray canvass sky. A lone tree stood separate from the tall cedars, two ropes dangling from one of the low branches. My heart ached at the sight. I knew that I was still in my beloved North Carolina but the voice inside me again pleaded, warning me that something was wrong. The drizzling rain trickled across the pane of the window and I remembered it was late March. I did not recognize this place and yet still it was a place I knew. I turned back to look at the magnificent room. I became afraid. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Loneliness covered me in waves and I retreated to the bed and wrapped myself in blankets. I was alone and at this very moment, helpless.

My thinking was once again interrupted by the sound of the door opening and the presence of a woman, a servant, carrying a tray with ample quantities of turkey, potatoes, green beans and bread. But I was most excited at seeing a tall glass filled with water. She placed the tray down on the bed and eagerly I reached for the glass drinking all of the water down. She smiled as she observed, looking at me almost as if I was an animal that had completed a trick to the master’s satisfaction. Her dark eyes reflected a life of heartache and struggle. The scars on the dark skin of her face, her black hair pulled behind her ears and tied in a bun on the back of her head. She had been a slave, I knew, but perhaps given a better new life by the Morrelini family. She walked over to the bureau and opened one of the drawers removing a pair of gray slacks and tossing them down on the ivory chair nearby and then to a bureau door removing a white shirt. The warm scents of the food enraptured me and I gorged myself as I watched the servant while eating with a sterling silver fork.

She spoke finally. The master instructed me to prepare a bath for you if you wished.

Unable to speak as I gulped the food hungrily I nodded.

I absorbed the hot water of the bath, impressed with the luxuries of the home. I leaned back in the brass tub letting its strength support me, allowing the water to envelope me and soothe my aching body. The woman had led me to a room next to the bedroom where I had slept and was connected by a door. The oil lamps gave the room an ambient glow that was serene and gentle. I paid very little attention to any details of the room as I closed my eyes and relaxed. My throat felt good, my head did not ache and my stomach was full. It was then I felt the sting, a sting of pain along my arms and I noticed scratches, healing scratches from briars and trees.

Running through darkness, my breath coming in gasps as trees slapped and scratched at me, restraining me, slowing me down. Gasps turning to sobs, tears blinding me. The moon staring down in sorrow. Her scream. Her scream echoing through the dark hills and sky.

Please don’t take me! I screamed. I rubbed my eyes. I had fallen asleep and had been aroused by the horrible vision. It was just a dream, I told myself, as the warmth of the water soothed me and slowed my pounding heart. I looked around and felt relief. I was safe. Once again I looked at my arms at the crooks and angles of the scratches. I wondered.

It was then I saw the mirror in the room and my interest was stirred.I did not remember what I looked like and the mirror on the wall was inviting me to reveal the secret. I stood naked in front of the reflection examining myself, the water forming droplets and racing down my skin trickling into a puddle on the floor. I attempted to ignore the large bandage across my forehead. My hair was dark and my eyes a soft blue. My skin was pale and my face sculptured with soft angles. I could see newborn traces of beard on my face, enhancing the angles. My body was fit and strong. I was about 17 years old, perhaps a year or two older. I resembled Nicolas in many ways.I looked down at my hands, examining the fingers and the palms in the light, attempting to ignore the scratches. Soft hands, the hands of an artist I thought to myself. I looked back into the mirror’s reflection. Soft hands, I said to myself, not the hands of someone who worked on a farm. The large bandage on my forehead was neatly placed, covering most of me between my eyes and my hair. I reached up and touched it. I had fallen Nicolas said. I was lucky to be alive and he had been excited to see me awake. I slowly pulled the bandage back from my head so that I could see the injury I had suffered. The bruise and the swelling would be enormous I thought, especially since I could not remember anything of the accident or anything from the time before. I carefully peeled the bandage away from my skin and was immediately surprised. A large gash sewn together with black stitching that looked like barbed wire draped across my forehead, from one side to the other. But the wound did not look as ghastly as I expected. I quickly returned the bandage back over my wound. I had fallen, I had no doubt. The injury had been severe, but just four days ago? That was what Nicolas had said, wasn’t it? Four days ago and the wound was nearly healed.

I dried myself with a towel, the questions swirling inside my head. Why was I so suspicious? Nicolas had been nothing but courteous and gracious. It was rest I needed, with rest my memory would return and then I could understand everything. Everything would be clear once I remembered. I returned to the bedroom and sat on the bed looking out the window at the dark skies drinking water from the crystal glass, admiring the crystal pitcher from which the water came. The oil lamps in the room glowed warmly. A fire crackled and hissed in the fire place. Rain was falling much harder now, the drops smacking hard against the window pane with gusts of wind. This had to be a dream, a nightmare and I would wake shaking and sweating and would look behind every door and under the bed and I would be relieved and go on with life. But the dancing fire light in the room was of no comfort and my naked body trembled. I quietly put on the clothes that were laid out for me. The clothes fit perfectly. I slipped on a pair of socks and leather shoes next to the bed. I was dressed like a gentleman. Despite my exhaustion, I decided to explore the magnificent home. I opened the door the young man had entered and exited out into a great hall. To my left at the end of the hall was a beautiful stained glass window of green and blue, the design a forest of trees and an angel floating just above, a guardian looking down on creation. I turned to my right and at a great distance there was another stained glass window identical to the one to my left. The floor was carpeted with a lovely ivory color and between closed doors that held endless secrets there were lovely paintings many of individuals in solemn poses. The walls were a lovely shade of ivory. The light came from glowing crystal chandeliers that hung from the high ceiling. There were several dark wood tables with lovely vases that stood regally along the pathway of the hall. The house was opulent in every sense of the word. I moved quietly down the hall until I found a staircase that wound down in a half circle to the lower floor. I stepped softly, sliding my hand along the banister admiring the gigantic crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling and lit the entire foyer with dancing light.As I stepped down toward the marble floor it occurred to me how quiet this place was. The rooms were lit, the air was warm but yet the place was not cozy, it was empty. I looked around and there were many closed doors to either side of me. I walked to my right to a set of double doors and opened them, walking into a great parlor. The room was beautifully aglow, the walls a soft shade of red. A large fireplace alive with a crackling fire, shadows from the flame dancing on the walls. The carved marble mantle supported several photographs in wonderfully elaborate frames. Above the mantle was the most striking feature, a painted portrait of a family. A mother in a lovely white dress sitting in a chair next to the fireplace in the very room in which I stood and a father with his hand on her shoulder wearing a handsome suit and two children, one a boy in dark pants and white shirt and one a girl in a white dress just like the mother’s sitting on the floor in front of the parents. Leather sofas stood on either side of the fireplace facing each other and a lovely dark wood table was in between. A magnificent desk was near several large shelves filled with hardbound books of every design that ran tall along the wall. Two large windows nearly the entire length of the room from floor to ceiling revealed the view of the front lawn. My eyes returned to the portrait.

It’s wonderful isn’t it?

I turned to see Nicolas standing there.

Yes, it is. Is the young boy you?

No, he replied. He’s my uncle.

I turned back to the portrait and looked closely. The portrait was very old.The girl, that’s your mother?

Yes. He walked into the room approaching me slowly with the same fluid movements that seemed inhuman.

Where are they? Your parents?

He smiled standing beside me, and looked up to the painting.

My father is dead. My mother, well, perhaps you will meet her. She is a bit reclusive.

He walked to me, sliding his hand along my arm. You’re looking a bit pale. Please make yourself comfortable.

I complied with his request and sat on the leather couch, the chill of the leather feeling like a splash of cold water against my skin. He sat across from me, his back straight, hands in his lap with the same magnetic smile on his face.

Thank you so much for all you’ve done, I almost whispered the words. Without your kindness I have no doubt that I would be dead.

You are most welcome.

How did it happen? My accident?

His smile widened, grew brighter. Perhaps you should rest a few more days. Your memory is likely to return as your injuries heal. Let the memories come to you naturally.

For the first time I became irritated. I would like to know.Perhaps it would bring my memories back more quickly.

He sighed, leaning over, resting his elbows on his knees and his hands under his chin, his emerald eyes piercing me. To be quite honest, Adam, I’m not sure how the accident happened. I found you near a stream. You had fallen onto a sharp stone that cut deeply into your head. I assumed you went to the stream for a drink of water and lost your balance. You were unconscious and bleeding profusely when I found you.

His explanation seemed truthful. He had answered my question logically and without hesitation. My doubts were caused simply because I could not remember I told myself.

I just wish I could remember, I whispered, turning my eyes down to the floor in frustration. I am grateful for your kindness, sir, but I feel so alone and confused. I want to believe what you’re telling me but I feel as if I’m looking out into darkness. I could be standing on a cliff and the next step I take could be one that plunges me to my death.

Nicolas stood up, his shadow draping over me. I looked up to see his outstretched hand. I took it and allowed him to pull me up. You need to rest, he whispered gently. Let me take you to your room. Tomorrow perhaps everything will be clearer for you.

But I stood firm, resistant to his pull. These scratches, on my arms.I held out my arms for him to see, for me to see. I remember running. I was afraid.I was running from something. From someone.

My words seemed to come from a well of darkness deep within me. Even as I said them I was unsure of their truth. Why was I running?

Nicolas looked firmly at me. The smile had faded almost to a straight line on his face, his mouth seemed to quiver. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about the scratches.

I work for you? The words were flowing from me and I didn’t understand myself from where they were coming.

Yes, you do.

With other workers?

Of course.

Then they would know what happened! I said with confidence.

He nodded. They might. They might indeed. But then again, none of them came forward as a witness.

May I speak with them?

Of course you may but it is getting late and the rain is still falling. Tomorrow, Adam. Tomorrow you may speak with them.

I smiled, satisfied. I allowed Nicolas to lead me back to the room where I had slept. I lay on the bed in silence, the glow of the crackling fire a welcome guest to me. My mind raced with excitement. My fellow workers would know about the scratches. They would know why I was running. Why I was afraid. It wasn’t just a dream, an illusion from my injury. The excitement began to take a toll and my eye lids grew heavy. But then I heard voices, men laughing and talking from outside, the sounds were muffled, words that I could not understand. I rushed to the window and peered out. The glow from two lanterns in the darkness cast light and shadows of men as they walked, laughing and shouting, the lanterns in the hands of two men in the front leading them. Drifting across the grass toward the woods beyond, the men who no doubt worked the fields for the Morrelini family, were all off to places only they knew, to a nearby town perhaps to celebrate the end of a hard day’s work. The rains had stopped and the light from the two lamps danced in the dewy drops of the grass, glittering and shimmering at the fringes of darkness. As the men progressed to the woods their silhouettes faded until all that I could see was the glow of the lamps dancing in and out of the night. Instantly I wanted to be with them, to talk with them. Nicolas had said it would be permissible to talk with them in the morning, but I saw no need to wait. I quickly dashed out the door and down the staircase to catch up with them. It was half way down the stairs that a different chorus of muffled voices attracted my attention, raised voices, almost to the point of shouting behind closed doors. One voice was feminine, the other masculine, Nicolas’ voice I sensed and almost instantly my desire to greet the group of men was erased and I wanted to hear the conversation. I quietly followed the growing loudness of the voices to the same room where I had been and stood just outside the closed doors. I listened and I knew it was Nicolas speaking with his mother.

I can never repay him for what I have done! he shouted.

He cannot stay here! He cannot! the feminine voice was strong, it was a voice of power and authority.

I will not ask him to leave, not until I can explain!

You can’t explain! How can you explain?

There was a pause. A tense, long pause and I thought I could hear him sigh. He shall never want for anything in his life. We will give him enough to establish himself wherever he desires. You will give it to him Mother! I have taken everything and you must give something of yourself.

And suppose he chooses not to accept your gracious gift? Suppose he cannot accept the ‘truth’ as you call it?

There was another long pause. Then I will give him my life.

No! It is not your life to give! The woman shouted. Suddenly I heard a loud crash, as if a wood table and been smashed into splinters.

No! It isn’t my life is it? It’s your life now! One that I cannot take away! The young man’s voice was filled with absolute rage and I felt shivers running through me. Instead of rushing out the door to greet my fellow workers I hastily ran back up the stairs to the room where I stayed. My heart beat quickly with the rhythm of my thoughts. They were arguing about me! The confusion tore through me like slivers of glass, and the blood was questions that I could not answer. He had taken everything? Running. I was running from him? The frustration overwhelmed me and I wept. I wept until no tears would come and sleep invited me.

The sky was orange, vehement flames licking the night, the smoke choking, hovering, suffocating. Screams bursting through the fire. A woman’s scream. Run Adam!

I bolted upright in the bed, sweat streaming down my face, my heart pounding, my breath coming in gasps. In the moments of calmness that followed I realized I was not alone. The silhouette of a woman sitting in the chair near the window was staring at me.Unsympathetic, angry. I knew it was Nicolas’ mother.

Do you need some water? she said, her voice, unforgiving, threatening. The moonlight filled the room, but I could not see her face, this woman, sitting in the chair.

No, I replied.

Adam, she said, I’m Cathrina Morrelini. I’m Nicolas’ mother. She stood up, but offered no effort to bring light into the room. The fireplace was dark, the oil lamps all dormant and the moonlight was her shield. She walked to the foot of the bed and stood over me, her face hidden from the light.

I know who you are.

Do you know why you’re here? she asked, no emotion in her voice.

No. Will you tell me?

That is for Nicolas to tell you. I did not want you here in the first place. Her honesty was a weapon. A method of control. She used it often when it served her purpose.

Then why did you allow it?

She moved away from the bed, pacing back and forth, still hidden in the shadows of the moonlight. I could see that she was dressed formally as if she was preparing to go to a ball, but she turned so that the moonlight was behind her leaving her face in darkness.

Nicolas is my son and I love him. He brought you here for his own reasons.

So why are you here?

She paused for a moment and while I couldn’t tell, I knew she was once again looking at me. I wondered if she could see my face, could see my fear. I want to rectify the situation. Conclude this to everyone’s satisfaction.

I felt bold, protected. I sensed Nicolas hovering over me, could feel his breath even though he was not near. You mean your satisfaction, Miss Morrelini.

Very well. Yes, to my satisfaction.

Do you wish me to leave?

She did not hesitate. Our lives would be much better if you were not here, but I will not do anything to harm my son.

I shook my head in anger. You mean, to make him angry with you. Even though I couldn’t see it, I knew she smiled, not a happy smile, but one of admiration.

Your candor is surprising.

Why don’t you simply tell me the truth, about why I am here because the truth will apparently send me away. That is why Nicolas is lying to me.

Because, Adam, despite the tone of our conversation, I am not a vengeful woman. I am here to protect my family and I am willing to do that in a way in which no one gets hurt.

My anger grew. Then why are you doing this? Please, just tell me what you want.

She sighed and returned to the chair near the window, still veiled in shadows. I want you to tell Nicolas you’re ready to leave, that you are grateful for his hospitality but you wish to go your way. I will provide you with all the monetary means you will need so long as you do not tell Nicolas of our arrangement.

But where will I go? Part of my memory is missing. I’m not sure where my family is. The moments seemed to be passing as hours as she studied me in the darkness, her thoughts collecting.

I will tell you everything you need to know. Once you have left.

I was reluctant. How could I trust this woman who would not even allow me to see her face? Her voice once again broke my thought.

You have my word.

She stood up and walked to the door.

You have my word, she repeated delicately as she closed the door behind her.

I rested my head against the pillow, exhausted and tormented. I began to wonder if I was a criminal. Perhaps Cathrina Morrelini was just in her desire to see me go. Perhaps I was the seducer, and Nicolas’ my victim? I should go, I told myself, I believed Cathrina Morrelini, she would indeed tell me what I wanted to hear.She knew it would send me away forever. My eyes closed and sleep overcame me again.

I was not alone.

The night had grown older. Was I still asleep? I felt my breathing, I could not open my eyes, my arms and hands would not move. I was awake but paralyzed, unable to do anything but breathe. The terror began to fill me to the point of screams but I could not. Just as I thought I would faint from the horror a warm wetness touched me intimately, searing away the fear, sensations reaching from my core to my heart, in rhythm with my breath. I felt my hardness, a strange fire in my loins, an aching, a desire to reach out and touch the magic that brought tingles to every fiber of my body. My breath coming quicker, the rhythm pulling me closer to complete joy, until my breath came in moaning gasps, the pulsing of my body, a purge of complete ecstasy into the core of a loving soul that I could not see or touch, but feel, taking me deeper. As my breathing slowed I felt a press against my lips. My mouth opened without my control and the gushes came, salty and numbing. And then blackness as my mind drifted into a realm beyond dreams and I heard my guardian, an angel whisper in my ear.

Remember the sunflower.

I was awakened by the sound of singing birds. Bright sunlight cascaded through the room and I felt peace and strength. My conversation with Cathrina Morrelini was fresh on my mind. She promised me the truth and security if only I left her home. But I knew the security she referred to was her own. She did not really want me to know the truth. And without understanding it, I realized the truth was not about me. I was merely the bond that would pull the entire horror of her truth together.Instead of looking into a mirror and hating the reflection she would simply rid herself of the mirror. How I knew this I was not sure, but without a doubt in my mind, I knew I was the reflection she did not want to see.

Good morning! Nicolas said cheerfully as he entered the room.

Good morning, I replied with a smile on my face.

Breakfast is waiting for you downstairs.

Nicolas was dressed casually, in denim pulled over cowboy boots and a buttoned up green shirt that intensified the glow of his emerald eyes. Once you’ve dressed and had breakfast, I thought I would show you something. If you don’t mind.

I hesitated. I wanted to remind him of our agreement to let me speak with my fellow workers this morning. He won’t forget our agreement I told myself.He’ll remember. It wouldn’t hurt to wait a bit longer. Breakfast was filling and enjoyable, but as I ate savoring the flavor of eggs and bacon and honey with warm biscuits I once again was struck with mystery.Nicolas and I were eating at a large table with giant candelabras that were silent. The sun breaking through the windows of the room was the only light necessary. Cathrina Morrelini was noticeably absent. Wrapped up in my thoughts I vaguely listened to Nicolas’ words. Nicolas was gushing with enthusiasm and his joy was contagious. His excitement led to my own excitement.

The doctor paid you a visit late last night while you slept and did not want to disturb you. Are you ready for an adventure?

Nicolas threw open the front doors of his home and in a carefree manner ran out into the sounds of singing birds and the distant nays of horses and the lonely moos of cattle, but I hesitated at the door, looking out at fields of newborn green stretching for a great distance. Hills rolling across the land like gentle waves and the sky a deep blue. I was afraid. The trees were coming alive with new leaves. The land was blooming with spring. I felt as a baby must feel when leaving the womb. No safeness.Just me standing there naked and lost. Nicolas’ smile was as bright as the sunlight as he tapped his foot on the cobblestone road just in front of the house his arms folded across his chest.Well?"

I clung to the door speechless.

Let me show you the world, Adam! He said joyously. It’s time to feel the world! I don’t actually remember that first step out the door, or racing to the stables beyond the trees but I do remember my first burst of laughter as the two of us raced on geldings across the fields toward the eastern sun, the rising mist cool to my face and my lips, my breath coming alive in the cool air. Feeling the gallop of the horse beneath me and Nicolas laughing and shouting, I felt that we were free. At this moment I did not care if I ever remembered. The fields became wilderness, and the canvass of green above us darkened the ground on which we raced. The woods were alive, birds singing their morning songs. Beams of sunlight traced lovely patterns on the ground ahead of us as we galloped on paths the horses had traveled many times. Finally I could not contain myself and I shouted ahead to Nicolas who raced in front of me. Where are we going?

He shouted. To the edge of Heaven.

I could taste the salty air. I could hear the roar before I could see. The wind was strong against us, trees dancing their magical dance around us as we rode.We galloped into fields of high grass and then sand and then I saw the ocean for the first time. The gray waves rolling toward the land, crashing against the shore, the hiss of the water as it smacked the sands and fled back into the sea. The sorrowful cry of seagulls filled the air.

I followed Nicolas on his horse, chasing him with laughter as he shouted cheerfully, splashing through the surf. Suddenly Nicolas leaped from his horse into the tide, ripping off his shirt, giving it to the wind, and throwing off his shoes. Arms outstretched he spun around and around savoring the spray of ocean on his nakedness. I jumped down from my horse carefully pulling off my shoes as the surf raced underneath me. The water was frigid to my toes but I savored the magic as I took off my shirt and gave it to the wind. I understood what Nicolas meant when he said it was time to feel the world.The wind tickled my chest and my back touching every exposed part of me. We laughed and we danced with the sea rushing in under our feet. I stopped and looked to the east over the ocean where the sky touched the earth. Rolling waves as far as I could see. To the edge of Heaven Nicolas had said. I looked over to him as he playfully danced with the tide and I knew at that moment there was a God.

Listen to the earth, Nicolas called over the roar of the constant winds.The sun was high in the sky kissing our bare skin as we lay in the sands. I lay on my back next to him arms outstretched and I closed my eyes. The sun warmed my bones and I felt as if I could stay there forever. I did not care that Nicolas had been very clever in avoiding the meeting with my fellow workers he had promised the night before. I listened to the earth. I felt the sand beneath me, clinging to my skin like love, absorbing me. I forgot about the scratches on my arms, forgot about the fear I should have been feeling. In silence as we lay there I reached up and pulled the bandage from my head and gave it to the wind as well. The salty spray seeped into my wounds and with the sting came a peace I could not describe. I forgot about my encounter with Nicolas’ mother Cathrina. I was alive and in the warmth of the sun and wind I dozed off to sleep.

The screaming came. A fire burning, searing skin from bone. As if from Hell the sky fell to the ground in flames. The stench of burning flesh. Adam! The woman screamed. I woke suddenly, my heart pounding and my skin clammy. Nicolas had carried me to the shelter and shade of nearby trees. The sun was setting to the west and the skies over the ocean glowed deep blue as fingers of red and orange reached along clouds to touch the coming night. The geldings grazed in the high grass, unmoved by the marvel of nature. I rose up on one elbow and scoured the shore. Nicolas was standing in the water naked. Waves crashed against him and it seemed to me that he was praying or was it wishing, hoping the water would wash away his sins. I felt as if I was imposing, watching the most private of moments but I could not look away.This young man who knew more of me than I, this man who I should be infuriated with had brought me to the edge of Heaven, I felt sympathy and a longing to know him, more than to know myself. He had left our clothes next to where I lay. Feeling the chill of the ocean breeze I put my shirt on and curled up on my side, watching him in his meditation, the waves nudging him up and down and some smacking hard against him. I began to think about my family. Where were they? Were they thinking of me?Missing me? My thoughts were interrupted by Nicolas running toward me with a bright smile on his face. His body was bronzed from the day’s sun, his muscles taut from his dancing and meditation. He flopped down beside me breathing heavily, the salt water dripping from lockets of his hair down across his face.

The words left my lips before I realized. Were you praying?

My question took him by surprise. He suddenly turned away, his arms folded across his knees pulled up to his chest. Droplets of water mingled with sand traveled down his back. "Yes, I